Page 29 of The Gift
His power flows off him even in his sleep. He’s tall and buffed from marble, with a face that could have been carved by Michelangelo himself. It’s sublime. The gods would have wept when he was being born. He’s crazy good looking, he’s got a good heart. CJ isn’t overbearing, he isn’t psychotic, he isn’t one to play games, or try to intimidate me, though him being here is not good at all.
He looks better than the last time I saw him, chasing after my car in the dark.
Talk about awkward. Actually, I think I forget how to speak. He takes another step towards me, and I realise too late that I’d been watching his feet instead of his face, because he holds power over me.
By the time I’ve found the energy to pull my eyes up to his, I’ve already checked out of this reality and been backed into the corner of the mudroom, leaving no place to go. I’m about to start running to Mars when Henley’s face takes the place of CJ’s.
“Colton, check in with Reno, and get Ashton for me.” Henley’s voice leaves no room for guessing, but he doesn’t wait to see what happens. Instead, he blocks CJ from my world and hovers like a beacon in front of me, giving me something to focus on.
The air shifts, which is a weird sentiment because I’m no air bender, but the instant Henley blocks CJ’s presence from mine, the anxiety I was feeling doesn’t evaporate but I do feel marginally better, safer almost. And I’m not unpacking that sentiment at all, nor the cause of it.
“Glad you’re here, Bailey. Jenna’s been asking for you.”
Bonus freaking points for the A-Team. Henley blatantly ignores the way my hand shakes as I brush away hair that feels like it’s scratching over my face. And he doesn’t say a word about the way I’m breathing. Shit, I can feel how fast it’s coming out. I’m sure if Reno’s medically trained ears would hear it too, he’d be in here rushing my head between my knees coaching me to breathe slowly.
Henley acts like nothing is out of place, borrowing the same evasiveness that Ashton did outside. I know his attention is on me by the way he is acting, but it is not on me. His eyes don’t settle on mine.
“My thoughts are, we wrap it up here, quickly. Jenna wants to be escorted to the new omega facility. She’s offered to leave the key and we can pick up a couple of shots of the inside of her place, but she’s not feeling one hundred percent comfortable about being out in the open.”
“Why?” I ask, though it feels more like an awkward cough, but somehow, I’ve made it inside the quaint cottage. Henley stays close—I can feel his presence without feeling his touch. I can scent him without acknowledging it. He’s being respectful about space and distance, I wonder if he spoke with Ashton without me knowing, the both of them adding to the confusion I’m feeling by being those alphas that Ashton was talking about.
About to take a step forward, or turn around, I’m saved by a cat of all things. A big tom boy weaves and curls around my feet, and I bend down to scratch his head, happy for the distraction. And like all cats, as I’m about to pat him, he takes a leap up into my arms. Reaching and rubbing his face all over mine like we’re long-lost buddies.
His purr is loud. It rings in my ears and vibrates down my fingers, replacing some of the conflict I felt at seeing CJ. Some, but not all. I guess there’s a lot of weight in the power of a good purr. I mean, calmed by a pet? Although today that’s enough.
The cat meows happily, almost like he’s yodelling. He keeps going on, mixing it up with his motorbike like purr while Henley directs me through the house to meet Jenna.
“Holy cow, Bruce, don’t you assault that woman, you furry gold digger! You know who is holding you?” A woman gasps.
“Only Bruce would do that,” another voice adds before a deep, throaty laugh is the only noise in the small space.
I kind of strangle Bruce to my chest, and of course he only restarts his purr louder in response to my squeezing, as I make the final steps through this shit storm and meet Jenna.
Jenna towers over me. I guess a lot of people do, but she’s also built with bigger bones than me. She’s definitely not dainty, she does not look like a typical omega. Guess that answers the first part of the mystery, because while I don’t recognise or remember her, she’s all about the Regalo Project.
In the scientists’ foresight, one of the key components of their experiment was the very ordinary people they worked on. The times when memories did actually stick, there’s snippets of images tied randomly together. I have recollections of people as different and varied as you would find on any street. And newsflash, that’s where some of the people in the experiment came from, supposedly. Whatever concoction of drugs and medical experimentation they did though scrubbed out memories before and during the whole thing. Without a doubt, there are horrors I don’t understand or remember that resurface from the depths of my memories, but the clearest and most profound memories are of what happened after. When we ran for our fucking lives. And then the days, months and years later it’s the inherent knowledge and insight that fucked up shit happened without actually being able to say what that shit was. So, yeah, standing looking at Jenna, even though she is the complete opposite to me, is like looking in a fucking mirror.
“You want me to take him?” she asks as she comes nearer. Trailing behind her are a couple of people, both on edge, overly protective really. But they fade into the distance, like a background scene as she fills my focus.
“No, he’s fine.” I flip Bruce around, cradling him like a baby, which he seems to enjoy, and hold my hand out to meet everyone.
“Jenna.” She says her name and grasps my hand in a firm handshake, though she kind of pulls me in for a hug too. “God, I am such a fan, Bailey. Is that okay if I call you that?”
“Of course.”
It’s easy to feel at ease in her presence. She’s got an aura around her that glows, pulses with warmth and nurturing. Jenna is dappled in earth goddess vibes. She’s definitely free spirited if you go off what she wears, the rainbow-coloured crystals hanging around her neck are as good an indicator as any. I’d put money on her not shaving her pits, too.
When she steps back, her perfume stays behind. As does the faintest overly sweet smell of spun sugar that I associate with omegas. Probably a big reason I can’t do fairy floss anymore. Anything super sweet really turns my stomach.
“So flipping weird, isn’t it? All of this. But I’m such a big believer in the universe delivering exactly what you need.”
“Yeah,” I answer, nailing being non-committal despite the opposite happening inside me. Sinking back into the newer version of me, I hold her searching gaze and dazzle her with a practised and expensive smile. My dentist would be proud.
“Shit, this is Maya and that is Hugo.” She stays with her hand around my waist, while the others cram in for a snuggle too.
And I have to break away from the huddle that reeks of happy omega and intimacy.
“Sit, sit,” Jenna says quickly before changing her mind, “actually no, don’t, come help me pack.”
