Chapter Eight

Mason leaned back in the chair at the dining room table, grinning at the way Sam fumed over him balancing on two legs. Sam always was the mother hen of them, wanting shit to be perfect. He’d taken after his mother, no doubt.

Sam’s mom was a saint, putting up with all of them, no matter how often they made her life more difficult. Sam had taken over the role when they’d grown up, never shying away from threatening to call his mom over if they didn’t listen.

And Betsy sure as hell could put them to shame if she wanted to.

It made Mason groan as he thought about Betsy, about the way she’d walk in and grab him by the ear, despite her being a tiny spit of a woman. Hell, he’d lean down just so she could do it if he’d gone and done something he knew was wrong. At sixteen, when he’d gotten drunk at some shady party, it had been Betsy who had shown up and hauled his ass back, despite him already having a foot in height over her. Her mates had come with her, but they’d stood back and watched, letting her drag him out from the party like the misbehaving pup he’d been.

Damn, he shouldn’t have stayed away so long. They exchanged cards for holidays, and she called him every second Tuesday of the month to check in. She was a whirlwind, that omega, and he’d never have made anything of himself without her.

Mason, being the forgotten middle child in a huge family, had been largely ignored in his own household. Too many kids, not enough time. Betsy, though, had been an omega who had only had one kid, who hadn’t managed to get pregnant again, and who had always wanted a bigger family than that. It meant she’d taken in her son’s riffraff friends, treating Mason and Dylan like cubs she’d claimed. From kindergarten, she’d acted more a mother than his own. She’d attended more of Mason’s school functions than his own mom every had.

Dylan had woken early, as usual, and come storming out of Tracy’s room. That had surprised the hell out of Mason. The hard set of his face hadn’t implied he’d had much fun, but hell, when did Dylan ever look like he’d had fun?

Tracy’s face when she left the room later said that whatever had happened hadn’t gone well for her, either. Not fear, just a quiet discomfort.

She’d retreated with Karen outside, a bag of chalk in the young girl’s hands. Tucked beneath Tracy’s arm had been a pad of paper with a pencil pressed in the spiral binding.

Once she’d exited, Mason twisted his head to look at Sam, chair still poised perilously on the two legs. “Should I punch him, or do you want to?”

Sam pressed his cane into the tile floor as he came over, then sat gingerly across from Mason. “I think you’ll have to. I’m more likely to fall over than land the hit he deserves.”

“Hey, maybe if I let you and he go at it for a few rounds, you’ll get over this bullshit.”

Sam winced, face tight. He wasn’t taking enough pain meds, and that sure didn’t surprise Mason. While Sam took care of those around him, he always ignored his own needs.

Mason shoved himself to his feet, walking to the back room and grabbing the pain meds off the counter. When he returned, he dropped the bottle on the table.

“I don’t need them.”

“Sure. You’re wincing when you move for shits and giggles.”

Sam muttered beneath his breath, but he opened the lid and dry-swallowed two of the white pills. A grimace said he didn’t enjoy it before he kept talking like there hadn’t been a break. “I know you want us to get over this, Mason, but I don’t think it’s happening.”

“Why not?”

Sam released a long sigh, and damn if Mason couldn’t hear all the regret in it. “I can’t change what happened, and I can’t even expect him to forgive me. I betrayed him. You know it, I know it, he knows it. Nowhere to go from there.”

“And you know what we all know now, too? That Nora was only in it for the fun of running the three of us around. I’m not saying you were right, but damn it, aren’t you sick of letting it screw up everything? How long are you going to keep paying for one mistake?”

Sam tapped the fingers of his good hand on the table, then traced the label of the pill bottle. “It’s been nice having the house full again. I never built this house expecting to live in it alone.”

Yeah, Sam never did alone well. He might have grown up the only child, but he’d spent his childhood with Mason and Dylan. Not that Mason cared for it, either. He’d grown used to having people to lean on, having others to share the general daily struggles of life. As the middle child of eight, quiet freaked Mason out. First it was his own flesh and blood family, then from the age of five, when they’d met in kindergarten, Dylan, Sam and Mason had been inseparable.

