Page 15 of Omega’s Fever (Prime Match #2)

Milo

I can’t do this. I’m four blocks away before my heart stops hammering like it’s going to jump out of my chest.

The morning air is cold against my face. I should have brought a coat. Kellen didn’t want me leaving the apartment. That was clear. Even if I couldn’t scent his concern, the expression on his face was clear.

But he let me go. I’m not hugely concerned about this shadowy crime figure who is supposedly pulling all the strings. Right now, I’m no threat to anyone. Hell, my client is practically ordering me to let him be found guilty.

I can still smell Kellen on me which is mad. My clothes are fresh. I barely touched him this morning, yet somehow he is part of me now and I don’t think that is ever going to change.

A jogger passes, giving me extra space, and I catch my reflection in a shop window. Hair messy from where I’ve run my fingers through it, shirt untucked on one side, face pale except for the hectic flush across my cheeks. I look exactly like what I am: a man on the edge of a breakdown.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out and see Uncle Kenneth’s name on the screen.

I could let it ring. Should let it ring. But twenty-three years of conditioning is hard to break, and my thumb swipes to answer before I can talk myself out of it.

“Milo.” His voice carries that particular tone of controlled displeasure that used to make me feel six inches tall. Still does, if I’m being honest. “Apparently your... situation has escalated beyond what we discussed.”

“Hello uncle.” I try to keep my voice steady, but there’s a tremor there that has nothing to do with the suppressants. “If you’re calling about—”

“Bad enough when the match notification came through. I thought we agreed you would handle this professionally, keep your distance. Now I’m told you’re actually living with him?”

“The judge ordered it.” I lean against a building wall, needing the solid brick at my back. “Bail conditions require a custodian, and given the match—”

“I don’t care what some bleeding-heart judge ordered. This is completely inappropriate.”

“It’s temporary. Just until the trial ends.”

“The trial.” He pauses, and I can picture him in his study.

His fingers would be drumming on his desk, the way that they do when he is particularly annoyed.

“Milo, I’ve been patient about this match situation.

More patient than most would be. I understand these things happen, but surely you realize what needs to be done here. ”

I don’t pretend I don’t know. “I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His voice takes on that lecturing tone I remember from years of disappointing him. “He’s charged with serious crimes, Milo. Violence. Organized crime. Let the man be convicted the way he should be.”

Uncle Kenneth and Anne, both my mentors are giving me the same advice.

“If he’s convicted.” The correction comes out before I can stop it. “He hasn’t been found guilty of anything yet. Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

Silence stretches between us.

“Ah.” His voice drops to something almost pitying. “Your parents wouldn’t have wanted this for you either. You know that. It’s long past time that you grew up.”

The line goes dead.

I stand there holding my phone, staring at the blank screen. I know Kenneth is an asshole. He’s always been rude, dictatorial and bossy. That doesn’t mean that he’s always wrong. In his own way, he’s trying to do what’s best for me.

I never expected to be matched with someone like Kellen Hayes either.

The worst part is, I know Kellen must understand the pressure I’m being put under.

He’s not stupid, despite what he look’s like. He knows that if he’s convicted, I’m free of the match.

It’s in my best interest for him to go to prison. Every logical argument points to the same conclusion: I should want him gone.

The thought of him in prison makes my stomach turn and for once, I don’t think it’s the suppressants causing it.

I push off from the wall and head for the grocery store, needing something normal to do, something that doesn’t involve thinking about prime matches or frame jobs or the way Kellen looked in my kitchen last night.

I’ve never thought of washing dishes as particularly erotic but the memory of his huge hands gently soaping my plates keeps intruding, domestic and dangerous all at once.

The store’s automatic doors open with a soft whoosh, flooding me with warm air. I grab a cart and start with produce. Things I should have at home when there’s someone else there, someone who might actually eat breakfast instead of surviving on coffee and anxiety.

When did I stop keeping real food in my apartment?

“Excuse me.”

I glance up, so lost in my own thoughts that the voice startles me. A man stands next to me, fifties maybe, wearing an expensive leather jacket over designer jeans that are trying too hard to look casual. Something about him sets off alarm bells in the back of my mind, but I can’t pinpoint what.

