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Chapter nineteen

Clay

Mitch’s gut reactions and his impulsivity are the reason for half the messes we get into, at least. He's quick, smart as a fucking whip, but he doesn't always process the words coming outta his mouth until we're tromping through puddles, climbing up the fire escape of the Cove Arts Centre in the dark.

We let Roan walk us all the way here in the rain, and now Mitch is lifting her bicycle up the final creaking steps while I pray we don't all fucking slip and die.

Our Omega.

My heart cracks a little more every time I think those words.

Is she really ours still? A week ago, I was doing everything I could to stomp down every possessive desire I had.

It was important to me she didn't feel stuck, or worse, like we were trapping her with us.

She's young and has a whole fucking career and life outside of this town.

Roan doesn't need us, not the way we need her.

She unlocks the door and we all hustle inside.

Woah. I'll be damned. This is a whole-ass apartment.

An empty, sad-looking one that smells of fresh paint and rotten fruit.

But I see it. There's a faded, stained rug thrown across the floor.

By the kitchen, there's a kettle and one mug that looks suspiciously like the ones Ted uses.

Scattered around the place are pages of sketch paper, some with sketches, and others that have been folded into tiny origami shapes.

In one corner of the room, a wire is wrapped around two pipes, and it's got clothes draped over it.

Has she been living here for a few days?

“If you'd like, the toilet is there and functioning.” She points to the opposite corner of the room. “Do you want a cuppa?”

Mitch nods, shucking off his rain jacket, and I do the same. Next to the door are three pegs. They’re old, and the fixtures have been painted over many times, but I can't stop the sentimental part of me noticing the number. I let out a sigh and hang up our jackets.

Our footsteps creak and echo as we walk around this massive, cavernous room. This has just been abandoned here for decades. What Mitch and I would have given to be able to buy this building. We’ve never even thought about a bigger apartment, but damn, does this make our place feel cramped.

The kettle pops and Roan pours one ceramic mug, then a paper cup.

She presents each of us with one, letting us choose.

It doesn’t smell like the fancy tea I got ordered for her after that first day we met.

It smells like a cup of hot, dark water.

Mitch takes the ceramic one, leaving me the paper one.

It's definitely been reused multiple times, rinsed, and dried out.

But I don't miss my handwriting scrawled across the side.

“Lumzag mentioned you haven't been round much,” I start. “You staying here?”

She clears her throat. “I had to end my stay, but I asked Connie not to tell.”

“Why?” Mitch asks.

It's unclear what the subject of his question is. His tone has an edge of desperation and hurt to it, like he's struggling to hold back tears. It's been a week. Maybe for young people or humans, not talking to someone for a week is normal after you’d had only one date.

But for us, for me, it's been a week of aching.

Not just for myself, but not being able to console our Beta every time he'd leave the cafe and come home still not sure what was going on.

I'm an Alpha Wolven, and it’s my job is to keep my pack together, comfortable, and content.

We work best as a unit. I can't do that if we’re crumbling to pieces.

“Why haven't you come round or answered us when we came knockin’?” Mitch clarifies, words shaking.

Roan can't look either of us in the eye, and I'm further reminded of our age difference, and just how little we actually know one another. Mitch and I have had a whole lifetime together, all our firsts were together. There isn't anything we haven't seen the other do.

But Roan doesn't know us at that level. She doesn't have that trust in us yet. Whatever has been keeping her away has been eating at her soul, if her body language and scent are anything to go by. She sniffles, hugging one arm to herself as she pushes hair away from her face.

“We've been really worried about you, sugar,” I say as softly as possible. “We just want to make sure you're okay, taking care of yourself. It's been a helluva week not knowing.”

She chokes on a little sob, but steps back when we step forward. Mitch makes an involuntary sound in the back of his throat, and his ears flatten in submission. If I thought my heart was cracking before, it's collapsing like a soufflé now. All the air leaves my body at her unspoken rejection.

“My mum, uh, disowned me last week. The afternoon after our date.”

Shit.

Even for the average person, being cut off is awful. I know Roan says she doesn’t care about the whole royalty thing, but that’s been her whole life. Does she even know how this is going to affect that side of her life?

“She also told me she's essentially been buying my placements for all of my career.”

