THE REJECTED ALPHA

5. A BAD DRUNKEN DECISION

CHAPTER FIVE

IAN’S POV

A BAD DRUNKEN DECISION

By the time the clock strikes nine-thirty, I’m already tipsy, and I have nothing but the misery of my own wolf for company. These days, he barely speaks to me. He has retreated so far into the back of my mind that sometimes I wonder if he’s even there anymore, but then I feel him stirring beneath the surface, wallowing in the same grief that possesses me. Whatever connection we once had feels strained, frayed at the edges by everything I’ve been trying-and failing-to deal with. He doesn’t need to tell me what he’s thinking. I already know.

Faith.

It’s always Faith; our mate.

Maybe it’s the alcohol making my thoughts slippery, or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve spent the last hour lying across my bed and watching i********: stories from Amber’s party, but somewhere between the third story of people dancing in her living room and the fourth of some guy from the football team laughing with a group of guys from school, something forbidden slips into my mind. Something so f*****g toxic that sober me would have shut it down before it had the chance to fully form.

Maybe I should go. Maybe Faith wants me there. Perhaps she misses me even just a little, The thought sits in my head, dangerous and stupid, but once it takes root, I can’t seem to pull it out. I stare at my phone again, at her name sitting there in my messages.

Are you going to Amber’s tonight?

It was a simple question. She’d sent it earlier, right between the first sip and the second. It probably meant absolutely nothing. But I’m drunk enough to turn nothing into everything. Maybe she noticed I wasn’t myself yesterday; that I haven’t been, since the s**t with my father went down a couple of months ago. Maybe she wanted to know if I would be there because she wanted to see me. Maybe, just maybe, there is a part of her that misses whatever we were before Lucian came along and destroyed any chance of me and her becoming something.

I know how pathetic that sounds. But knowing doesn't make the thought disappear. If anything, it makes me want to chase it. I toss my phone onto the mattress and stare at the ceiling. I shouldn't go.

I know I shouldn't.

I should stay right here until I sober up. Better yet, I should find something to knock me unconscious and spare myself the humiliation of walking into a party where the girl I love is probably kissing someone else. But then I think about Faith asking whether I'm coming, and that tiny, stupid hope crawls back in.

Maybe she wants me there.

Fuck.

I need to stop thinking. I need to get out of my own head even just for a minute. I need something to keep from thinking about the party and about her. I stumble downstairs. My mother is in the kitchen, knee-deep in a takeaway box of barbecue from the grill we own, one hand holding a greasy rib while the other scrolls through something on her phone. Sauce stains the corner of her lips. I'm almost surprised to find her sober.

Then my gaze shifts to the empty wine bottle sitting beside her elbow.

Never mind. Apparently, tonight is not the night to pick a fight with my mother. Not that I need an excuse. I stand there for a moment, considering it anyway. Maybe if I start something, she'll piss me off enough that I won't want to leave.

Maybe she'll take my phone, ground me. Perhaps she’ll do literally anything that gives me a reason to stay home. But she doesn't even notice me. I turn around and head back upstairs. I strip out of my clothes, climb into the shower, and stand beneath the hot water until the steam fills the bathroom and my thoughts become nothing more than a hazy mess.

I tell myself I'm going to sleep. That I’m staying home. I tell myself a lot of things under the embrace of the water cascading on the layers of my skin. The next thing I know, I'm standing outside my bedroom with my jacket on, calling a cab, not trusting myself to drive

Great plan, Ian. Really f*****g brilliant.

By the time the cab pulls up outside Amber's house, the party is in full swing. Music pulses through the walls, colored lights flicker against the windows, and there are already cars lined along both sides of the street.

Her parents are obviously not home. I climb out of the cab and make my way toward the front door. Amber is standing there greeting people like she was born for this exact moment. And, honestly, she looks incredible. Her hair is perfectly styled, her makeup is flawless, and she's wearing a fitted dress that makes her look like she just walked off a runway. A glittering HAPPY 18TH BIRTHDAY sash crosses her body, and a ridiculous little princess crown sits on top of her head. The moment she spots me, the corner of her mouth lifts.

"Well, color me corrected." She glances pointedly at the watch on her wrist, "You weren't here at six." She pauses dramatically, "Ten forty-six. That's a new one for Mr. Punctual."

I manage something that resembles a smile, "Happy birthday, Amber."

I genuinely mean it. I'm happy for her. I just can't seem to convince my face to show it. Which probably says a lot more about the state I'm in than I realize. Amber doesn't seem to care. She throws her arms around me, squeezing me in a hug before pulling back and looking me over.

"Someone is ahead of the party."

"I'm fine." I say, trying to convince me more than her.

"You look like you've been drinking."

"I haven't." The lie comes out far too quickly. Amber raises an eyebrow. Before she can say anything, a familiar voice comes from behind me.

"Hey, leave the hug to some of us. Don't hog it."

I turn and it’s Roman. Faith's twin falls into step beside me, wearing a grin and almost tempted to look behind, perhaps see if I can spot Faith or something.

"Hey, Ian."

"Hey." I shove my hands into my jacket pockets, "I'm just going to get myself a drink."

Roman looks like he wants to say something, but Amber immediately pulls him into another conversation, and I take the opportunity to disappear inside. The moment I cross the threshold, the noise hits me. Music pounds through the speakers. People are everywhere; on the couches, around the kitchen island and some even clustered along the staircase. Familiar faces blur together beneath the shifting lights.

I recognize almost everyone and they recognize me too. Most barely pay attention to my presence. A few glance in my direction, their expressions changing for half a second before they quickly look away. And the ones who do keep looking?

They give me that look. That f*****g look.

Pity.

I should be used to it by now. Maybe I’m. But it doesn’t make me hate it any less. I push deeper into the house, refusing to look around for Faith. At least, that's what I tell myself. Because the truth is, I'm already searching for her. And right in the think of the alcohol running through my system, beneath the jealousy and the grief and every terrible decision that brought me here tonight, my wolf lifts his head for the first time in days.

He knows exactly who I'm looking for.