“Sorry, am I in your way?” I shift my cart to give him more room.

“No, no.” He reaches for some tomatoes, his movements casual but somehow too deliberate. “Just trying to decide if these are ripe enough. Never can tell these days. Everything’s picked too early, shipped from God knows where.”

I make a noncommittal sound and move to the next section. Lettuce. Carrots. Normal things normal people buy when they’re pretending their lives haven’t gone completely off the rails.

By the time I reach the dairy aisle, I’ve noticed the same man three more times.

The prickle at the back of my neck intensifies, that ancient awareness that says predator even when the logical mind says paranoid.

Is this what Kellen feels all the time? I grab milk and head for checkout, trying to move casually even as every instinct screams at me to run. I’m being paranoid.

He ends up in line behind me. Of course he does. The universe has developed a twisted sense of humor lately.

“Big shopping trip,” he comments, nodding at my full cart with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Stocking up.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

“Smart. Never know when you might need extra supplies.” He begins stacking his supplies on the belt behind mine. “Dangerous city sometimes. Weather can turn bad, power outages, all sorts of unexpected problems.”

The cashier scans my items. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Just last week,” the man continues, voice conversational but with an undertone that makes my skin crawl, “lawyer friend of mine got mugged. Broad daylight, right downtown. Two blocks from the courthouse, can you believe it? Makes you think about being careful.”

I hand my card to the cashier, proud that my hand barely shakes. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Very unfortunate. Poor guy ended up in the hospital. Broken ribs, punctured lung. All because he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings.” His smile widens. “Makes you think about being careful. Watching who you associate with. Some people bring trouble just by existing, you know?”

The threat is so politely delivered that for a moment I wonder if I’m imagining it. But the cold calculation in his eyes tells me I’m not.

“Have a good day now,” he says, as the cashier hands me my receipt. “Stay safe out there.”

I gather my bags and leave quickly, not quite running but not exactly walking either. Outside, the morning sun feels too bright, too normal for what just happened. I pull out my phone with fingers that have progressed from trembling to full-on shaking.

“Milo?” Kao answers on the second ring, and the sound of his voice almost makes me sob with relief. “How’s big and handsome treating you?”

“I need you to come over.”

“Now?”

“Please.” The word comes out cracked and desperate. “I just... I need backup. I need a friend. I just want someone to talk to.”

His tone shifts immediately from casual to concerned. “What happened? Are you okay? Did Hayes do something?”

“No, no, Kellen hasn’t... It’s not him.” I start walking, needing to move even though I’m not sure where I’m going. “Can you just come? Please?”

“Where are you?”

“I’ll wait in the park across from my building. The one with the fountains.”

“I’ll leave in five.”

I lug the groceries back, taking them with me as I cross to the park. I keep my eyes peeled as I move but the man is gone and I relax. He delivered his message and he left.

I can see my windows from here, three floors up, curtains drawn tight courtesy of Kellen’s midnight redecorating.

He’d moved furniture for hours last night, creating defensive positions and blocking sightlines, turning my apartment into a fort. I’d thought he was paranoid. Now I’m not so sure.

I laugh out loud. One paranoid alpha, one drugged to the gills omega. Aren’t we the perfect pair?

The suppressants weight down my jacket pocket, their home for weeks now. I pull the bottle out and stare at the label.

I’ve been taking more than the recommended dose for weeks.

This is what I’ve become. Twenty-seven years old, successful lawyer, prime matched to an accused criminal, and I can’t function without chemical assistance.

The trembling in my hands is from the suppressants so is the endless nausea.

The pills are literally poisoning me. But knowing doesn’t make that doesn’t mean I can stop.

Uncle Kenneth’s voice echoes in my head, years of criticisms compressed into a greatest hits album. Stand up straight, Milo. Speak clearly, Milo. Don’t embarrass the family, Milo. Omegas have to work twice as hard for half the respect, Milo.

A woman jogs past pushing a running stroller. She doesn’t spare me a glance, just another man having a crisis on a park bench. The city’s full of us.

