Page 76 of Omega's Formula

I type out the application and hit send before I can change my mind.

“Now what?” I ask.

“Now you go home—or wherever you’re staying—and pack your bag. Buy a bus ticket for the first departure you can get. And don’t tell anyone where you’re going.” Ellie’s voice is steady, practical. “I mean it, Nolan. Not Mrs. Kay, not Hazel, not anyone. If Erik comes looking, you need there to be nothing for him to find.”

“What about you? If he asks—”

“I’ll tell him to fuck off,” She smiles, a little sadly. “He won’t be expecting anything else from how he’s treated you.”

“Ellie—”

“We’ll stay in touch by phone. I’ll text you updates on my treatment. You’ll send me photos of wherever you end up. And when things settle down, then I’ll come visit and meet my niece or nephew.”

The tears finally spill over. I can’t stop them.

“I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you,” I manage.

“You did. For years. Now it’s my turn.” She opens her arms, and I fall into them like I’m six years old again, burying my face in her shoulder. She strokes my hair the way our mother used to.

We stay like that for a long time before I leave her behind so I can go pack the little I own and move somewhere I have never been.

I don’t need to go find Mrs Kay to give her the last of the rent I owe her because she comes upstairs with another bowl of her wonderful stew. She takes one look at me shoving clothing into my duffel and says, “You’re leaving,” not a question. She’s always been able to read me too easily.

“I have to.” I’m stuffing the last of my clothes into the bag, trying to make everything fit. “I can’t explain, but—I have to go.”

Mrs. Kay lowers herself into the room’s single chair with a sigh. “Is this about that alpha? The one you married?”

I freeze. “How did you know about that?”

“I’m old, not stupid. You disappear for a month, come back looking like death warmed over, start jumping every time a car door slams outside.” She shrugs. “I put it together.”

I don’t know what to say. I stare at her.

“He can’t know where I’ve gone,” I say finally. “If anyone asks—”

“I don’t know anything.” Her voice is firm. “You paid through the end of the month, then you disappeared. I never saw where you went, never heard from you again. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”

“Mrs. Kay—”

“Go.” She waves a hand at me. “Before you make me cry, and then I’ll have to pretend I have allergies.”

I cross the room and hug her. She smells like lavender and I memorize it, tuck it away somewhere safe.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”

“Just don’t name the baby after me. Mildred is a terrible name. I should know.” She pulls back, patting my cheek with one papery hand. “Now go. Be safe. Be happy if you can manage it. And if you ever need to come back, there’s always a place for you here.”

The bus station is crowded with people in transit. I find my spot on a bench near Gate 7 and settle in to wait.

The ticket in my pocket says Portland, Oregon. Departure: 11:45 PM. Arrival: approximately 8 AM tomorrow, assuming no delays.

I’ve never been to Oregon. I don’t know anyone there. I have four months’ worth of savings, a room in a house share that I secured through email, and a baby growing in my belly that will change everything about my life.

It’s terrifying. It’s also the first thing I’ve chosen for myself in longer than I can remember.

My phone buzzes. Ellie.

Did you make it to the station?