Page 72 of Omega's Faith

He smiles at the nickname, then disappears inside.

I sit in the back of the car for a long moment, skin still humming from almost-touches, lips still tingling from the almost-kiss.

Amicable. We're going to be amicable.

That feels like progress.

18. Jonah

I wake to sunlight streaming through my childhood curtains and the pleasant ache of well-used muscles. My calves burn when I stretch, my thighs protest when I shift. I’m not used to that kind of exercise. It’s the evidence of hours spent dancing, trying to keep up with Alex's easy rhythm on the nightclub floor.

God, the dancing.

I finally understand why he loves it. The way the music gets into your bloodstream, how your body finds the beat before your mind catches up. The freedom of it. No one watching to judge, no one caring if you're doing it right, just movement and sound and the heat of bodies in motion. For those hours, I wasn't Jonah Wells from the Faith Heritage Fellowship. I wasn't the omega who'd left his alpha. I was just... me.

And Alex. The way he'd moved, completely uninhibited, then caught my hand to spin me through the crowd. His eyes bright with pure joy, not the glazed look I'd expected from alcohol. He'd kept his promise. He was stone cold sober, just like he said.

And we'd talked properly at Diana's. Real conversation, not the arguing that we usually fell into.

We'd carefully avoided the subject of children, like dancers avoiding a hole in the floor. Both of us knew it was there, both of us moved around it, neither willing to risk the fall.

But that’s okay. It was a start.

My stomach churns slightly—the same low-grade nausea that's been plaguing me for days. I’ve got three pregnancy testsin the bottom of my dresser. The day after tomorrow is the earliest I can check.

The nausea might be nothing. It might be too early for that too. It might just be exhaustion--my immune system finally catching up with me after running on empty for so long.

I push the thought away and check the time on my alarm clock: 11:47 AM.

I never sleep this late. But then, I didn't get home until almost three, slipping in through the back door like a teenager breaking curfew. My parents' bedroom door had been closed, their soft snores audible. They hadn't waited up, trusting me to make good choices.

The smell of coffee draws me downstairs, where I find Mom at the stove making brunch—her way of ensuring all her scattered children might drop by. Dad's reading the paper at the table, glasses perched on his nose.

"There he is," Mom says, turning with a smile that dims slightly when she sees me. "Late night?"

"Sorry. I should have called."

"You're an adult," Dad says, though his tone suggests he's reminding himself as much as me. "How was dinner with Ms. Norris?"

I pour myself coffee, buying time. "It was... good. Really good, actually. Alex and I actually talked. Like, really talked."

"About?" Mom's trying to sound casual as she flips pancakes.

"Our families. Our childhoods. What we want from life." I sit at the table, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. "It was the first time we've had a real conversation without fighting."

"That's wonderful, sweetheart." Mom brings over a plate stacked with pancakes. "Maybe there's still hope."

“Maybe.”

I catch Mom and Dad exchanging a glance and a smile. I put my head down and eat my pancakes. They are perfect.

Things might actually work out, but I need to think about how best to do that. Mom and Dad have been right about one thing. I can’t reconcile with my husband while I’m still here but I also think that if I just go back to the estate, we’re going to pick up the same bad habits.

I need to be in contact with him. I’ve never had my own phone. I don’t even have his phone number. For that matter, I don’t have my own email address either. I’ve only ever used our family address. I have a card somewhere with Diana’s phone number and email but that’s it.

It feels strange to ask someone to ask for money, but I’m getting used to doing things outside of my comfort zone. I’m going to ask Diana if she can arrange for me to get a phone set up for me with my own number and email address. I’m sure she’ll say yes. The money is a drop in the ocean to someone like her.

After I’ve finished helping Mom wash up, I settle down at the old family computer in the corner of the kitchen. This is nothing like Alex’s sleek laptop. It’s been in the family fifteen years with a bulky tube monitor that takes a minute to warm up.