Page 51 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
“Race you to the top,” he yells, jumping up onto the nearest bough.
“Motherfucker,” I yell and then I’m scrabbling up after him, chasing him just like I always did through the branches.
And for the first time in a long time things feel like they should do.
12
Bea
A week passes.If it wasn’t for the beach, the ocean and the sand, I’d start to fall into despair. No one wants to hire me. My chances would be slim in the first place considering my lack of qualifications and experience. Top it up with having to explain why I left my last job after such a short time, and then having to disclose my omega designation, and there is no freaking chance.
Mysterious food packages arrive at strange times of the night. But apart from this, I don’t hear from, or see anything of, either Pack York or Pack Boston. I told them to leave me alone and for once they seem to be listening.
On Tuesday, I hear from the police saying I need to go down to the station and make a statement.
I drive Missy into the city the next day, meeting my aunt’s lawyer outside the run-down building. The cop on the other side of the table listens to me tell my story, politely asks me questions and scribbles down some notes, but I can tell she thinks my account is that of a crazy omega who’s gotten herself all confused during her heat.
“Can you give my client an update on the case?” my lawyer asks.
The cop shakes her head, closing her notepad and placing the cap back on her pen.
Outside, the lawyer tells me not to worry and to get in touch if anything else crops up. I slump into Missy and head back to the beach thinking the case seems about as hopeless as my job search.
Over the next few days, Courtney tries to keep my spirits high, Aunt Julia takes me shopping for blankets and pillows, and Ellie comes down to the beach for a visit. But the creeping sensation that I’m never going to make enough money to survive here in the city begins to overwhelm me.
When I moan about this for the one hundredth time while eating spaghetti – another mystery food parcel – with my aunt, she drops her fork and gives me a hard stare.
“You’re being over dramatic. You have options, Bea.”
“No one will hire me!”
“Then why not focus on finding a pack?”
I make a face and my aunt sighs.
“I know those men hurt you but it doesn’t mean they’re all like that.”
“Really? Because my last (actually my only) two experiences with men suggest they are exactly like that.”
My aunt ignores me, picking up her fork and twizzling strings of pasta around the prongs. “I’m being asked about you at least twice daily by eligible packs – or their mothers and sisters. It’s clear to me that you could have your pick and live comfortably for the rest of your days.”
I make a face. “That’s not what I want. I’d be bored sick.”
“I can assure you, you wouldn’t be,” my aunt mutters.
“You mean I’d be flat on my back with my feet in the air, or pushing out yet another baby.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” my aunt says crossly. “I’ve lived that life and they were the happiest years of my life.”
My shoulders slump. “I’m sorry,” I say, covering my aunt’s hand. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just frustrated. I don’t know how long I can keep scrounging off your and Courtney’s hospitality.”
“For as long as you need.”
Not forever though. I can’t be here forever.
I decide I need something to distract me and it seems like the ocean, the beach and running are the perfect solutions. Early next morning, I set off down the beach, the alarm wrapped around my wrist as well as a kitchen knife slid into my pocket. I’m not quite ready to carry a gun, but after my experience at the clinic I need an upgrade from keys. Especially as I no longer have my alpha shadows jogging along behind me, keeping me safe. I almost miss them. Almost; until I remember they were only using me for their silly bet.
Five hundred meters from the house, something catches my eyes in the sand. Red and half buried. When I reach it, I pause and bend down, tugging it out of its hiding place. It’s a piece of garbage. It shouldn’t be here. I decide I’ll carry it back to the condo and place it in the recycling bin. I pick up my feet again but I haven’t run ten feet more when I spy something else poking out of the sand. This time it’s a beer can. I yank it out and pick up my pace again. The next thing I find is a plastic bag. Then a bottle. Then four takeaway containers. When my hands are full and I can’t carry any more, I turn around and race back to the house.
