Page 55

FORTY-FIVE

Playing: Sorrow by The National

Ciro: Stacia do you like romcoms or action movies more?

Kendall: She likes rom-coms more, she is a romance reader

Ciro: Not true, tv is different.

Atlas: I think you both make valid points.

Uriah: I don’t

Kendall: Excuse me, why don’t we make valid points?

Uriah: There’s so many other types of movies. Why are you only asking about rom-coms and action films? What about horror?

Atlas: Or documentaries.

Uriah: I actually wasn’t going to include that one.

Atlas: Then I don’t support your argument.

Kendall: I made an assumption but I’m positive that my assumption was correct.

Ciro: We’ll just have to ask her when she’s on her phone again.

Stacia: I like literally anything with good characters and writing.

Uriah: That’s a bit of a copout answer, omega.

Atlas: It’s a good answer.

Uriah: Shut up, Atlas

Kendall: Are we really fighting over this?

I put my phone down with a huge smile on my face just before Rory appears in my doorway. I raise a dubious eyebrow at the hesitant look on her face. “What’s up, Cranny?”

She walks in, gnawing at her lip. She shuts the door very slowly to avoid any noise before she sits down beside me.

“Your parents are here,” she whispers so softly that I almost didn’t hear her.

My heart immediately starts to race. I dart my eyes to the door like they could burst in at any moment.

“Here?” I hiss at her quietly. “Like our home ?”

She nods. Rory is rarely nervous, but right now I can smell the burned edges of her cranberry scent.

I stand up in a panic and look around my room. “Shit, what do I do?” I look around for nothing and then start to change my clothes.

“I don’t know, but they’re in our living room, claiming you have plans for dinner.”

I shake my head with exasperation. “Of course they are. They’ll probably blame me and say I forgot ‘like usual.’” I’d normally question whether or not I did forget something, but I never forget plans when they involve my parents. I open my closet and start to sniff through my clothes.

“What are you doing?” Rory asks with her eyebrows raised.

“I need something that isn’t covered in my scent or I need a stronger descenter, because my mom will comment on my smell.”

“Stacia, that’s fucked.” Rory crosses her arms. “For two people who are so concerned about proper etiquette, you’d think they’d learn some fucking manners when it comes to omegas.”

“I know.” I let out a breath. “Can you please tell them that I’m almost done getting ready? This is going to be a fucking nightmare.”

She nods softly before exiting my room. It takes a second to collect myself, but I finally breathe a bit easier when I have on scent canceling underwear and recently washed clothes. I put on as much descenter as I can before a chirp sounds from my bed.

Uriah: Fine, we can all agree to disagree.

Uriah: But I’m right.

I giggle and respond to the group chat before they can keep bantering.

Stacia: Major Alert Guys. My parents just showed up and are forcing me to dinner . I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Kendall: That’s horrible news. Do you need help getting out of it?

Ciro: We could show up to the restaurant and whisk you away like charming knights

Uriah: Please tell me you’re joking

Ciro: I’m not. I’m picturing bulky metal and everything. The whole nine.

Stacia: It’ll be okay. Thank you for thinking about me.

Atlas: We’re always thinking about you. Please text us as soon as you’re done. We’ll come get you.

I beam and send one final heart emoji before sighing with relief. I can get through one dinner with my parents. I can . Because these boys are everything I never knew I needed and they’ll be waiting for me.

It’s been twenty minutes of complete hell.

I was met with scowls as my greeting when I finally emerged from my room.

My mother not only sneered at my outfit, but she very obnoxiously sniffed the air around me before pulling a descenter from her purse.

I’m convinced that she does it to undermine me.

They were in my living room, for fuck’s sake.

There’s no way she didn’t already smell me.

My father commented on my tardiness, but I couldn’t even respond before my mother was putting her own two cents in.

You know how she is, Robert: clueless and selfish.

Loretta Kelmeckis is what you would describe as the typical detached trophy wife.

She’s beautiful, but her eyes lack warmth and her nails are always extra sharp.

Literally and metaphorically. I sometimes try to think of what my mother was like before she married my father.

Was she free spirited? Did she have a rebellious phase?

Or was she always this callous, calculated woman who was destined to hate her only child?

The what-ifs are always unproductive. It just saddens me that both of them are as cold as they come. My childhood would have been a lot more meaningful if at least one of them had shown me they cared.

I instead found the love I craved in stories and books.

The entire car ride is silent except for their persistent narcissistic ramblings. Their scents bring back terrible memories. At some point, my body goes numb and their voices become muffled as I stare out the window, pretending I am anywhere else.

I don’t recall how we got here, but we’re suddenly sitting at a table. The lights overhead are too bright and the table-cloths are a deep red. I peer down at the menu in my hands and the letters blur together. Is this even English? Did we get on a private jet and I just don’t remember?

A waiter comes by and speaks in English. Okay, I’m not losing my mind then.

I look over the menu, my parents’ voices still muffled and far away.

I can’t assemble the energy needed to interact or even placate them today.

I think I hear my mother mutter dimwitted omega under her breath after I ignore her again.

It’s all too much; my skin feels like it’s on fire but I’m frozen in my spot.

I imagine seeing my mates later. What kind of evening we’ll have, and who will try to pull me away first. It’s normally Kendall or Ciro. Uriah and Atlas are a bit more patient for my attention. I like both dynamics immensely.

While I’m still trying to decide what I want, the menu is abruptly snatched out of my hand.

I look up in surprise to see the waiter has taken it and is making his way back to the kitchen.