I look at the suppressants again. Such small things to cause such massive damage.

They’re supposed to give me control, to let me function in an alpha’s world without being overwhelmed by the demands of my body.

Instead, they’ve turned me into exactly what Uncle Kenneth always said I was: weak, shaking, unable to handle the real world without chemical assistance.

The trash bin next to the bench yawns invitingly.

I think about Kellen’s face this morning when I’d stammered through my twentieth apology before breakfast. The way his jaw had tightened, not with annoyance but with something that looked almost like pain. Like watching me apologize for existing actually hurt him.

Who taught you to apologize for living?

He hadn’t said it out loud, but I’d seen the question in those dark eyes. Seen the way he’d carefully controlled his own movements, made himself smaller in my space, tried not to be the threat everyone assumes he is.

We’re both so fucking damaged. Still, more than ever now, I need my wits about me.

I tip out three pills and swallow them dry.

A squirrel chatters at me from a nearby tree, scolding me for not having food.

I watch it leap between branches with casual death-defying grace, and envy its simple life.

Find nuts. Avoid predators. No prime matches or frame jobs or uncles who see you as an embarrassment to be managed.

I’m still sitting there, contemplating the life choices that led me to envying rodents, when Kao appears at the park entrance.

He’s slightly out of breath and his usually perfect hair sticks up in back, clear signs he left home in a hurry.

The sight of him, familiar and safe and decidedly Team Milo, makes my chest tight with gratitude.

He drops onto the bench beside me without ceremony. “Okay, talk to me. You look terrible, by the way. Like, ‘lost a fight with a blender’ terrible.”

“Thanks.” I manage something that might charitably be called a smile.

“What’s up?”

I don’t know where to start so I tell him about the stranger in the store, the pointed comment about lawyers being careful. By the time I finish, Kao’s expression has shifted from concerned to genuinely alarmed.

“We should call the police,” he says immediately.

“And tell them what? A man made small talk about the weather? Told me about a friend of his who got mugged.”

“Milo—”

“I know how it sounds.” I drop my head into my hands, fingers tangling in my hair. “God, I can’t do this. Any of this. I’ve got Kellen in my apartment because the judge ordered it, someone maybe threatening me, Uncle Kenneth wanting me to throw the case, and these suppressants are killing me.”

“Hey.” Kao’s hand lands on my shoulder, warm and grounding. “You’re handling this. Maybe not perfectly, but you’re handling it.”

“Am I? Because from where I’m sitting, it feels like everything’s falling apart.”

He squeezes my shoulder, and I lean into the contact, starved for simple human comfort that doesn’t come with complications. “When’s the last time you ate actual food?”

“This morning. I made Kellen eggs.”

“You cooked for him?” The surprise in his voice would be insulting if it weren’t so genuine. Then he shrugs. “I suppose he wouldn’t cook for you.”

“He might. He did the dishes without asking.”

“Interesting.” Kao grins. “And how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know.” I think about waking up to find my apartment transformed into a fortress, the moment of panic followed by an odd sense of safety.

“He rearranged everything last night. Said it needed to be safe. I woke up thinking we were being robbed, but it was just him, ready to defend me from... Maybe from exactly what happened today.”

“Sounds like he’s protective.”

“Or paranoid.”

“Maybe both. Maybe paranoid for good reason.” Kao stands, brushing off his expensive slacks. “Come on. I want to meet this domestic, paranoid alpha of yours.”

“He’s not my alpha.”

“He literally is, Milo. Prime match, remember? That’s like, cosmic levels of ‘meant to be.” He tugs at my sleeve. “Come on. Let me meet him. I promise to be nice. Mostly.”

“I can’t.” The admission comes out quiet. “Not yet. I need... I need a minute. To figure out what I’m going to say. How I’m going to handle this.”

Kao studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Okay.”

“I know.” I lean back on the bench, suddenly exhausted. “Just... sit with me for a minute? Before I have to go back and face reality?”

“Always,” he says simply, and settles back beside me.

We sit in comfortable silence, watching the city move around us. For just this moment, I let myself pretend everything might be okay.

Even though I know it won’t.