At least they were until the disaster that had been Nora had swept through their lives.

“About Tracy,” Mason started. What would he get for the change in topic? A punch to the jaw? The silent treatment? Worse, would Sam call up his mother? Nah, that was more Mason’s move.

“Are we really doing this again?” Sam dragged his good hand across his face as if he could wipe away the frustration with the conversation.

“Nah, it’s not the same. Are you really going to tell me that what you had with Nora is anything like what you’re feeling with Tracy?”

“No,” Sam admitted. “Whatever I’ve got with Tracy, whatever I want with her, it’s different. It’s, I don’t know, it’s more.”

That’s exactly how it felt. It had been puppy-love jealousy before. It had been alphas more interested in owning than keeping. It had been about their own selfish egos. With Tracy? Fuck, it was like something inside him grew up, like it wanted so much more than he’d ever wanted before.

And how did that happen so fast? How could he want something like that and barely know the girl?

Sam made sense, he’d known her longer. Mason didn’t know shit, yet that kiss? Fuck, it had been sweet beyond belief.

“She’s not like Nora,” Sam said. “She isn’t going to be happy about this. If you think she’s flighty with one alpha, imagine her trying to deal with two.”

“Three.”

“Like hell, Mason. Dylan is about as sweet as mud. Do you really think he has any business around an omega with Tracy’s past? She needs steady people, people who will go slow and be careful. Dylan doesn’t have that in him, and that’s not even counting our past.”

That was anger talking. Dylan was a good man. He might not be sweet, but Tracy wasn’t as fragile as she looked, either. Or, at least, she didn’t have to be. Dylan wouldn’t have stayed in her room the night before if Tracy hadn’t wanted him, which meant the omega had some tie there too.

Sometimes Mason wondered how such bonding worked. When omegas settled down with more than one alpha, the alphas ended up just as close. Was the bond more than just omega to alpha? Did the males connect in a way he didn’t understand? Something that bonded the omega not just to each alpha but the alphas to one another, too? Did it create a family unit?

It would explain the pull between her and Dylan, wouldn’t it? Maybe the bond between the alphas caught her in its wake, too.

And, really, if Mason were entirely honest, he couldn’t picture trying to cultivate something with Tracy and Sam without Dylan. He was as important to the group as any other, as vital as an organ to the trio of alphas. It meant he had to get Sam and Dylan working together and past their issues.

How, he had no idea, but hell, if Sam hadn’t thrown a punch, it meant there was a chance, and a chance was enough.

* * * *

Sam had done everything he knew how to do. He’d knocked on every door, made every call, pulled in every favor he had. None of it had gotten him any closer to a solution that didn’t include putting Tracy in danger.

Well, in more danger. The truth was that she had a barn-sized target on her back and him pussy-footing around wasn’t going to change that.

They had to go after the files Mario wanted. It was the only chance to keep her safe. If they found the files, they could turn them over and put Mario away. Hell, if they were as incriminating as people thought, it should have helped to keep her safe from anyone who thought about coming after her or Karen.

Of course, then she might decide to leave. She’d stayed because she needed Sam, but if she didn’t anymore? She wouldn’t want to put up with Sam, with Mason or Dylan.

And that was the future he’d started to see. It was true, since the other alphas had gotten back, since they’d filled the house with life again, he’d stopped seeing his future as his alone. Maybe Mason was right. Maybe it was time to let go of the old angers, but how?

What he’d done to Dylan wasn’t right, and he wouldn’t pretend otherwise. When Nora had looked at him, when she’d smiled and all he’d been able to scent was aroused omega, he’d lost his damned mind. He’d been stupid, thinking with his dick and nothing else.

He couldn’t blame Dylan for being pissed. He’d betrayed his best friend, and for what? For an omega who had ended up cheating on him and leaving him only months after destroying the friendships that had built up his life?

Knowing that wouldn’t appease Dylan’s anger, though. The other alpha would hold tight the grudge, like he always did, just more proof that he should have that chip on his shoulder he loved to cling to.

