Grey’s [POV]
The whole fuckingcounty is looking for her.
She doesn’t remember, but they loved her, especially the children.
Eventually, we were going to ask her if she wanted to volunteer at the food banks and shelters like she used to.
But my stupid, selfish self didn’t tell her in time.
And now, she’s gone.
And she doesn’t even know how much I love her.
We all never told her.
It’s been a week, but it feels like a lifetime.
Charlotte has been worried sick but keeps a professional face as she assists guests.
Beau won’t talk to me. He won’t even look at me.
A long time ago, I was his and James’s mentor.
And now I’ve betrayed both of them by not wanting to deal with the consequences of telling Harper the truth.
I’m the leader of the three of us, and I made a decision that led to her disappearance, and back into the hands of Clyde.
“I can’t believe she was with him that whole time,” James spits, typing frantically on his laptop near the fireplace. “He’s nowhere on social media, either. He fucking deleted everything after we fired him.”
A week after his firing, we talked with Harper, and we confessed we were ready to claim her.
Then, she disappeared.
I wonder what brought her back to us.
Of all the places she could have stayed, of all the places she could have run away to…
She chose us when she didn’t know who we were.
It’s because she’s our mate.
She found us again, against all the odds.
And now, she’s fuckinggone.
Your fault
You failed her
You failed them
“Snap out of it,” James hisses at me. “Your self-loathing is getting old.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “She’s gone because of me.”
“We could have told her the truth, too. We just went along with your stupid idea,” he snaps. “So no, it’s not just you. We all fucked up. But now we have to focus on getting her back.”
We pull up everything we can on Clyde (or Michael, whatever the fuck he goes by), including his old work application.
But the address we have on file leads to an empty apartment building.
I try to keep hope alive, but it’s harder and harder to stay calm and confident.
But I know if Beau and James see me crumble, it will only make things worse.
They need me to stay strong.
If I lose hope, they will, too.
We just got her back.
The universe can’t be that cruel, to rip her apart from us again so easily.
Can it?
Wilson climbs onto my lap and looks up at me expectantly, a softmeowleaving his mouth.
“We’re trying,” I mutter to him, and he nuzzles into my hand.
He lost her, again, too.
The cat falls asleep in my lap, and guilt overwhelms me once more.
Harper’s [POV]
He finally takes the cuffs off when I’m around him.
It’s freeing to use my hands again, but he watches me with a hawk-like sharpness as if he’s afraid I’ll stab him the first chance I get.
It’s a fair assumption.
I miss my garden. I miss the sun on my face and breathing in the fresh air.
But I’ve lost that privilege for an indefinite amount of time.
And every morning, I wake up screaming, reaching out for something or someone that isn’t there.
Michael engages in conversation with me, and I give simple, one-word answers.
It seems to be enough for him.
But, the night I’m free to use my hands for the first time, something wonderful happens as I’m in the bedroom.
His cell phone rings.
There’s a buzzing under his pillow, and the vibration shakes the mattress.
He’s in the bathroom, showering, unaware of the incessant buzzing.
He forgot to take his phone into the bathroom with him.
I don’t even care who’s calling. It’s a private number, and I answer immediately.
“Help me,” I whisper.
“Mister Hawkins?” a female voice says. “This is the aurora police.”
“He has me captive,” I whisper as the shower turns off. “We’re in a cabin somewhere, I’m not sure, please, help me-”
I scream as the bathroom door bursts open, and Michael walks into the bedroom, naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist. The officer says something, but Michael yanks the phone from my hands and throws it into the wall.
He’s furious.
“That wasn’t very smart,” he says quietly. He stalks towards me, malice in his eyes, and I scramble off the bed.
My passive facade disappears and I’m ready to fight.
He chases me through the bedroom, through the living room, and into the kitchen, trapping me.
“What were you trying to accomplish?” he asks softly, as he advances on me. “What do you think the police will do?”
“Arrest your crazy ass for kidnapping,” I gasp, reaching behind me into one of the polished wooden drawers.
But there are no actual knives. Just plastic cutlery.
“Only if they find us,” he says, stepping closer. I move further away and push my back against the stove until he crowds me.
“This isn’t love, Michael!” I screech at him, pushing at his chest. “I don’tloveyou; you don’t love me. You used me as a blank slate to create who you wanted as a girlfriend!”
He stops inches from me, his nostrils flared, looking monstrous.
How did I ever find him attractive?
“Love is when you don have a blank slate,” I choke out, tears filling my eyes. “When you accept the faults, anyway. You want what’s there already, not what you’ve molded someone into being.”
I could be wrong, but all I know is that’s how I feel about Grey, James, and Beau.
They’ve encouraged me to figure out who I am, not try to tell me.
But it doesn’t matter now, because I’m certain I’ve ruined everything.
The police won’t come in time, and my words have done nothing to deter Michael.
His hand flies to my throat, and I dig my nails into the hand that strangles me, shocked at the sudden loss of air.
He’s choking me.
My eyes widen at his eerily calm face. “If that’s the way you want it,” he says quietly. “We can end it this way.”
