MATT & FLETCHER TIDBIT

MATT POV

I can’t believe Charity shot me at point blank range with a fucking paintball gun. Fucking Fletcher always sticking his business where it doesn’t belong. Charity and I were doing just fine until his ugly rogue face came along.

‘Debatable,’ Zeke retorts dryly, his unneeded opinions causing more turmoil than they’re worth.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I ask, getting real tired of his shit. ‘I thought you hated the bastard too?’

‘The fucker is annoying, but…’ Zeke trails off, making me stop walking, completely confused by his wishy-washy attitude.

‘But what?’ I demand, trying to keep my hand from flying around in frustration. The humans in the area staring at me with concerned looks as I carry my case absentmindedly through the parking lot. ‘I swear to the Goddess if you don’t answer me. But WHAT?’

‘We didn’t exactly have Charity before, did we?’ he asks, leaving me in shock that he is really going to diminish what happened during her forced shift. Zeke is acting like none of it matters.

‘That’s not what I am saying,’ he sighs, as conflicted as I am. ‘It’s just….she likes him…’ he whimpers, admitting the one thing neither of us wants to admit.

‘We don’t know that,’ I argue, but I remained unconvinced by my words. I’ve seen the subtle looks she gives the stupid rogue when she thinks I am not looking. In fact, the only person who can make her blush as easily as me is him and it’s really fucking irritating. Every time he smirks at her, I want to cut the stupid thing off his face.

‘I doubt that would make Charity happy,’ Zeke reminds me, but at this moment, seeing her happiness is difficult. Whenever Fletcher’s around, I am too focused on introducing his face to my fist.

‘Where are we going?’ he asks, distracting me from my daydream of pulverizing that pretentious interloping asshat into nothing. Goddess, that guy really burns my biscuits. I have been walking around aimlessly holding this paintball case like an idiot.

‘What do you think Fletcher picked out for us?’ Zeke asks us, more curious than I am about what’s inside.

‘Probably some toy gun, the kind where the flag pops out of at the end,’ I say dryly, not really wanting to deal with his childish antics.

‘The kind that has a dumb saying?’ he questions, unusually chatty, as we make the long way back to the cars, where the others are supposed to meet us.

‘Probably,’ I respond, with an eye roll, ‘something like ‘Second Best’, ‘dickface’, or equally stupid.’

‘You won’t know until you find out,’ Zeke reminds me, being unusually stubborn, and it’s really sending me over my tolerance limit for the day. Inhaling deeply, I move to the side of the walkway before placing the case on the ground.

Kneeling in front of it, I unzip it slowly, uninterested in what lay within, knowing it’s nothing more than a gag. An elaborate prank to make me look brainless.

Flipping the lid open, I find a beautiful, automatic paintball gun in a slate gray. On the end, ‘Shortcake’ is engraved with a black filling to make it stand out. Son of a bitch! Slamming the lid closed, and zipping it shut, I hurry off toward the cars.

Five minutes later, I approach Fletcher’s car with him leaning against it, his hands shoved inside his pockets. “Let me guess, yours says ‘Fireball’?” I ask, slightly confused by his willingness to lean into our …..love-triangle? Fuck, is that what this is? What’s his end game?

My question tears him away from his contemplative silence, his serious face replaced with a smirk, confirming my suspicions. Meeting my eye, an internal struggle happening within. He wants to confess something. He’s just unsure if he should.

Striding forward, on the verge of caving, he stops short when a movement behind me catches his attention. Turning to find it, I see Charity running from the course, fear lightly lingering against her aura. Sensing even the faintest hint of distress, as Zeke rushes to the forefront of my mind, itching for a fight.

Fletcher has the same concerns as we rush toward Charity. A slight giggle is on her pink lips while her cheeks flush with fear and excitement. Reaching her together, we each grab a hand, ignoring the other’s existence. Focusing all of our attention on her, looking her over for any serious injury.

“What happened?” Fletcher and I demand together.

“I pissed Xander off, and he got all Alpha scary,” she explains, but I don’t miss the slight flinch, setting Zeke on edge, ready to tear him to pieces.

My growl unifies with Fletcher’s, him turning to me, his eyes as pitch black as my own. “You go high?” He asks, his voice animalistic and barely recognizable. “I go low?”

“Deal,” I nod, dropping Charity’s hand, striding past her with my mortal enemy. Ready to tear apart a rogue Alpha and then some. Realizing what we are about to do, the Gamma of Silver Run places herself in front of us. Her hand reaches out, the most subtle hum emitting from the contact.

“Guys, please stop?” She asks, using that one voice she knows always makes me cave. It always has, ever since we were kids. She doesn’t use it often, if ever, but when she does, I fold like a deck of cards. I could never figure it out, and still can’t. Apparently, those magical superpowers work on Fletcher too, as he stops with her other hand, finding its home against the man’s chest.

“I don’t give a damn if he is an Alpha,” I growl, stepping forward, not wanting to discuss this further. “He needs to learn a fucking lesson.”

“Agreed,” Fletcher chimes, trying to sneak around her with no luck.

“Seriously,” Charity says with a sigh, “Xander gave me more than enough chances to claim victory without having to shoot in Nora’s direction. I didn’t take it when I should have. I was too focused on winning to listen to him. It’s my fault.”

A doubt nags me at her words, but l stay silent without knowing what that is. Keeping her hands on both chests, she keeps us in place until she is sure we won’t leave again. Removing her hands and stepping away, while a blush crawls up her face as her eyes travel between the Beta and I.

Looking over, the moment of respect and teamwork quickly dashing as my usual disdain for the man returns.

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Emma Taylor