Page 58 of Omega's Faith

"He was horrible first. At our wedding, remember?"

"Don’t be such a child." I say quietly. " Besides, I mean it. About going home. If you won't even try—"

"What do you want me to try, Jonah? To pretend I want kids?"

"I want you to try being my husband. Just... try. That's all."

He laughs, but it's bitter. "I am trying. I moved out here so we wouldn't kill each other. That's me trying."

"That's you running. The frustration boils over. "Fine. You know what? You win. I'm going home."

I turn to leave, but his hand catches my wrist. The touch burns through me, making my knees weak.

"Don't," he says, and for once there's no sarcasm, no armor. "Don't go."

"Why?" I challenge. "Give me one good reason to stay."

He pulls me closer, and I can smell the whiskey on his breath, the underlying alpha scent that makes me crazy. "Because despite everything, despite being completely wrong for each other, we're married. And maybe that should mean something. Even to fucked-up people like us."

"You just said—"

"I know what I said. I'm drunk and I'm an asshole. But I'm also right—we are going to end up hating each other if we keep going. The question is whether that matters as much as..." He gestures between us, at the electric current that never stops humming.

"Than chemistry?"

"Yeah."

He's right.

"So what do we do?" I ask.

He releases my wrist, steps back. "I don't know. But threatening each other probably isn't the answer."

"You threatened first. By moving out."

"You threatened back. By bringing the pastor."

We're at an impasse, standing in his perfect summer house with the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows and nothing resolved.

"Well then, little church mouse," he says finally, the armor sliding back into place. "You can fuck off home if you want. You too, Padre—oh wait, he already left."

"You're impossible," I tell him.

"Yeah, well, you married me."

I look at him for a long moment—messy hair, glazed eyes and I realise that this is going to be my life. We’ll spend it fucking and fighting. And the fighting will be every day. Heats aren’t enough to maintain a marriage. They never were. And if I’m not pregnant now, if I stay will be soon. I’ll be bringing children into a marriage where their parents hate each other.

Mom was right about one thing. God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. And sometimes you get things you don’t expect and didn’t want. That’s just how the world works.

Maybe I was never meant to have children or an alpha. I have nieces and nephews whom I love dearly and I’m not going to help raise them if I stay here.

"You're right. I did marry you." My voice sounds strange, calm. "That was my mistake."

Something shifts in his expression, but I'm already walking toward the door.

"Jonah—"

"No." I don't turn around. "You win. Enjoy your summer house."