Page 94 of Feeling the Heat: Part Two
I swallow down the bile and shame rising inside me. “Text it to me.”
“I can’t. He reads my m-messages.”
“Megan, I promise I’m coming to get you right away, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me where you are.” Panicked tears stream down my cheeks. “Please, Megan.”
There’s a long pause filled only with the sound of my sister’s sobbing. “O-okay. We’re at the W-W-Wilshire. Room 409. I-I’m alone right n-now but he’ll be b-back in an hour.”
“Good. Stay put. Lock the door and don’t open it unless you hear my voice. I’m on my way.”
“I’m s-s-sorry, Cami,” Megan whispers.
My chest cracks open at how small and scared she sounds. “It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.”
The second I hang up, I search the Wilshire, cursing when I see it’s on the other side of the city. It’ll take me at least thirty minutes this time of day to get there by car and even longer with public transit because there are no direct routes.
“I’m so sorry, I have to go.” My heart is pounding so hard I can barely think of anything other than getting to my sister in time.
“Wait! What’s going on?”
I’m trembling with adrenaline as I order a rideshare. I’ve avoided them and going most places for fear of being recognized and ridiculed, but none of that matters right now. “Megan is in trouble. I have to go get her.”
Astrid places a hand on my arm. “Wait for one of your guys to come with you.”
“I can’t!” I’m pacing back and forth as I stare down at the screen, willing the driver to get here faster. “I need to go now or I’ll lose this chance, and they’re all super busy today.”
“Then I’ll go with you.”
I shake my head adamantly. “I’ll be fine. I know you need to go pick up the girls, and she’s alone, so I can handle it.” There’s no way I’m letting my friend get pulled into Bryce’s bullshit if I get there and he shows up. I can’t have both Megan and Astrid’s safety in my hands.
I give her a weak smile. “I’ll text you when I have her and we’re headed back to my place.”
“If you don’t, I’m calling the cops. Text me the address.”
I nod and send it to her, then send a quick message to the pack group chat to let them know where I’m going. They’re going to freak out, but I can’t wait for them to help.
Sweaty and shaking, I climb into the rideshare and wavegoodbye to Astrid, praying that the ache in my stomach is from nerves, not a sign that my impending heat is here.
36
Something’sup with River and Jackson. We’ve been here since early this morning, working our asses off to get everything set up, and I keep catching them staring at the other. Every time they accidentally bump or brush against each other, they apologize. And most telling, they keep locking down their end of the bond so I can’t get a sense of what they’re feeling.
They’re both acting like you would around a middle school crush, all flushed cheeks, stolen glances, and shy mumbling. It’s hard not to be amused by how they’re dancing around each other. We’ve been so busy the past few days with preparations that I haven’t had a chance to pull River aside and ask him point blank what’s going on, but if I had to guess, something happened between them while Camille and I were on our date.
River scowls at the curtain rod he’s trying to put up, like he can intimidate it into hanging properly. My typically very competent mate isn’t great at these kinds of projects, but he’s trying his best and I’m not about to critique his methods when we’re running out of time.
I wish we had at least another week. As things stand, we’rebarely done with the basics, and Camille could go into heat at any moment. At least Jackson’s taken care of all the meal prep, so we won’t be a total mess. I don’t know how he’s found the time between work and hauling all the heavy shit for us. Judging by the uncharacteristic bags under his eyes, he might be sneaking away at night to work on things instead of sleeping. I’d call him out on it, but it’d be hypocritical since I’ve only had a handful of hours of sleep a night, at best.
It’ll be worth it.
I’ve been called a hopeless romantic countless times in my life, but I think that’s wrong. I’m a hopeful romantic. I believe in the power of love, acknowledging all the pitfalls and dangers of believing in romance and things working out when you’re in love, but choose to set them aside. I choose love and care above everything else in life.
Sometimes that means holding your partner accountable without shutting them out of your heart.
And sometimes it means making grand gestures.
There’s a risk that we’ve made the wrong call, but I’m old enough to know that without risking our hearts, we’ll miss out on the possibility of something incredible.
Speaking of which, I observe the flush rising on River’s neck as Jackson gives him a hand to steady the curtain rod. Their hands brush together, and they both apologize, then stare at each other, frozen, for a long moment.
