Page 100 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
“She hates me.”
“No, she hates how you talk to her. Try treating her like a friend rather than an enemy.”
“I hate when you’re right,” he grumbles.
“We may like her, but we won’t pick her over you. We shouldn’t have to. If it’s meant to be, we’ll find a way to make it work.”
“You’re not worried about the mate bond?”
“No.” I’m not. I still plan on biting her, if only to leave my mark.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I grin at him. “And that’s why you’re a great alpha.”
“I hate praise,” he says, looking away. “All right. I’ll talk to them later. I assume you want her to be the omega?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
He shrugs. “Don’t worry about me.”
Doing the opposite of what he just said, I watch him walk back into the house. I do worry about him. Trev is always worried about everyone else. He’d like Whitney, and if he’d get over his beef with her, they might actually become close. They’re a lot alike. Stubborn and hotheaded and lacking love.
* * *
TREV
After a few hours in the house and scheduling a contractor to fix the damage Curtis did to our real home, I go out for a run. I don’t like running partners. It’s better to be alone with my thoughts. Melanie’s neighborhood is fairly big. I set off toward the west to hit the road that makes a big loop through the homes. Rock music blares in my ears, but it’s not enough to distract my mind. Like it has for the last few days, my brain focuses on one thing: Whitney.
Hayden was so nonchalant about the situation. He’s caught feelings, and I don’t think he fully understands what it’ll mean if she becomes the pack’s mate. The bond is a tangible thing. My dad made sure I knew how much his bond with my mother meant and how much he hated the fact that she left him. I was five when she fled his physical abuse. He never raised a hand to me, but some wounds are below the surface. Whitney reminds me of myself, only more damaged. I grind my jaw when her terrified face flashes through my head.
She hasn’t said who hurt her, but the more I’m around her and the more I witness how deep that abuse went, the more I want to destroy whoever did it to her. I know some of that protective instinct comes from never being able to protect my mother. If I were big enough, I would have killed my dad for hitting her.
I wasn’t though.
For a long time, I was so mad at her. How could she leave me? Then as time went on and I began to understand the only way for her to truly escape him was to leave society—to live with those who have been shunned and live off the land—I forgave her. She didn’t want to put me through that. At five, I would have been in danger. She had to have known he wouldn’t physically hurt me, otherwise I don’t think she would have left.
Who am I kidding?
All I remember is the way she smiled and smelled. Her grin was like a ray of sunshine, and she smelled like cookies and love. Her hugs felt like home. It’s ironic she went to live off the land, but I’m the one who’s felt homeless since she left.
The rest of dad’s pack died in a tragic car crash before I was born, leaving my pregnant mom and dad behind. I was always curious to know if they were as big of assholes as him, but he refused to talk about them. The only time he deigned to speak to me was to tear me down. As soon as I turned eighteen, I moved out and left him to live out the rest of his miserable life alone.
Once I graduated from the academy, he tried to call me. I never answered. There’s nothing left for me there, only pain and misery. I kick up my pace, outrunning the past. Outrunning the memory of my dad telling me how pathetic I was.
The crazy thing about all of this is I want to save Whitney. I know she’ll be safe with my pack. I know she’ll never have to fear being hit again. I have been a total dick, but I hope she’ll forgive me. I’ll find a time to talk to her and explain why I was so harsh with her.
I can only hope that I’m not too late.