But, if they could fix it, if he and Dylan could form some new friendship in the wake of their old one, what would that mean?

Would he be any good for Tracy? Would she even want him?

Sam rested in his home office that sat off his bedroom, frustration coloring his vision. He wanted to pace, to go for a run, to do something to burn off the energy inside him that grew with the realization that he had so few choices. Unfortunately, his body wasn’t about to let him do that. It made him even antsier.

I hate being feeble, needing people.

He wanted Tracy to lean on him, to be strong for her, not to need her to fetch things for him, to not need her to do simple tasks he should be capable of completing himself.

A body appeared in the doorway. Or, it didn’t appear, but he’d been so distracted, and his meds made him so unaware, that he’d missed it until he looked up to find Dylan there.

How could the other man’s face be as familiar as his own, yet so distant?

“What do you want?”

Dylan leaned his shoulder against the doorway. “When are we going to stop hiding and fucking do something?”

“We aren’t hiding. I’ve been trying to find good options.”

“We both know there’s only one option. Find the fucking files. That’s it.”

“Do you want her in the middle of this? To send her back into her old life to face that again?”

At least Dylan had the decency to scowl. “Believe it or not, I want her safe. I just know it won’t happen as long as she has this price on her head. It’s pretty fucking simple. Find the files. Take down the asshole. That’s it, Sam, and all your thinking won’t find another way out of this.” Dylan’s gaze traced the pictures on the walls, most of them with him in them as well. “She’s tougher than you think, anyway. She outlasted that fucker, she’ll outlast the shit he’s causing her now.”

Sam wanted that confidence. Then again, Dylan hadn’t been there, he hadn’t seen her that night. He could still recall the way she’d protected Karen, but also later, once the girl had been asleep and Tracy had sat outside on the deck with Sam. She’d crumbled, like the numbness had shattered her into a million pieces.

No, he didn’t like the idea of her going back into that pain again. The last thing Sam wanted was to see her slide back, to have the horror of her past anywhere near her again.

But Dylan wasn’t wrong, either. It was the only choice, and waiting until Sam was better, waiting on some distant hope that they could figure out a better option wasn’t realistic.

“You spent the night in her room,” Sam said.

Dylan crossed his arms, but at least he didn’t gloat. “Yeah, I did.”

“Are you just trying to get back at me? A taste of my own medicine?”

Dylan let out a dismissive grunt. “You aren’t that important, Sam. I wouldn’t waste my time with some omega just to piss you off.”

“So, what are you doing?”

Finally, Dylan met Sam’s gaze. “She was crying, okay? I’m an asshole, but even I have my limits. Trust me, whatever you and Mason are doing, however stupid you two are for trying to get involved in this shit again, I’m not. I remember the last time, and I know how it turned out, and I’m not looking to repeat that. You two want to stick your dicks inside that trap, go for it, but as for me? No thanks.”

Sam listened to the anger there, the fear, and maybe he should have been pissed. He should have been annoyed that Dylan spoke about Tracy like she mattered so little. He couldn’t find it, though.

Instead, he focused on the quiver in Dylan’s voice, a spark of hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure he believed what he’d said.

“So, you aren’t interested in her?”

Dylan cast a withering glare in Sam’s direction. “I wouldn’t fuck that omega if you paid me to, Sam, and take a little advice from the one without amnesia. She’s going to cost us all way more than we’re wanting to pay. But you want to do that? You want to throw shit away, that’s your choice. As for me? I’m getting nowhere near that omega. Too damned costly.”

Even as Dylan proclaimed it, even as he said there was no chance, Sam heard what he didn’t say.

Just like when Dylan had made those sweeping statements in the past, when his stubbornness had him digging his heels in and refusing to go a single step, he usually gave in. He was stubborn, sure, but when it came to what he wanted?

Sam doubted Dylan’s stubbornness would outlast the omega for long, and where would that leave them all?

