over,” he adds, and it’s like he just poured ice water all over my relief but then set it on fire just to fuck with me.
I open my mouth to yell at him, but he cuts me off.
“Sinclair, my name is Rook Bowen.”
My mind hits the brakes so hard that a screech and the smell of burning rubber fills my head and nose. I fucked my future mate’s brother? Well, shit. Now Alpha Bowen is going to kill us both.
Rook narrows his turquoise eyes at the expression on my face. “Why do I still feel like you’re not getting it?”
“Oh, I get it. Your psycho brother is going to take us both out. What the hell were you thinking?” I snap.
“What?” Rook replies, and I feel like my mind is going to explode. I’m getting really fucking tired of feeling confused. He shakes his head at me. “No, Sinclair. I am Alpha Bowen.”
I blink at him.
He...I’m...what?
My mind stutters to a stop. Just puts on the E-brake and leaves me there to idle.
I stare at him. He stares at me. I can’t process it. It’s like my brain-computer crashed. I just see that white unfinished circle that indicates that things are loading, only nothing ever does. I need to be rebooted or something.
“Sinclair?”
I shake my head and run my fingers through my hair—my hair that’s currently blinking from color to color, like even my strands are confused as fuck and don’t know what to do. I realize numbly that my hands are trembling.
I shake my head and drop my hand. “You...you can’t be Alpha Bowen. He’s an evil, conniving prick who goes around claiming lounges because he’s a power-hungry douche.”
Rook grimaces. “People say all kinds of shit about me. You’ll have to make up your mind about all of that. But I am Alpha Bowen,” he repeats, his eyes wary even though his tone is firm, like he wants to make sure there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s telling the truth.
Suddenly, the stop sign that my brain’s been stuck at implodes. Everything rushes up as the shocking realization of what he’s telling me comes flooding through me like a dam bursting.
A choked, strangled noise bursts out of my throat that sounds like a mortifying sob-hiccup.
Rook and I both freeze. We stare at each other with wide shocked eyes. His are asking, Did that ungodly noise just come from you? While mine are saying, I don’t want to talk about it.
No, Sinclair! Just no. Not happening. I will not cry. I will rage and I will rant, but I will not weep. I have a god-awful ugly cry, and I am not letting it out.
Despite my inner knock it off talk to myself, my eyes grow blurry. I try not to blink so that nothing spills over. I need to get mad. Not sad. I need to fucking tear into him. I need to—
Hiccup!
Fuck.
Rook’s eyes widen as he sees my eyes completely overrun with tears. “Shit,” he curses. “Don’t cry, Sinclair. Please don’t cry.”
Why is it that when someone tells you not to cry, it just makes you cry harder?
There’s just no containing it now. As if Rook spoke the magic words to release the kraken—which is what I like to call my inner sobbing mess—I start to uncontrollably bawl. My face scrunches up like a used tissue, saltwater runs down my face like a leaky aquarium, and machine gun hiccups fire from my throat.
“You—hiccup—liar!” I cry, painful lumps getting stuck in my chest as bubbles of sobs wrench out of me.
Rook looks at me in terror, like he has no idea how to fix this. “Fuck. No, no, no, no, no,” he coos and soothes as he pulls me toward a dark gray sectional. He sits and pulls me onto his lap. My hot mess, sniveling self just goes with it because I’m too overwhelmed to function.
“Why are you crying?” he asks softly and that just makes me cry even harder.
“I’m so relieved and...so pissed. This is what you get!” I tell him, gesturing to my face and the red splotchy swollen mess that I know it’s turning into. “I didn’t know how I was going to do this, but it’s you…” I add, trailing off.
He wraps his arms around me, and my bawling is so out of control that I don’t fight it as he pulls my cheek to his chest to help comfort me. My body molds against his warmth and strength as he holds me. His