That fucking bitch.

To tear down your own child like that? To not only be thrown into the deep end with no safety net thousands of miles from home, but to have your own flesh and blood cut you that deep?

“Roan.” Mitch’s voice is barely over a whisper.

“It’s fine,” she says, trying to swallow the words. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to us, Omega.” I look into her watery eyes. The dark irises glitter with unshed tears, and my throat tightens.

“I’m sorry I ignored you both this week,” she pushes on. “It’s not fair to either of you after you were so wonderful—”

My instincts take over. My hindbrain screams at me that my Omega is in distress and it is my job to fix. Alphas fix problems.

I wrap my arms around her when she chokes on her apology.

She's still soggy from the rain, and her body shakes with a chill.

Even if I was the one who cut my familial ties, I still yearn for them and miss the idea of what they could have been.

Should have been. It's like pulling teeth—even if you know it's got to go, the yank still hurts and so does the empty spot afterwards.

But it heals.

The sense of loss fades away.

“I know what it’s like to feel lost in the world,” I murmur. “I know what it’s like to have bad parents who don’t understand how cruel they are being. But family isn’t just the people who raise you. It’s who you choose to surround yourself with, who you know will be in your corner.”

My fingers curl into her hair as Mitch takes the paper cup from my hand and puts both drinks on the counter. He hugs her from behind, blanketing her in his warmth too. His hands slide between our bellies and squeezes her stiff body.

“Let us be your new family, Omega,” he whispers.

She nods against us, rubbing her tears into my shirt while she lets it all out.

It takes a moment. Her breathing is unsteady as she forces herself to remain calm. Then the dam finally breaks. Roan’s trembling body slumps into our hold and she sobs—great, unholy sounds.

I look at my Beta, and we're both barely holding it together.

The sounds that rack through our Omega are heart-wrenching and defeated, unlike anything I have heard before.

Do I see his tears fall or do I feel mine dripping down my fur first?

I don't know. It doesn't matter when the three of us are letting everything out.

All the times I've wanted to cry this week bubble up out of me and there is nothing to stop them. Mitch rubs his snout against mine in an attempt to comfort me too, and I almost laugh.

I should be the strong one here. But I worry, and I missed our Omega so damn much. One evening spent with us, one night where our bed was full like it's intended to be, and I knew we’d never be the same. Being without her this week has felt like we’ve had a piece of our lives missing.

Where Mitch reminds me of a sunny afternoon, his warmth and humour filling my heart with joy, Roan is an early morning. She’s cooler, a sense of seriousness and possibility radiates from her that calls me to be better than I was the day before. Both of my mates make me want to be more for them.

Roan makes our pack whole.

“Shh, darlin', just take a deep breath for me,” Mitch whispers.

And we all do, collectively trying to pull ourselves together enough so we can talk more than cry. He gives us a final squeeze before he steps back to take his glasses off and scrub his eyes clear of tears. I rub my hand up and down Roan’s back until she sniffles one final time.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” she grumbles when she pulls back to reveal the mess she’s left on the front of my flannel.

“It’s fine, sugar,” I say. “S’what the laundry machine’s for, ain’t it?”

“Nothing says I’m sorry like snot stains,” Mitch laughs wetly, pulling Roan’s handkerchief from his pocket.

He doesn’t rub it over his nose, thankfully, but he reaches for me and clears my cheeks.

Then he turns Roan around and wipes her face clear, snot and all.

She doesn’t hesitate to tip her face up to receive the care he’s offering.

That makes the tightness in my chest loosen some, but I still want to know more about what happened this week.

“Is that mine?” she asks, her bottom lip trembling still.

Mitch hesitates, but I give him the exact look I give him every time I see him carrying that thing around. “Yeah, I took it that day you gave me Clay’s mug back. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking with my upstairs brain.”

“It’s clean,” I add, to make sure she doesn’t think we’re unkempt perverts.

More tears break loose, along with a series of hiccups that hurt even me. Roan snatches the fabric from Mitch to try and stop her crying. She clutches the handkerchief like her life depends on it. She presses the wet cloth to her chest as she looks at our Beta.

“I thought I lost this,” she whimpers.

“I’m really sorry, Omega,” he says, ears flattening and shoulders hunching.