* * * *

Tracy dragged the pencil over the paper, distracted as she sketched, her mind miles from the image. Drawing allowed her hands to work and her mind to clear. She’d come up with her best ideas when drawing, during the years when she did draw. Having it back was like finding a piece of herself that had been lost along the way.

She would draw and paint landscapes, portraits, all sorts of things that followed her. Lately, a few risqué images had come to mind no matter how she chided herself. She’d pictured Sam, his charming smile and his sweet eyes and not a stitch of clothing obscuring her view. It had appeared in her mind so crisp, she couldn’t shake it. The same had happened with Mason, though that wasn’t hard to see why.

Mason was masculine perfection, and who wouldn’t want to draw those intense eyes and his long hair? She had to take some liberties with Mason’s anatomy, since she’d only seen him shirtless. Still, she couldn’t imagine he was small, and the slight curve to his length, the veins, the heavy sac, she’d spent more time than she’d ever admit adding the details to his drawing.

The most surprising, and the subject of her quick sketch that morning? Dylan.

Despite him rejecting her as he had that morning, she’d been unable to push away the sight in her mind, and in her experience, the only way to rid herself of it was to give it form on paper.

She’d roughly sketched his basic features. The stern eyebrows, the intense eyes, the thin lips perched in a happy line he never lost. She thought for a moment, if he every smiled, if he ever relaxed, he might actually be the most handsome of the three. His hair, short and wavy and messy, made him look young. It was only all the attitude that aged him.

His picture, given she was outside near Tracy, had remained innocent. She’d left him in a shirt and only drawn his face and chest. While Mason’s picture had been intense but kind, like a loyal German Shepherd, and Sam more like a Lab, Dylan’s drawing had been all hard edges. He reminded her of a junkyard dog, and it showed in the lines she’d laid down on the paper.

Why did that call to her? Because I know what I’m getting with him. At least I won’t be disappointed.

But, no, that wasn’t it. At least, it wasn’t the whole truth. So, why?

Her attraction, no matter how unwise, made sense with Sam. She knew him, and he’d protected her time and time again. Now it was even easier given his physical state. Mason? He wanted her, but he was slow. He was also unfairly handsome, like pulled right from the covers of one of those trashy books Claire sold in her shop.

But Dylan? He wasn’t suave. He wasn’t sweet or kind. Well, he had stayed with her when he hadn’t needed to. He hadn’t hurt her.

Is my bar really that low? So long as someone didn’t hit her, they were worth being infatuated with?

And why the hell was she thinking about any of them? The last thing she needed was the complications of alphas making her life even more difficult. Hadn’t Karen gone through enough with her father?

A low whistle caught her attention, and Tracy twisted to find Mason taking a seat beside her. He nodded at her picture. “So cooking ain’t your only talent?”

Tracy flipped the cover down, wanting to hide the image. Would he get jealous? Angry? It had been foolish to do something so stupid, to risk his ire. In her experience, alphas didn’t do well sharing. They preferred to tear at what they wanted until they destroyed it.

“It’s nothing,” she tried to say.

Mason reached out and caught the notepad. He pulled it from her grip with a gentle tug, one she wanted to resist but couldn’t bring herself to.

He flipped open the cover and first found the page she’d been working on. “You’ve got talent, kitten. How long have you been drawing?”

Tracy sensed no anger in his voice, no immediate danger. “All my life,” she said, but frowned. That wasn’t entirely true, was it? “I stopped for a few years.”

“Because of that asshole?”

She nodded but didn’t offer more. What more was there to say about it?

“Well, you captured his scowl pretty damned well. Even Dylan would be impressed. You made him look almost human.” Mason chuckled as he flipped pages, commenting on the mountains, on the sketch of Karen when she’d fallen asleep, of the dog that liked to show up at the group home.

She recalled what sat on one page, but he flipped to it before she had the chance to stop him. His light brown eyebrow lifted, and amusement danced in his eyes.

Tracy reached for the paper, her cheeks so hot she knew she sported a brilliant shade of red. Her pale skin always showed blushes, and it made her think about how Dylan called her Red.

