Page 40 of Omega's Fever

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.”