Page 18 of Small Town Shy Omega (Applewood Falls #1)

Layla

E verything felt good, right, and pure. I was with my Alphas, and they protected me.

My body was burning, and I couldn’t wait to explore my heat with them.

But my heart sunk when I was in my glassworks studio, and I received a very unfortunate phone call.

I wished things could be easy breezy. Stay calm and sunny forever.

No , I thought with disappointment, that’s just not how life works .

I’d been blowing a glass vase. The vase was the color of bubblegum, and I recollected blowing gum as a girl, as that’s what the bubble of glass I shaped reminded me of. Luckily, my safety goggles were protecting me in case it popped.

In my studio, I could create anything from ornamental fruits and vegetables to air-and-glitter moons.

“That should do it,” I’d said happily, setting the small orb down to dry. It wasn’t a crystal ball, but it could sure pass as one.

The phone call brought me out of my happy creative space.

“Hey, girl,” my stepsister Jasmine said sweetly, and I fought the urge to groan.

My sister always called at the most inopportune times.

What I’d hoped for was an afternoon of creative solitude. I wanted to work, shower, then read the novel Josh purchased for me at Whimsical Wonders. It called to me from my plump sofa where I’d left it, along with a few cookies.

“Jas,” I tried to warn politely, “I’m really not in the mood to talk right now.”

I didn't wish to sound rude, but Jasmine was the type of stepsister who had trouble understanding boundaries. I wasn’t a firm or direct person, and I frequently wilted—like a rain-soaked rose—in the face of conflict.

Still, Jasmine required a hard no. Otherwise she monopolized conversations, talking my damn ear off.

I often felt my spirit suppressed when others talking “at” me for extended periods of time, and I hated being my sister’s sounding board.

“I only wanted to talk to my baby sister,” Jasmine let out a laugh. I fought off a groan, knowing that Jasmine likely called to rub her wedding preparations in my unbonded face.

“Jasmine…” I tried again, a dejected sigh escaping me. Once Jasmine got going I wouldn’t be able to stop her.

I’d told my sister to please not call without letting me pencil it in on my planner first. And of course, Jasmine didn't respect that boundary.

I often felt uncomfortable when it came to applying boundaries. I never wanted to make another feel bad, though others rarely returned that courtesy to me.

“Aren’t you excited for my upcoming wedding?”

Jasmine’s voice was sweet. Bubbly, like the glass I blew in my artist’s studio. And she was very cloying.

I sighed, tears pricking behind my eyes. Why was I being so dramatic? It wasn’t just today—every time I spoke to my stepsister, I felt less-than. Judged.

My ideas and lifestyle weren’t respected. Not like Jasmine’s.

All my life, Jasmine had been the favorite stepsister. She was the one my stepparents picked, leaving my grandfather to have to take care of me, even though he was in his late seventies.

Jasmine had racked up more credit card debt than I ever had. She assumed a wealthy pack would fix her problems, and now that was happening.

A pack full of sexy, eligible Alphas had chosen Jasmine to be their Omega, while I spent my nights on my sofa, fantasizing about fictional Alphas that didn't exist. She won the pack lottery.

“Yes, veryyyyyy excited,” I said sweetly, trying my best not to let my real emotions bleed though. Not because this was a war or anything. It wasn’t. I merely didn't want my stepsister sensing my unease. My discomfort over hearing about Jasmine’s perfect life.

The wedding would occur in the Applewood Falls chapel, right beside the altar that held the two candlesticks I blew last autumn.

Jasmine would wed beside those custom glass candlesticks before me. I had created them. I blew life into them. That seemed unfair.

“We’ve already settled on bridesmaids’ dresses,” Jasmine said tenderly, as if she wasn’t listening to a thing I said.

“You’ll absolutely love yours, Layla! It’s pink and the frills on the sleeves really match your eyes.

Yeah, we picked them out just for you. The other bridesmaids all said pink was passé, something from a different age.

Dated. Like something Mom would’ve worn at her wedding. ”

Tears pricked my eyes. “You can stop now, Jas.”

“Ohhhhh, and the caterers are serving shrimp. It’s Michael’s favorite, though obviously I don’t mind it either.

And you like shrimp, right? We’ll also have tuna, and roast too for anyone who preserves anything a bit heartier.

” Layla let out a laugh. “And an open bar, of course. All I ask is that you don’t make a fool of yourself.

No going overboard on the rosé, like you did at Mom and Dad’s twentieth-anniversary party. ”

I loved how she kept referring to my stepmom as Mom. She was no mother of mine. She rejected me, like I was a wolf cub rejected by her adopted pack.