“Well, well, well,” Mason said, holding the pad away from her but still angled toward him. “Ain’t this interesting?”

“It’s not what you think.”

Mason sent her a mocking grin that lacked any real sting. Instead, he seemed pleased. “Ain’t it? Seems to me you’ve been doing a little imagining in here, kitten. Is the good detective aware you’ve been making some guesses as to how he might look under his clothing?” His smile split wider at the look on her face. “So not imagination, huh? He let you study him up close? Because to get this detailed you had to be studying him for quite a while.”

“Please don’t tell him.”

Mason gave her a wink before handing back the sketchbook. “Why not? With the way he looks at you, it ain’t like he isn’t hoping for that.”

“It wouldn’t be right.” She tucked the sketchbook under her hands as if that could erase that he’d seen her nude sketch of the other alpha.

“Why not?”

She bit softly at her bottom lip. “This is just for me. I don’t want him thinking something will happen, that I want more, that I can give him more. It wouldn’t be fair to lead him on like that.”

Mason leaned back, and the sun brought out light freckles she hadn’t noticed on his face. His hair had a touch of red to it, as well, that almost glowed in the light. “It would only be leading him on if you didn’t mean it.”

“I don’t mean it. The picture was just drawing. It was esthetics.”

“Esthetics?”

“Something pretty.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see Sam’s face when he knows you think his cock is pretty.”

That conversation had her flushing worse, especially the way he said cock as though it was no big deal. He didn’t understand, wasn’t listening. Tracy caught Mason’s hand in a tight grasp, willing him to hear her. “I can’t give that to him. I don’t want him thinking I can.”

Mason glanced down at where she touched him. “You can kid yourself all you want, but, kitten, you want him. It’s clear in the drawing, and it’s clear in your scent.”

Tracy went to argue, but Mason tapped his nose. He would know, wouldn’t he? When she couldn’t outright dispute his claim, she tried yet again to explain the nuances. “Maybe I am attracted, but wanting something is different than being able to follow through.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been down that path. I’ve seen where it leads. Things seem okay at the start, and they’re fun…then they stop being fun. I can’t go through that again, and I can’t put Karen through it.”

“So, you’ll just draw dirty pictures and fantasize?”

“It’s all I can have.”

“You can have more, kitten, you just have to be brave enough to give it a try.”

“Mom!” Karen’s voice shattered the quiet moment.

Tracy yanked back, startled by her daughter’s appearance, not wanting her anywhere near the conversation.

Karen stopped just before the table and dropped a pine cone in front of them. “Look, it’s the biggest one yet.”

Tracy slid on her practiced impressed smile. “That’s amazing, sweetheart.”

“That’s a nice pine cone. You ever turn them into bird feeders?” Mason asked.

“You can do that?”

“Sure, kid. We slather that in some peanut butter and stick on birdseed.”

Karen’s smile fell, her eyebrows inching in toward one another. “Sam probably wouldn’t want me to hang them up, though.”

Pain lanced through Tracy’s chest at the sound of her daughter’s worries. Richard had never wanted them to hang anything, to put childish things anywhere in their home. No drawing on the sidewalks outside, no pictures on the fridge and certainly no homemade bird feeders. He’d had an image to uphold, after all.

Mason didn’t crumble at all, though his eyes darkened a hair. “Of course he would, kid. Any damn place you wanted them, and I’ll make sure we’ve got the hooks. Sound good?”

Excitement filled Karen’s face, something Tracy hadn’t seen nearly enough of. Karen gathered the pine cone up and rushed inside.

Tracy went to thank Mason, though she doubted she had words to accurately explain what that exchange had meant to both.

Before she could, Mason turned a sidelong look on her and smiled. “You see, kitten, even though things have been one way before, doesn’t mean they always have to be that way. They can change, if you want them to.” He didn’t sit around to further explain his little gem of advice, instead leaving her to ponder it on her own.

Things changed. But did they ever? Could she trust them to?

While she didn’t know the answer, she knew she wanted to believe it.

That’s a start.