Game of Destiny by Dripping Creativity novel Chapter 5

Chapter S

There was still that familiar dull ache nestled deep in the pit of my stomach, but strangely, the sharp sting it once had seemed to have dulled. Perhaps I had simply grown accustomed to the discomfort over time. Whatever the reason, it no longer consumed me as it had in the early days. Instead, it served as a quiet reminder that I was alive—a survivor, a fighter. I had painstakingly pieced together my life from the ground up, and despite having little, I took pride in what I had managed to build.

“Have you noticed the handsome guy who just sat at your table?” CeCe asked, her voice cutting through the lunchtime bustle. The diner was packed, a mix of locals and tourists filling every corner. I cast a quick glance toward the only vacant table in my section—the one she must be talking about. My body stiffened when I saw him. He was unmistakably a werewolf; my instincts screamed it. And to make matters worse, he was an Alpha. My mouth suddenly went dry, and my legs felt like they’d turned to stone.

“CeCe, could you please take that table for me? I’ll cover two or three of yours in exchange. I’ll even swap you the one with the family of four kids,” I said, my voice betraying the desperation I felt inside.

“Are you sure, Amie? Have you seen him? Total yum,” she teased with a grin.

“All yours,” I replied quickly. She wasn’t wrong. The Alpha looked exactly like one—broad-shouldered, strong, and radiating confidence. His blond hair seemed to have a mind of its own, tousled in a playful way, and his deep blue eyes were captivating. But Alphas were trouble, especially for someone like me. He was the first wolf I’d encountered since leaving my pack, and I had no desire to attract unnecessary attention. I knew he already sensed what I was. If I could pick him out in a room full of humans, then with his fully developed Alpha senses, he would have no trouble noticing me.

CeCe approached him to take his order. I watched as she flirted subtly, and he returned her smile with polite charm. I did my best to ignore him, to keep my distance, even though he sat right in my section. It was tough, but I think I managed. When he finally paid and left, a wave of relief washed over me—he hadn’t tried to speak to me.

“You missed out on a good one. Handsome, nice without being creepy, and a generous tipper,” CeCe said with a wink. “Want me to split the tip with you?” she offered.

I shook my head. He had definitely earned it, and although the family with four kids hadn’t left a huge tip, they weren’t stingy either. I was more than willing to give up the tip just to avoid any interaction with him. For the rest of the day, I stayed on edge, jumpy, constantly scanning the diner to make sure the mysterious Alpha wasn’t lurking nearby.

“Are you okay, dear?” Mrs. Jones asked gently as I prepared to leave.

“I’m fine, but thank you for asking,” I replied, forcing a smile.

“You seem a little… I don’t know,” she hesitated.

“Skittish,” Rich chimed in from the kitchen.

“Yes, that’s the word,” she agreed with a knowing look.

“I’m fine, just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I was going to stay home and take a nap. That should help,” I lied smoothly.

“Oh, poor dear. You do that. Want me to send Dara over with some dinner?” Mrs. Jones offered kindly. She truly was a wonderful woman.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Jones. I appreciate it, but I was looking forward to the dinner I planned to make,” I said, feeling the weight of so many little lies in one day. If I kept this up, I’d end up with a stomach ache for sure.

“I have the lunch shift, so I’ll be back before dark,” I told her as I left, clutching my to-go cup of coffee.

“Have a nice day, dear. And maybe say yes if Jessie asks you out again,” she called after me before the door closed. Jessie was the town’s most eligible bachelor—not that it meant much here. He’d been the high school football star, was good looking, hardworking, owned a profitable farm, and was generally a decent guy. Jessie had tried to woo me since I arrived four years ago, but unlike the local women, I always turned him down. Not just once, but every single time. It had become a running joke in town, with people betting on when I’d finally give in. The thing about Jessie was that he never took offense at my refusals. He joked about it as much as anyone else, and over time, we’d become good friends.

Walking into the diner, I was greeted by Rich, the cook, and Mrs. Jones. I carefully finished the last sip of coffee, mindful not to spill a drop on my mint-green uniform.

“CeCe’s marrying the Ketchups. Could you start with the napkins?” Mrs. Jones asked.

“Sure thing,” I replied as I headed to the front of the diner to join my other friend. Over the years, I’d made only two real friends in this town, but that was two more than I’d expected. CeCe, a year older than me, was always upbeat—more so than I’d ever been. Normally, only one waitress was needed at a time, but tourist season meant two were necessary. It also meant bringing in a third, temporary waitress, since CeCe and I couldn’t cover all shifts. This year, that unfortunate role fell to Dara. Dara wasn’t a bad kid—just clumsy, unfocused, and often lost in her own thoughts rather than the real world. To be honest, she usually caused more work than she helped with. But Mrs. Jones believed Dara needed to get out of the house and into the world. She had a habit of rescuing people, much like some older women rescued stray cats. I couldn’t argue, as Mrs. Jones had rescued me once. She’d done the same for CeCe, albeit in a different way. We were both fiercely loyal to her, so we didn’t complain about having Dara around.

“I’m so happy to see you,” CeCe said as I approached her. We hugged briefly before diving into work.

“How was your trip?” she asked as we settled in.

“It was fine,” I answered. Yesterday had been my day off, and I’d told everyone I was going sightseeing and relaxing. The truth was, I’d driven as far away as possible while still making it back in time for my shift. My mother’s birthday was coming up in a few days, so I sent her a postcard. Usually, I just wrote that I was doing well and hoped she had a good birthday. I did the same for my father and brother’s birthdays, as well as the end of the lunar cycle—a kind of combined Christmas and New Year for werewolves. I sent these postcards from remote towns so the postage couldn’t be traced back to where I lived. I wasn’t sure if sending four postcards every year was kind or cruel. I just wanted them to know I was okay, so they wouldn’t worry. And I was okay. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was manageable. The dull ache still lingered in the pit of my stomach, but it no longer hurt as much as it once had.