Page 6 of Two For the Show (Trapped On The Tightrope Duet #2)

“Here’s your s’mores latte, sir,” I say to the Beta who’s standing outside the cart on his phone.

He looks up and nods, reaching out to take the coffee from me, not breaking eye contact.

We get a lot of people on the way to their offices, and this guy looks like every other finance bro I’ve seen this morning.

Except most of them order a black coffee with a few extra shots. The s’mores latte is sweet, with chocolate syrup and a marshmallow topping that I have to brown with a culinary torch.

It’s really, really good, but most men aren’t secure enough in themselves to order something like it.

People’s coffee orders say a lot about them.

They can say I’m exhausted, I’m depressed, I’m trying to impress someone. Or they can say that they’re watching their diet, or can’t handle caffeine but like the ritual of it, or that they’re an old lady at heart.

When I let go of the latte, the finance bro jerks his eyes away.

“I’m sure,” he says into the phone, waving me off with a charming smile.

“No, I know how important this is.” His voice trails off as he walks away, and I turn my attention back to the counter where a group of teenage girls are clustered to get their fix before they head off to school.

They all order pumpkin spice lattes.

Secure in themselves, not willing to listen to the garbage that says anything that women like makes them a ‘basic bitch’ and that they should pretend not to enjoy something delicious because it’s associated with women.

October has brought enough chill in the air that it is the perfect time for one, and I’m already looking forward to making myself one at the end of my shift. I can’t get enough of the spicy, sweet beverage.

Sylvia opens the door to the back of the truck, climbing in. “Sorry, that took longer than I thought it would,” she says apologetically. “What do you have for me?”

“Four pumpkin spice,” I reply, biting my tongue not to ask where she’s been.

“With whip?” one of the girls asks tentatively, like she’s embarrassed by it.

“Is there any other way to do it?” I respond with a wink.

Sylvia had a mysterious appointment this morning and asked me to open the truck up on my own. I don’t mind, especially not after all she’s done for me this past six weeks. But she’s usually one of those people who spill their guts over everything, so the secrecy is odd.

I don’t bring it up, though. If it were my business, she’d tell me.

We finish out the Saturday shift and head back to her house. I’ve been staying there with her, and true to her word, Sylvia isn’t charging me rent and is providing all the groceries. I keep the tips we make each shift, and I’m watching the stack of safety pile up every day.

That’s what money is when you’re living like I am right now. It’s safety. It’s security that you’re going to have a place to sleep and food in your belly.

I grew up in privilege, and as a two-income household, with both of us being doctors, Rich and I never wanted for anything. This has been a major adjustment for me, and I am starting to realize how out of touch I’ve been with the struggles of many people.

Sylvia turns the television on to the local news station as she shuffles off to the kitchen to make a late lunch for us. I gave up asking her to stop mothering me after the third day, and instead, I do all the dishes after she’s fed me.

It’s a fair trade, perhaps even a little balanced in my favor.

The pretty anchor, with shiny brown hair and bright red lips, is talking to her co-anchor, a handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair and laugh lines around the sides of his eyes.

“It’s a terribly sad story,” she’s saying, like we’re voyeurs to their casual conversation. “Such a promising young doctor.”

“Well, we can’t lose hope. Her pack certainly hasn’t.”

My stomach bottoms out. I knew this was coming. They wouldn’t give up easily, especially not after someone in the circus helped them get so close to grabbing me.

“You’re right, Todd. Earlier today, the Alphas of Pack Smith had another press conference, pleading for any information on their missing Omega.”

The screen switches to the image of Rich, Tripp, and Greg standing solemnly together in front of the hospital where we worked together. Behind them, my parents, who never much cared for Rich, honestly, look devastated.

I hadn’t considered the impact this would have on my parents.

We haven’t been very close since things got serious with Rich.

My father looks exhausted. He swore that Rich wasn’t what he seemed, and I refused to listen, which put a damper on our relationship.

I’m responsible for the rift between us.

Maybe I should have tried to flee to them, but I am so embarrassed that it has gotten this far.

Rich has clearly charmed them, if they have gotten over their discomfort around him. And I never even told them about Greg and Tripp.

They must be so upset with me, keeping so much of my life from them.

My scent match leans forward, toward the microphone on a wooden stand in front of him.

“We have had the tip line called a few times, but no, it’s never panned out to any viable information thus far,” he says, clearly answering a question the broadcast decided to cut out.

“But I hold faith that we’ll find her, and she’ll be returned to us once more.

Alex is the light of our lives, and her absence is a gaping wound. ”

A gaping wound? He always did have a flair for the dramatics.

If I left a wound, I hope it fucking festers.

The broadcast cuts back to the two, overly made-up anchors.

“Isn’t that so romantic? They love her so much.”

“So romantic, Janet. We can only hope they find their Omega soon, and that she is not scarred from the experience.”

That’s not what’s scarring me, but thanks for the assumption, Todd.

It’s the middle of the night when it hits. The aching pain in my abdomen, the fever that I can’t seem to sweat out.

I double over, fighting to hold back the vomit that threatens to spill from me.

