Page 51 of Knot Your Average Beta

No. I don’t think it is.

The hallway is empty when I step out of the bathroom, clean and moisturized. I follow my nose to the kitchen, where there’s a pot of coffee waiting. As I help myself to a cup, I note that over half of the chocolate cake is gone now.

There’s a brief flicker of pride that they clearly enjoyed it enough to eat most of it, but then I remember how I spent hours alone yesterday and then ate dinner by myself and I push that flicker away.

If the quiet in the penthouse is anything to go by, today is shaping up to be another lonely, boring day. I imagine as soon as Maddox saw me this morning, he sent all of his pack members out of the house to avoid me. To avoid them getting to know me. I have no clue what his problem is with me, but it’s apparent that there is one.

I don’t know what I can do to change that.

Maybe don’t stomp out of the penthouse like a petulant child throwing a tantrum without leaving a note?

I snort at the thought. They don’t tell me where they’re going. Why should I have to tell them? It’s not like they were actually worried about me. Luca was pissed that I let someone else dance with me in that possessive alpha instinct way. He wasn’t worried that something could have happened, only that someone touched what was his.

I imagine Maddox’s demand that I not leave the house without one of them is something similar. They don’t want me, but they don’t want anyone else to have me either. Nothing more than a trophy for them to claim, to win, but not want. Which is very fucked up.

I lift my cup to drink more coffee, only to find that I’ve stood here alone in the kitchen, spaced out long enough for me to finish it. With a huff, I pour a second cup and then make my way over to the couch, flipping on the TV even though I know it won’t be enough to distract me, to keep me entertained. I should have grabbed my laptop when I ran home. Then I could spend my time looking for a job. Maybe I could borrow a tablet or a computer from one of the pack?

As soon as I have the thought, I dismiss it.

Maddox probably told them to not let me have any contact with the outside world.

I spend some time on my phone, scrolling through job listings, but it’s not like I can fill out applications on my cell. Or I guess I could, but it’d be annoying as hell.

After bookmarking some positions I want to look into later, I toss my phone to the couch with a groan.

God, I’m so fucking bored.

I’d thought being in the penthouse of the center pack of a mob organization would be more exciting than this.

I know it’s crazy for me to want something mafia related to happen, but I’m bored out of my goddamn mind. Mostly because they’ve left me alone. Again. Only this time there’s not even a courtesy note.

Though I can hear the faint hum of masculine voices down the hall opposite from where my room is. So someone must be here. I still haven’t seen them for hours.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind the quiet and the alone time. Before all of this happened, I enjoyed having time to myself… To an extent. But there was a reason I had a job that kept me busy, kept me moving. There was a reason I only lasted a few hours when I was at home before calling Sorrel or Sylvie to hang out.

If I’m inactive, I feel like I’m wasting my life.

I spent so much time being sick when I was younger, so much time lounging in bed, zoned out on TV, that now I hate doing that unless it’s a group activity. Like Liam Cordova movie nights with Sylvie and Sorrel.

The TV’s on, playing some show about selling expensive houses to rich packs. There’s an omega on the screen who is pouting about not finding the right nest. But it’s not enough to keep my attention.

I stand up from the couch, looking around the open space.

There must be something I can do.

Two hours later, I’m standing in the same spot, trying to figure out what else I can do.

After spending an hour in the gym, I showered again and spent thirty minutes on self care. I’ve had coffee and breakfast, a smoothie. I’ve already cleaned up any mess I made. My spartan bedroom is spotless, the corners of the bed made with military precision—well, at least for me.

My eyes flick up the stairs to the second floor and the nest I know is up there. Part of me wants to go look at it, see what they’ve done. Probably nothing. Maddox is pretty damn sure that he doesn’t want an omega. He’s said it repeatedly, so why would they have put any effort into preparing a nest?

Yeah, I’m not sure I need the visual reminder of just how unwanted I am here.

I wander into the kitchen, open the refrigerator and stare into the depths, before closing it and then sighing. Almost on autopilot, I scrounge through the cabinets until I find enough ingredients to make cookies. This is what I would do at home if I was bored and Sylvie and Sorrel couldn’t distract me.

Baking helps. It gives me something to do. So I’ll fucking bake up a storm until someone comes along to distract me.

Three hours later, I’ve made brown butter bourbon pecan chocolate chip cookies, a batch of cheddar, bacon and chive scones, and the dough for a loaf of crusty bread is on its second rise. I would have baked more, but I ran out of flour and I’m under strict instructions not to leave.

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