I raise my brows in disbelief before interrupting my parents’ chatter for the first time since we left my house.

“What just happened?” I ask, and they look at me with such contempt I want to crawl under the table and never come out.

“Now she decides she wants to be present. Lucky us,” my mother states in a flat tone. “We ordered for you. You obviously eat too much junk. Your fridge was full of it.”

“You ordered for me? I’m an adult.”

“Then act like it,” she sneers, her teeth clenched. “You’ve just been sitting there acting stupid this entire time. This is a nice establishment, it wouldn’t hurt to not be your usual dense self right now, Stacia.”

I emotionally flinch at her words but my body stills.

“What’s going on with that hockey player you were dating? Darren something?” my dad asks as he sips on something dark in a Glencairn glass. The question catches me off guard. He’s never once asked about my love life. Even now he looks bored.

I swallow harshly before taking a sip of my water. I really don’t want to talk about him. I don’t even have the care to correct his name.

“I dumped him,” I say, short and simple.

My father nods. “Good. He was a complete scoundrel. I’m not sure what you saw in him.”

My eyes widen in shock. Does this mean somewhere deep down he does want the best for me? At least, in terms of me choosing someone who deserves me in some way?

My lips twitch, a small smile wanting to form.

“Now, you’re free to meet your pack,” he says, a nonchalance in his tone.

I see my boys in my mind just before his statement said fully registers.

“How did you know about my pack?” I ask.

As I say it, I realize this is the first time I’ve referred to them as such out loud and it feels good. They are my pack, or they will be.

Gosh, I can’t wait to be with them for the rest of my life.

“What do you mean?” My mother’s words cut through my thoughts and I’m back at the table, both of them are watching me with suspicious expressions.

I’m hesitant to share this part of my life with them. They can criticize Derek all they want, he was an abusive asshole, but my boys are kind and deserving. I definitely don’t want them on my parents’ radar. But I know they probably won’t let it go until I tell them anyway.

“I met my scent matches.”

As I say it, a bright smile finds its place on my lips. It feels good to say, but then I look at my parents and my smile falters.

My father looks annoyed, but my mother is laughing under her breath. I’m confused by their reactions.

“What’s going on?” I ask, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.

“Dear, scent matches are extremely rare,” my mother says patronizingly. “Are you sure they’re your scent matches?”

I raise my eyebrow. Is she serious?

“Yes, I’m sure. And they are, too.” I sit a bit taller and push my shoulders back.

My mother looks surprised by my response, but my father just shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s real or not,” he says before looking back at me with stern eyes. “We’ve already chosen your pack. It’s been settled for a while. We’ve just been waiting for you to drop that loser you were dating.”

It takes me a second to process his words, then I rear back.

He keeps talking. “They’re very nice boys. Sons of one of my associates.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I still can’t believe what I’m hearing. My body is shaking. The realization of what they are trying to force me to do hits me hard, but my mind wants to hold onto the denial that this is happening at all.

“Keep your voice down,” my mother snaps in a hushed voice. “You will bond with them because that is what good omegas do.” She whirls around the liquid in her martini glass and then mutters, “It’s all they’re good for: letting others benefit from the inconvenience of their designation.”

I feel tears threaten to spill over but I try to blink them away.

I’ve heard them say things like this my whole life, spit about what omegas are “good for,” but I was optimistic that this day would never come.

I was hoping that my parents were just trying to appease their equally pretentious friends.

“But…” M y scent matches.

I think about my mates, see each one of their faces in my mind. My omega refuses to lose them.

I feel a burning in my face. The fire living inside me burns its way up my throat before I slam my hand on the table and bark, “I will not .”

“Stacia Marie,” my mother hisses, before looking around for any onlookers.

“I refuse to be used as a pawn for your business. I am not a political chip. I have fucking scent matches. I won’t bond with anyone but them .” My omega stands strong in my chest, willing me out of my seat.

“Enough,” my father growls. “Sit down.”

I wane on shaky legs but ultimately stay standing.

My father’s eyes are full of ice. I never should have thought he cared about me at all.

“We pay for your education,” he puts out his index finger before continuing down the row. “Your rent, your phone bill. If you even think about pulling out of this deal, you will be cut off, and you will be brought home. Forcibly , if need be. Do you understand me?”

My blood runs cold, and my omega whimpers inside me.

“This is important. Way more important than your fantasy of a perfect life with your so-called scent matches. You will grow up and do your duty, or you will be forced to.”

I stare at my father, and the ire in his voice stomps out the fire in my mine. He’s serious. He’s going to force a bond on me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

The fight in me withers and dies. I silently sit back down, my body feeling numb once more.

Their hatred of me and my designation finally seeps in.

They continue to talk about it, but I don’t hear anything that’s said.

I just go through the motions. Get food, mechanically eat, nod when needing to, breathe through my nose and exhale on repeat.

I finally see them for who they are. They were never going to love me.

I wasn’t aware of it, but the little girl inside of me had hope that they would one day wake up and see what was right in front of them.

She was hoping that they’d want to be a real family, full of compassion and support.

It’s impossible now. That rose-colored window has shattered, and my heart is broken.

I didn’t think it was possible that they could break it anymore than they already had.

I try not to think about my mates. The sadness will only pull me further into the numbness, so far down that I’ll lose autonomy.

They are literally the perfect pack and the universe gave them a broken omega with the worst family in the world. So, I try not to think about them.

Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t think about them. Don’t think about them. Don’t think about…

Them .