Page 13 of When She Needs Them Most
“That’s not my problem. This job has been a nightmare since you demanded we park down the street to load up your old place. You’re fucking weird. This entire experience has been a pain in the ass.” He shoves the slip at my face again. “Sign the paper. The job is complete.”
“I told you why I needed discretion. I’m not signing that when my stuff isoutsidethe house,” I hiss, taking a step back.
Only, I trip over a box. My whole body sways, but Arden places a hand on my back and helps me stabilize my center of balance.
“Are you okay?” he growls, his face appearing in front of mine. His dark eyes narrow as he studies me.
“I’m fine.”
Arden moves faster than I can track. He grabs Russell’s arm, ripping it behind the massive man and twisting. “It’s clear no one has taught you how to properly speak to a woman. It’s no matter, I’ve got a few minutes to educate you, so this issue will never arise in the future.” He looks at me. “Why don’t you headover and get out of your pajamas? Kase, Lincoln, and I will help you unpack.”
I stand, blinking and frozen in place. That seemed like a military or police type of move. That makes sense, considering they work for a personal security company.
Arden tilts his head, nodding to his house. “Off with you.”
I finally get myself together, waddling away as the other two men with Russell finally notice the commotion. That seems dangerous, but when I glance back, Arden appears to be cool and in control.
I hit the street and pick up my pace as I get close to the guys’ driveway. Speed walking at nine months pregnant isn’t really effective.
My feet hit the bottom step of the porch, and I slide a bit on a thin layer of ice, but luckily, the handrail helps me right myself. Making it up the last few steps, I don’t stop at the door. It’s not my house, but I don’t knock before letting myself in.
My instincts pull me toward the bedroom I slept in last night. My stress is high, and omegas either run or hide during a crisis.
It appears I’m doing both. Making it into the room, I bump the door closed and toe off my shoes before climbing under the covers of the bed I didn’t even make when I woke up.
I’m a terrible houseguest, but I still snuggle into the pillow, instead of handling my problems.
Being an omega complicates everything. Normal people face things head-on. When life throws a wrench in my plans, I hide and nest until I can come up with a solution.
My face heats.
These guys have gone out of their way to accommodate me, but I’m so far from their responsibility, it’s not even funny.
I owe all of them an apology, but I’m more focused on what happens if Emmett comes after me. He was relentless last time—calling, showing up at my apartment. That wasn’t normalbehavior, even if the cops blew me off by saying he was harmless. The movers weren’t very understanding about my situation, either. I bet if he popped up and offered them a hundred dollars, they’d give him my new address without a second thought.
Clark never told me he had a brother. I didn’t find out until he was already dead. We’d only scratched surface-level topics in the few months we were exclusively dating.
My heart pangs.
Heartbroken isn’t the right word to describe how I felt when he ghosted me after our breakup. It was more melancholy, with a hint of sadness, because I didn’t see it comingat all, but we hadn’t been together long enough to truly be in love.
There were feelings there, though. It was the only relationship I’ve ever been in where I honestly envisioned that we could have a happy life together.
Knowing he didn’t want me around in his last few months was hard to process. I would have taken care of him, if he had let me. I spent months blaming him for going no contact. All while he was dealing with his own way more serious stuff.
Then again, I didn’t know any of that, and I’d been dealing with serious stuff too. Leading up to starting a new pack of suppressants, I’ve always experienced the same type of symptoms, and when those didn’t come, I knew something wasn’t right.
A few days after that, I realized how sore my breasts were and how nauseated I became while cooking my morning eggs.
A quick doctor’s visit confirmed that I was pregnant. Breaking the news over text and several frantic voicemails that I didn’t know if he’d ever listen to weren’t my finest moments, but I was genuinely hurt by that point. It felt vital that I make an effort to let him know.
The weeks after I found out were spent pondering my options. Initially, I was still hopeful that Clark would get back tome. I thought maybe he just needed a little extra time to process things, but he would call when he was ready. I hoped I could add his feedback to my feelings, and, together, we would see what we ended up with.
It took a while, but after a lot of soul-searching, I came to terms with reality—I’d be facing motherhood alone.
It was months later that Mr. Smith showed up on my doorstep to inform me Clark passed away. Apparently, he found out about the tumor a week before he broke up with me.
He immediately started treatment, but it wasn’t enough.
