Page 83 of Knot My Band: Part Two
I frown and hold out a hand, wanting him closer. “Chase, you’re not a terrible alpha. That’s ridiculous. I want to meet your sister, and we only have a few days left of our break before we tour again. It only makes sense to see her now. I just-”
I hesitate, and he takes my hand, wrapping me up in his strong arms. “You just what, Oli?”
“I want everything to be perfect. You told me how important she is to you. I want her to like me.”
Chase rubs a soothing circle around my back. “Of course, she is going to like you. She’s going to like you more than she likes me. I would put money on it. But, if my omega wants things to be perfect, then we will make them perfect.”
He pulls out a tablet and passes it to me. It has a home goods store open.
We spend the next hour going through it and picking things out. The others come to join us, and at the end, Dax says he will handle the rest.
I fall asleep surrounded by my mates in my new pack home that will be perfect soon.
Oli
PACK EM UP GOSSIP COLUMN
HOW IS OLI HART SPENDING HER TIME BEFORE HER TOUR IN EUROPE? WITH HER NEW PACK?
July 1st
Isaunter into the kitchen where Dax is already at work, his broad shoulders hunched over a cutting board as he chops vegetables with a precision that’s all too Dax—methodical, focused, and frankly, kind of sexy in a grumpy-chef kind of way. The aroma of garlic and herbs mingles with the comforting scent of cinnamon rolls, and I can’t help but feel my lips tug into a smile.
“Need a hand there, chef?” I tease, hopping onto the counter beside him and swinging my legs.
Dax glances up from his task, a lock of dark brown hair falling across his forehead. “I got it, Oli,” he grumbles, but a hint of warmth in those intense hazel eyes tells me he doesn’t really mind the intrusion.
“Come on, you know you love my company,” I retort playfully, plucking a slice of bell pepper from the board and popping it into my mouth. “Plus, I make an excellent sous chef. I want to help get things ready for Cate.”
As my heat hormones have died down, I’ve become a lot less panicked about everything being perfect for Chase’s sister. I’m finally starting to feel like myself again after my heat.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want it to go well; I do. I’m just not as focused on the environment. During the past few days, the things we ordered arrived, and the guys helped me get everything just right.
“Fine,” he concedes with a mock sigh, sliding the knife away and facing me. “You can mix the dip.”
“Deal.” My grin widens as I hop off the counter and get to work, finding a rhythm in the simple task of stirring and seasoning. While we move around each other in the small space, I can’t help but sneak looks at him, noticing how the afternoon light plays off his muscles under that fitted black T-shirt.
“Chase has managed to keep his sister out of the spotlight really well,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence between us. “I mean, she’s practically invisible to the press.”
“Chase is protective,” Dax murmurs, a note of admiration in his voice as he starts arranging the freshly cut veggies on a platter.
“I knew nothing about your family lives before Jack told me about foster care. There was nothing about your pasts online, only the present. Although, now it’s all about our relationship,” I continue, watching Dax’s face for a reaction.
The silence that falls isn’t the easy one from before. It stretches between us, growing dense like fog rolling off a bay. Dax’s knife slows on the chopping board, his shoulders hunching ever so slightly. I can almost feel the weight settling on them, a ghostly pressure that wasn’t there a moment ago.
“Hey,” I say softly, setting down my spoon and leaning closer. The bond between us—a tangle of emotions—buzzes with his discomfort. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
He doesn’t look up, focusing intently on the peppers as if they hold life’s deepest secrets. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, but the lie is as thin as tissue paper.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” I nudge him gently with my shoulder, offering a silent avenue for confessions. “Talk to me.”
Dax sets the knife down with a clatter that seems louder than it should be. He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding under the snug T-shirt. I wait, patient, though my heart taps an impatient beat against my ribs.
“I…” He starts, then stops, his jaw tight enough to crack walnuts. “I asked them to all keep the foster care thing a secret. It’s not exactly a golden memory, you know?”
I reach out, brushing my fingers against his wrist. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. Not with me.”
His voice drops to a growl, laced with old shadows, “If the world knew we met in foster care, they would dig into why. And then everyone would know my dads were abusive.”