“Jasmine, we both know you’re the one who had too much at your parents’ anniversary party.”

“I was only teasing,” Jasmine said in a way that definitely did not sound like teasing.

“Yes, I have the drinking problem. Of course, it’s always me.

The big, bad evil sister. Yep, can’t do anything right.

I forgot who I was talking to for a second,” Jasmine said sharply, and the laugh I heard over the phone didn't mollify the sharpness of her words.

Jasmine frequently liked to exaggerate my negative character traits, likely to deflect criticism of her actual deficits.

“Your wedding sounds divine,” I said sweetly, and I meant it. Though tears dotted my eyes, and though my sister’s words felt oppressive and mean, I could give her credit where it was due: and Jasmine sounded as if she’d planned a marvelous wedding.

“Shrimp, tuna, pink bridesmaid dresses. Do you think we should change the bridesmaid dresses? Will they steal the attention from the chapel?”

“You mean, you?” I knew my sister obviously didn't care about the chapel as much as not receiving one hundred percent of the attention at her wedding.

Jasmine's frilly laugh hung in the air, forcibly amused—I was not fooled.

“Well, of course I wouldn’t want my sister to outshine me.” Jasmine’s voice trailed off, clearly amused at the thought. But I knew better.

I knew Jasmine was only saying this because the prospect of me ever, in any conceivable lifetime, outshining Jasmine was nil.

In no universe could I ever pull that feat off. And Jasmine knew this. Jasmine was rubbing her popularity and charm in my face, as usual.

I huffed, my orb cooling. The mist no longer puffed around my face, like the vapors that sometimes rose off the cooling water baths I plunged my glass creations into.

“Okay, thanks for the chat,” I said peppery, seeking to end this call. I felt like a fool—a fool talking to my stepsister, phone calls with Jasmine always made me feel less-than.

Less-than. Less-than worthy. Unseen.

Unheard.

No matter what concerns I might voice, my stepsis shot them down.

Jasmine never listened to me speaking about my dreams, or lifestyle choices in a positive manner.

She always sought to impose her dreams on me, which coincidentally is what my stepmother also did before she rejected me.

“Sis, don’t hang up,” Jasmine said blandly, as if she knew damn well I was two seconds away from not only bursting into tears, but slamming the phone down. “On your stepsister? Right before her wedding?”

The unspoken epithet charging the air like lightning during a storm was selfish.

She was… calling me selfish as she often did, without actually using the word. Selfish, me.

But no, I was not selfish.

I’d spent too many years thinking I was the selfish one, the self-centered Omega who shunned her family’s affection.

My stepfamily’s care was always a ruse, and every bit of rope they fed me was really a trap: they wanted to loop the rope around my neck, and they delighted in choking me.

Some people were just sadistic. When the call finally ended, I left my studio, brewed some tea, and took it to my sofa— where I did have a good cry.

I read a book, too. My paperbacks transported me to a better realm. A superior realm, where Alphas were an Omega’s found family, where they cared for and nurtured her no matter what she’d gone through.

The pages transported me to a magical world. A world full of whimsy and fresh smells and tender, gentle care.

Blake.

Josh.

Dreydon.

I set the book down, my heart thundering. My Alphas had been so kind to me. But, they were probably only mocking me too—exactly like Jasmine did on the phone call. As if I was a bird a cat toyed with before ending its life.

The handsome Alphas courting me would never desire me. Not really. No pack ever wanted me. My stepsister was the popular one. Jasmine. The one all the Alphas wanted.

I wished my stepsister the best, then sighed. I pushed up my thick glasses. The Saturday farmers’ market was rolling around soon, and so was the May cherry blossom festival to celebrate spring. I wished I was in a better mood.

Blake probably only pitied me, which is why he’d spoken to me at the market. Worse, he’d likely given me his attention only to cruelly reject me in the end.

Some mean boys had done that in high school—they’d flirted with me for weeks, daring me to ask them to the Sadie Hawkins dance. When I did, they rejected me in front of the entire school.

Sometimes high school dynamics didn't change once you reached adulthood: Jasmine still acted the exact same way she had when we were growing up.

Setting my paperback down, I went to the toaster. I made some hot-buttered toast to steady my nerves.

All a girl needed , I thought miserably, was a mug of raspberry tea and buttered toast to be happy.

Josh baked for me again and after eating his raspberry-chocolate muffins, I felt a bit better.

They helped me clean my chimney after, and we enjoyed a fire for a few hours before my friend Bronwyn swung by to chat for a bit.