Sylvia turns the light on in the hallway, shuffling in. I’ve told her so many times, she doesn’t need to do this. I can get through this on my own. I have to.

But she won’t let me.

“Come on, now, sweet girl,” she coos, slipping into the bed beside me and wrapping an arm around my shoulder. She holds a trash can in front of my face. “You’re going to have to let it out.”

Like her words are all the permission I need, I lose my dinner into the trashcan.

For the past two weeks, every night, like clockwork, I’ve been waking up in pain. It’s like a heat spike, almost, but I’m a doctor, and I know better than to assume it is something that simple.

I have Foresaken Omega Syndrome, an illness that affects Omegas when not regularly exposed to compatible Alpha pheromones. And mine is probably worse than most cases, considering I had a scent match, went on heavy suppressants, met new scent matches, left them, and went back on suppressants.

My hormones are fucked up, and when and if I do finally go into heat, it may break me.

“I know those three Alphas are awful, and I’m not suggesting you go back to them,” Sylvia is saying as she rubs my back. “But why not go back to the circus? Why not your Beta?”

“It’s compromised,” I remind her. “There is someone there who has contact with my ex. I can’t go back, because he’ll probably show up the next day.”

“And you don’t think those boys would protect you?”

They would do their best. They would.

But Rich, Greg, and Tripp have money. They have clout and power.

What can a bunch of carnies do against that kind of pack?

Not that I see them as carnies. They’re not. It’s a circus, not a carnival. They’re elite performers, with acts that are worthy of a permanent Vegas show.

But I know how the media is going to spin this, how Rich is going to spin this.

A pack of Alpha carnies abducted me, forcibly holding me away from my pack until I got FOS.

The FOS will be used to discount my side of the story, even though I am a doctor and still have my wits about me. No, in this case, the word of my ‘Alphas’ will override mine.

We’re relatively progressive in how we treat Omegas as a whole in our society, but medicine is one area where we still lag behind.

Some states even require that Omegas get permission to go on suppressants.

It’s barbaric and annoying, but we’ve learned to work the system to the best of our ability, despite its restrictions.

Except Rich learned that, too. And no doubt he’ll find a way to use it against me.

“They would,” I tell her after a particularly brutal round of dry heaving. “But I don’t think they’d win, and I can’t let them get hurt trying to protect me. This is the best thing I could do for them.”

“Bullshit,” she snaps, the curse sounding strange from the soothing Beta woman. “They’re probably worried sick, trying to figure out how to get you back. I have no doubt they will have sussed out the snake in their midst, and are waiting for you to go back to them.”

“I was a complication they didn’t need.” The pain starts to lessen, and I feel my body slumping against the pillows. I stretch out, and Sylvia follows me down, running her fingers through my sweat-soaked hair.

“Doesn’t one of them have the Rot?” she asks softly. “You don’t think he’s hurting with you gone?”

Alpha Rot, an inherited disease that weakens an Alpha and will eventually kill them, is a more permanent version of Foresaken Omega Syndrome.

And I left Quinton, knowing he suffers from it.

“Of course he’s hurting!” I snap. “I am, too! But this is what’s best for both of us.”

“No, there is no world in which this is what’s best for him. You know I care for you, girl, but this press conference proves that your old pack will not stop until they have you back. You’re safer with a sword swallower and a knife wielder than an old lady with a coffee cart.”

“You’re not old! You’re my friend.”

“Still old. I’ve loved, Lexi. I’ve loved and lost and loved again.

You deserve a romance for the ages after all you’ve been through.

One that leaves you breathless. You deserve a pack that would move the Earth to make you happy, and we both know it’s those boys.

Lean on them. That’s what a pack is for. ”

“Did you have an Alpha?” I’ve never broached the subject of her bite mark, which could only come from an Omega, but this seems a little safer, since she’s the one who brought up the love she used to have.

I watch her throat bob as she swallows and looks up at the ceiling. “I did. And an Omega. Different times. Loved them both, and lost them both.”

The emotion in her voice doesn’t encourage me to ask more about how that happened. Instead, I intertwine my fingers with hers. “How do I even go back, after I ran away like that?”

“With your tail between your legs. Maybe you’ll have to beg them for forgiveness. I doubt they’ll need much convincing, since you left for a good reason and all, but you will have wounded their pride in not thinking they could take care of you.”

“I barely know them,” I whine, rolling over on my back to stare at the aged popcorn ceiling. “How can I trust them with this? This isn’t like asking a neighbor to water your houseplant while you’re on vacation. This is my life. I can’t gamble with my life.”

“You already are. You think this is going to get any better?” She gestures at me and the trash can full of frothy vomit.

“You and that Rotting Alpha of yours are going to get worse. And what’s that going to do to your Beta, huh?

You think he’s not feeling your pain right now?

Because I doubt you know how to block that from the bond. ”

She’s right. I don’t know how to block the bond. I’ve been trying, but I know that it’s not working because Matteo’s feelings always seem to answer mine.

But right now?

Right now, I can’t feel anything over the pain. I don’t know if it’s the FOS or just guilt, but either way, I know that all roads lead to the circus.