Page 6 of Holly Jolly Heat
I read it three times.
Then I closed my laptop, grabbed my suitcase, and headed for the door.
I needed space. Distance. Time to think without three alphas' scents clouding my judgment.
I needed my family. My childhood home. The safety of Cedar Falls.
And then, maybe then, I could figure out what the hell I was going to do about the fact that I'd just found my fated pack.
And they were absolutely, definitely, completely off-limits.
TWO
Michelle
Three days.
I'd been hiding in my childhood bedroom for three days, and I was starting to think I might never leave.
Not that hiding was particularly restful. I'd spent seventy-two hours managing Lucas's channel remotely while trying to ignore the fact that every email from Ro made my heart race, every notification made me jump, and every time I closed my eyes I saw three faces staring at me with recognition and want.
My laptop sat on the small desk Mom had set up by the window, surrounded by color-coded sticky notes and three different planners. Professional Michelle was still running at full capacity, even if personal Michelle was having a complete breakdown.
I'd finalized the GamerGear sponsorship. Negotiated a better rate for the New Year's stream. Resolved a scheduling conflict between two of my other clients. Answered forty-seven emails. Had three video calls where I'd kept my camera angled so no one could see the teenage band posters still on my walls.
And I'd taken my suppressants religiously. Double doses, just to be safe.
They weren't working.
Oh, they were dampening my scent enough that my family wasn't drowning in distressed omega pheromones. But every night, I woke up at three AM with my body screaming for something—someone—I couldn't have. My omega had tasted pack bond, and she wasn't interested in going back to the suppressed half-life I'd been living.
Traitor,I thought at my own biology.
A soft knock on my door made me look up from my laptop.
"Mija? Can I come in?"
"Yeah, Mom."
Janet Rodriguez-Williams entered carrying two mugs of hot chocolate, the good kind with real peppermint and fresh whipped cream. She'd been plying me with comfort food since I'd arrived, and I'd been too wrung out to protest.
"You've been up here all morning," she said, settling onto the edge of my bed. "It's almost noon. Have you eaten?"
"I had a granola bar."
"That's not eating, that's surviving." She handed me a mug. "Bill's making lunch. You're coming down."
"Mom, I have a call with?—"
"The call can wait. You need to eat actual food and maybe see sunlight." Her expression gentled. "And maybe talk about what you're running from."
I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into my palms. "I'm not running. I'm strategically relocating."
"Mm-hmm." Mom took a sip of her chocolate, studying me over the rim. "Have they tried to contact you?"
"Ro sent one email. I told you about that." I'd shown her the email the night I arrived, needing someone to tell me I wasn't crazy for feeling both terrified and tempted. "Nothing since then."
"And Lucas? He's your client. You must be talking to him."
