Washing was quick and efficient until I got to my stump. Even after five years, it took some getting used to, seeing the empty space where a leg once stretched out. Most days, the pain wasn’t so bad, but there were times when I swore I could still feel the crushing weight of the car as it pinned me, refusing to let go. The mangled limb I’d escaped with had been a lost cause, leaving me with an above-the-knee amputation. The scars had healed. At least the ones on the outside had. The scars on the inside still bled deep at times.
Sitting on the bed after my shower, I rooted around for the lotion I kept in the side table drawer. With a quiet snick, the cap flipped, letting me pour the lotion into my palm. Though there was no perfume or other masking elements, there was a mildly detectable scent to the lotion. I’ve gotten used to it over the years. The liquid felt good as it seeped into my skin. Moisturizer wasn’t something I ever thought about before the amputation. Now, it was second nature. Dry, cracked skin was a hazard when wearing a prosthesis. Something I’d learned the hard way.
I’d just laid down, after finishing my nightly routine, when the music sounded. It took me a moment to place the song. The styling reminded me of PMJ but I hadn’t heard this particular singer before. Thinking it must be new, I rolled over to listen as a powerful masculine voice filled my head. Whoever the singer was, he was good. The last thing I thought as my eyes closed was I had survived another day as the music lulled me to sleep.
Chapter Two
Max
The last box was finally unpacked. It had only taken me six months to get settled in. Admittedly, I didn’t have much to start with. A few heavy pieces of furniture my mom had gotten for my first apartment. I’d managed to lug them from one apartment to the next, swearing each time that I was going to throw the pieces out and buy all new stuff that didn’t weigh a ton. That never happened. Now, I was settling into my forever home or at least a home I didn’t plan to move out of for the foreseeable future. This house was mine or at least, mine and the bank’s.
It was unusual for an omega to buy a house, especially at my age. Some people thought I was crazy for buying a home already. Not that twenty-five was young. I guess it was younger than most omegas who ended up buying a house on their own. It was hard to explain why I wasn’t waiting for some alpha to sweep me off my feet. It wasn’t that I didn’t want an alpha. I did. I had dreams of settling down, having a family of my own. I wanted that very much. But I wasn’t waiting to accomplish my goals for some nebulous alpha to show up. I lived my life now, on my terms. When I met the alpha for me I was sure he’d like my take-charge attitude, loving me despite the fact I didn’t expect him to take care of me.
I wasn’t some simpering omega who couldn’t take control of his own life. Times were changing. Gone were the days when omegas were held back, treated like second-class citizens who had no rights. Sure I’d come up against some antiquated alphas who still held on to their old-school ideals, but they were a dying breed. Most alphas today were more laid back, able to see relationships with omegas as something more than what it used to be in my grandparents’ day.
Of course, things had always been a little more progressive in Sugar Beach. It was one of the reasons why the town had been established back in the day when Old Man Sugar first discovered the area over a hundred years ago. At least that’s what I’d been told by the real estate agent when they were trying to sell me on a place. Since I worked from home, I could live anywhere. When I’d decided to move to Florida, something about this area called to me. I’d come down here with some friends on vacation and knew instantly this was where I needed to be.
I’d looked at a lot of houses, but none of them fit until I’d seen this one. It was on a nice lot in a circle with a large plot of land in the back. The neighbor on the left of me was a nice younger couple with two small kids. I’d seen them riding their bikes with the kids around the circle the day I’d looked at the house. We’d chatted, and they’d given me the scoop on all the other neighbors, giving me a feel for the whole neighborhood. It was welcoming in a way I couldn’t explain. Like I was finally where I was meant to be.
So far, I’d met everyone except the neighbor on my right. I guessed he didn’t get out much because most of the neighbors said they rarely saw him. He was an older widower with no children that anyone knew of, most of the neighbors saying he’d already lived there when they’d purchased their homes. From the ramp built into the front of the house, I guessed the man might have mobility issues. No one I talked to seemed concerned so I
