Rooming With My Ex-Mate's Hockey Star Brother

TREY

Comforting people has never been my strong suit. Women especially.

I know the basics. Flowers. Money. New purse. If things are really bad, make sure the purse is really expensive. I didn’t make the rules, but from what I’ve seen, they work.

Sadie, though, looks like she’d beat me unconscious with the purse before I got around to telling her what it cost. So that’s out.

I glance at her again as I merge onto the highway. She’s still in the same position since we left the hospital— cheek against the window, arms folded loosely over herself.

She looks miserable.

[Then do something about it,] Trex says. [You’ve been staring at her for ten minutes like your face is going to fix her.]

He’s gotten mouthier whenever she’s involved, and I’m starting to find it irritating. Doesn’t help that he’s not wrong. Staring at her isn’t doing either of us any good.

I clear my throat. ”You still stuck on what Ngozi said? Look, we’ll figure it out, Quiz Bowl. Don’t start acting like your life’s over.”

Her gaze stay on the traffic outside, but her mouth tightens. That’s the only response I get.

I try again. ”I can imagine how you feel and—”

”Can you?”

She turns toward me looking pissed enough to make Trex reconsider all his brilliant advice.

”Can you?” she repeats. ”Have you ever actually had a hard life? Like, ever? Do you know what it feels like to scrub somebody else’s floors, get mocked, get treated like you’re less than everyone around you because of what you are? You’ve been the heir of Goldenmoon since the day you were born. People probably move out of your way when you walk into a room. So no, Trey, I don’t think you can imagine how I feel.”

Well, she’s furious now.

Really furious, judging by the way her nostrils flare and how hard she’s gripping her own sleeve. Good. Furious I can work with. Also means I was right about the purse. If I’d bought her one ten minutes ago, it would probably be lodged in my skull by now.

”You’re right.” I ease off the accelerator as traffic bunches up ahead. ”I can’t imagine how you feel. So tell me. Say whatever’s in your head instead of sitting there like somebody unplugged you.”

The little spark of anger leaves her, replaced by this small, startled look like caring is somehow outside my skill set. That feels unfair. I’m blunt, not dead.

She sighs, turns back toward the window, and settles into the same position I worked so hard to get her out of.

[Worked hard?] Trex scoffs. [You pissed her off like an emotionally constipated asshole.]

I ignore him.

”The orphanage I stayed in was called Helena’s Children’s Home,” Sadie starts, surprising me enough that I keep my mouth shut. ”I found out after I left that it had one of the best adoption rates in Boston. Good education, good care, all that stuff people apparently looked for.”

Her finger moves through the faint fog on the glass.

”That wasn’t really the case for me. Everyone in my batch got adopted. Then the kids who came after us started getting adopted too. I watched that happen for years until eventually...” She blows against the glass again and draws a small heart into the fog. ”I was the oldest.”

I picture a younger her watching kid after kid leave with families while she stays behind, and my chest pulls tight.

”I aged out at sixteen. By then, the matron pretty much saw me like an extra mouth she was stuck feeding. I was sick a lot growing up, really weak, so I couldn’t play rough with the other kids. And whenever I cried too much or got sick at an inconvenient time, they’d lock me away until I stopped being a problem.”

My jaw grinds. ”Lock you where?”

”Dark rooms. Sometimes for a few hours. Sometimes longer.” She shrugs. ”I was kind of a pest to them.”

A pest? She was a fucking kid.

”And then I left and immediately made another excellent life choice.” A humorless scoff slips out of her. ”I had nowhere to live, so I took a job at a Lycan estate in Silvercrest. Food, somewhere to sleep, actual money. Sixteen-year-old me thought I’d hit the jackpot.”

The heart she drew starts disappearing, and she traces over one side of it.

”I stayed for a year.” Her voice drops. ”I still have scars on my back from it.”

My attention damn near leaves the road.

Her skin’s soft. Unmarked, as far as I’ve seen. The idea that there’s scars under that shirt from someone putting their hands on her — Trex goes off in my head, rumbling with anger.

I knew she worked the Kincaid estate. Had a rough idea what that probably meant but not this specific. Not marks.

”They treated me worse than an animal because I was an Omega. And the stupid part is, I didn’t even think the way they treated me was that strange.” Her voice starts giving out now. ”Not the scars. I knew that wasn’t normal. But being beneath everybody? Being treated like I mattered less?” She swallows. ”I thought that was just what happened when you were at the bottom.”

I stay quiet. Feels like the only decent thing I can manage right now. I reach into the compartment, grab a few tissues, and hold them out. She takes them slowly.

”Thanks,” she whispers, turning away again.

”That’s why you can’t imagine it,” she says, quieter now. ”What it feels like to find out my wolf might’ve been suppressed since I was a baby.”

”I’m still struggling to believe it’s true.” She presses the tissue beneath one eye, then the other. ”Because if I believe it, then I have to accept all of that happened because somebody made me this way. That maybe I wasn’t supposed to be at the bottom in the first place. And I don’t know if I can deal with that yet. It almost feels easier to think Dr. Ngozi is wrong. At least then...” She draws in a shaky breath. ”At least then I don’t have to think about everything people got away with doing to me. About how long I stayed at the bottom because I thought that was just where I belonged.”

I let that sit between us for a while.

There’s probably something smarter I could say, but every version I come up with sounds like the kind of crap people say when they’re trying too hard to be comforting. I’d rather sound cliché than full of shit.

”Can I say something really cliché?”