James. Grey. Beau.
Charlotte.
Renee.
Wilson.
Faces flash through my mind, and I think of everyone I’ll miss, as black spots fill my vision.
I’m sorry I can’t remember you, Renee. I’m sure you were a great best friend.
Sorry I can’t grow cat grass for you, Wilson.
And I’m sorry that we don’t have a future, my Alphas.
Running out of air hurts. My lungs burn, and I stop gripping Michael’s hand.
I can’t see anymore, but I wildly whip my hand behind me with the last of my energy, grasping the handle of a pot.
I swing, and it connects with his cheek.
As the pot crashes to the floor, I collapse against the tile, falling onto my hands and knees. I choke and suck in gasps of air, clutching my throat as I breathe in delicious oxygen.
Michael lies on the floor next to me, out cold, a red mark blooming on his cheek.
I crawl out of the kitchen on my hands and knees, choking and hacking, tears dripping down my cheeks.
When I reach the opposite wall, I curl my arms around my knees, shaking as adrenaline rushes through me.
I’m not dead.
Michael isn’t moving, except for the rise and fall of his chest.
I stagger to my feet, knowing the fight isn’t over yet.
He could wake up at any moment, and I could be right where I was only moments ago.
Ugly sounds escape me as I pass by the front door, knowing I won’t be able to escape that way.
The lock is a keypad, and I don’t have the code.
He made it so that even if my hands were free, I couldn’t escape him.
I take one last look at him in the kitchen, then head back to the bedroom, looking for his phone. I fumble with the buttons, hoping it wasn’t ruined when Michael hurled it at the wall.
It powers back on, and I use it for emergency calls.
I can’t give my exact location, but they’re able to trace it.
I stay in the bathroom with the door locked until sirens sound from outside.
But it isn’t until the officers break down the front door that I can breathe again.
It isn’t the first time Michael has almost killed me.
The doctor says he could have crushed my windpipe if he’d pushed any harder.
He wasn’t overdosing on suppressants this time.
There’s hardly any in my system, so a nurse brings me a dose in the form of an injection so I don’t have to swallow.
The police take my statement as I explain everything to the best of my abilities, my voice scratchy from Michael’s hand.
“Is there anyone you’d like us to call?” one of them asks?
“The Aurora Inn,” I whisper.
I do my best to rest in the hospital bed, waiting for them to arrive. My inner Omega is awake, demanding to see my Alphas and be made whole, but the rest of me is still in shock.
My heart hurts. My throat burns.
My fuckingsoulaches.
I just want to go home, back to the Inn, but the doctors keep me overnight in the hospital for observation.
It feels like I wait days, but it’s only hours until I see my first Alpha.
James.
His icy eyes find mine, and then his gaze flicks to my throat. He swallows, and I can see him pushing the anger aside, so as not to frighten me.
“Thank fuck,” he whispers, pulling a chair next to me. “Princess.” He presses a kiss on my forehead. “I’m going to fucking kill him, I promise you.”
I shake my head. “Not worth it,” I croak. “I don’t want to visit you in prison.”
He scoffs, then smirks. “But then we couldn’t have conjugal visits.”
I roll my eyes and smile.
I missed him and his weird perverted self.
Grey is next to enter the room, his face solemn as he looks at me.
“Harper,” he breathes, smoothing the hair from my forehead. “Fuck.”
His eyes are sorrowful, and I want to kiss his sadness away.
“I’m safe now,” I whisper to him. “That’s what matters.”
Beau is next, his face just as pained as Grey’s, only there are tears in his eyes. He rushes to my side and kisses me, his hand cupping my cheek. His lips are full and plump against mine, and I sigh into the embrace.
I missed them all so much.
“I didn’t write those letters,” I whisper, and they all look at me strangely.
“Baby, we don’t give a shit if you write ten thousand hate letters to us,” James says. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me,” I say. “It was him. Michael wrote them-”
I start a coughing fit, my throat burning, and Grey takes my hand, squeezing gently. James takes the other one, and Beau lays his head on my stomach. They all crowd around the hospital bed, their scents blending into one mouthwatering aroma.
It’s the safest I’ve ever felt.
“No more,” Grey says. “Once you heal, we’ll talk.”
I drift in and out of sleep and all three of them stay by my side. There’s the occasional stroking of my hair or a kiss, and there’s a constant rumble in their chests. They purr for me, relaxing my inner Omega and soothing my heart.
“I’m sorry we failed you,” Grey says when he thinks I’m asleep. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save you.”
My eyes flutter open and meet his pained ones. “It’s not your job to save me,” I whisper. “I save myself.”
He gives me a half smile and sighs. “Yeah, I know. It’s always been that way, Princess. But damn, you make it hard to not want to protect you from everything, which is where I fucked up.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“I should have told you sooner,” he murmurs. “We all should have.”
I put my finger to my lips and give him a lazy smile. “No more,” I breathe, repeating his words from earlier. “When we get home, we’ll talk.”
He gives me a timid smile.
I may not remember my time with them before the accident, but I have no doubt I always considered them my home.