Page 29

SKYE

The library was state of the art, just like the hospital. Port Haven had pride in its community and civil responsibilities. It smelled like books, of course, but that was all it really smelled like. Probably it had some expensive air filtration system to neutralize scents. Smart.

I checked my phone and looked again at the picture of the flier I had snapped, and found the conference room. People, omegas, chit-chatted or selected baked goods from a table. Timidly I stepped in, pulling my cardigan tight around myself, not caring if I stretched it out of shape.

“Welcome,” said a male omega with glasses and over-grown black hair. He smelled like almonds. “Help yourself to some snacks. We have tea, coffee, juice.”

“Thank you.” I walked to the table and made myself a simple peppermint tea. Minutes later we all took our seats in the circle of plastic chairs.

“Everyone close in,” said the almond omega. They scooted their chairs in and I did the same, until everyone’s knees were brushing up against their neighbour’s. “Touch is an essential part of being an omega,” he said. “Let’s all take a deep breath.”

The circle did as instructed. I smelled cookies, and coffee, and muffins and tea. It was comforting. I exhaled.

“My name is Killian,” said the almond omega. “If we’re ready, who would like to go first?”

One by one the omegas shared their stories.

An older male omega still hadn’t found a pack, or a scent match, a young girl was being pressured by her mother to auction her first heat, another was dating a beta but was terrified that she’d one day meet her scent match, a fourth fell into debt on some bad bets during the Dinghy Races last year, one’s omega sister was missing without a trace.

When the circle came around to me, I took a deep breath. “My name is Skye… And–”

My voice quivered and my eyes burned. Tears pooled, then slipped down my cheeks. I sobbed, I couldn’t help it, and I couldn’t stop. The omegas next to me both rubbed my back as I just let myself cry. The one with the missing sister tore some tissues from the box and handed them to me.

“I’m sorry,” I whimpered, fighting for self-control. “I’m sorry. I…”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she said.

“This is a safe place,” said the one dating the beta. “We won’t judge you.”

Someone draped a soft blanket over my shoulders and I wrapped it around myself. It was warm and comforting. It calmed me. I glanced up and saw it was Killian who brought the blanket.

“A few months back,” I cleared my throat and dabbed at my nose with the tissue. “I had a heart transplant. I…” I twisted the edge of the blanket up in my hands, wringing it like a rag. “I haven’t really cried about it yet I guess.”

I hadn’t mourned myself, my future. Nor had I mourned the omega who had given me her heart, or my relationship with Severen.

I hadn’t put to rest what I had imagined for myself in my adjustment to my new reality, or the complicated feelings about Rowan that were growing within me.

It was all so much. Maybe too much. I needed that cry.

“It’s just a hard adjustment,” I said. “New medications. New scars. New rules and routines.”

“How are your alphas handling it?” asked the omega in debt. “Are they taking care of you?”

“They are. Good care of me. It’s just not what any of us signed up for, you know?”

“It never is,” Killian said.

“Thank you,” I took another deep breath. “I feel better now.”

The meeting concluded soon after that, and I eased into the background, retreating to the bathroom.

I just wanted to wash my face and flee. The catharsis was nice and while it still stung, it also gave me a new perspective.

I had to figure things out, how to organize my new reality, and that included where, exactly, Rowan fit within it.