Page 84 of Omega's Faith

Jonah's mother—recovers first, her ingrained politeness overriding everything else. "Would you... would you like to join us? There's plenty of food."

"I couldn't impose—"

"Sit," Jonah’s brother Robert says, and it's not quite friendly but not hostile either. More like resigned. He pulls out a chair next to him, across from Jonah. "Mom made enough to feed an army, as usual."

I sit carefully, hyperaware of every movement. The last time these people saw me, I was drunk. Now I'm stone-cold sober, exhausted, and trying not to stare at Jonah across the table.

He looks pale. Beautiful, but pale. There are shadows under his eyes. His hand rests on his stomach, unconsciously protective already.

This wasn’t what I planned. I wanted to talk to him. I didn’t plan to talk to him with over a dozen pairs of eyes watching me.

A plate appears in front of me. Pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans. Home cooking. Real food. My stomach, which has been in knots for hours, suddenly reminds me I haven't eaten since yesterday.

"Thank you," I say. Jonah’s Mom nods carefully.

The silence stretches. Even the kids are quiet, sensing theadult tension. I should say something. Apologize. Explain. Something.

Maybe I should just try make conversation.

"So," I try, "I just got back from a wellness retreat. Turns out I'm terrible at yoga."

They all stare at me and then Robert snorts. Actually snorts. “Seriously? You”

"I know, right? They made me eat kale. On purpose. Multiple times."

"The horror," Robert says dryly, but there's the tiniest smile tugging at his mouth.

"How long were you there?" he asks.

"Just over a week. Would have been less but they lock up your phone and car keys like it's rehab." I pause. "Which, to be fair, it kind of was. Sorry, Jonah. I didn’t get your messages. I came straight here the moment that I did."

The tension eases fractionally. Jonah doesn’t say a word to me but I can see him thinking. He’ll have thought I ignored his messages. Whatever happens with us, I’d never do that. I need him to know that.

Jonah’s Mom gives me a smile. “Come now. Eat. Eat.”

I obey. I eat, letting conversation slowly restart around me. The kids go back to their chatter. Someone passes the gravy. Normal sounds, normal family dinner, except for the occasional shout from outside.

"I really am sorry," I say during a lull, addressing Jonah’s parents. "About the photographers. They've been hounding you for weeks because of me."

"It's not your fault," his father says, though we all know it kind of is.

"I can have my security team—"

"We don't need your security," he says firmly. "We've managed."

After dinner, I stand to help clear plates, they look surprised but doesn't protest. I carry dishes to the kitchen, Robert beside me. From the looks that they give each other, I’m guessing this isn’t the alphas’ job.

Jonah’s oldest brother seems determined to stick to my side either way. His mother hovers, probably waiting to redo the dishes after the amateurs do them wrong.

She might have a point. I’ve never washed dishes in my life, but it can’t be that difficult?

Robert stacks them in the sink, then looks underneath for dish soap.

"You're different," he observes, running water in the sink.

"Sober," I correct. "Eighteen days."

"That why you look so bad?"