Page 9 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)
Nine
COLE
D ad’s office is large and warm despite being in one of the high-rises downtown. Shelly glances up as I step into the space, the glass door shutting soundlessly behind me.
“Oh, hi, Cole,” she says with a bright smile. “Johnathan is just finishing a meeting but should be out any minute.”
With a nod, I drop into one of the leather chairs that line the room, trying to relax in the relative quiet of this space before we go somewhere louder for lunch.
The flare from last week resolved better than the last few before it, leaving only the residual headache I’ve been feeling since the gala itself.
Between that and finally being able to remove the last of the bracing on my nose, I’m in relatively good spirits.
As long as I don’t remember I’m going to have to hope Marcus is at the gala in October, at least.
What if he matched with someone else, someone who isn’t sick and blends with whoever else is part of his nameless pack? Sorrow rips through me again, and I have to swallow around the lump in my throat.
Stop it , I chastise myself. It’s been a week since the Council’s notification. A week of knowing I didn’t do it the right way… again. Apparently anything related to being an Omega, I can’t quite manage to navigate the proper way.
Bonding. The Matching Gala. Omega-specific Bond Sickness.
Hell, even designating itself. All of them a simulacrum of the experiences they should be.
Or something altogether undesired, like the OBS.
Not a single person alive wants or desires the neurological disease that happens about half the time when an Omega is removed from the Alpha that’s bonded them for a considerable amount of time.
So, naturally, I’ve managed to develop it—and an aggressive form of it, at that.
I shake the thought away before it can make me any more morose.
Dad’s eyes are tired as he walks down the long hall that leads toward his private office, his hair a mess from where he’s probably been running his hands through it.
It’s a nervous gesture I have, too. He smiles at Shelly and says something, but my headache is bad enough I don’t manage to understand it.
I ease to my feet, doing my best to keep from stumbling as the room spins.
Fuck, this new drug addition is really throwing me off.
Hopefully everything settles in another week or so.
“Cole? You all right?” Dad’s by my side, a hand gently grabbing my elbow, before the room resettles and I can focus on anything specific.
“Fine,” I tell him, though I know he doesn’t believe me. The corners of his mouth tighten, and a ghost of a growl echoes up his throat, but he doesn’t say anything. I change the subject. “Ready?”
He steps away from me without comment, waving at Shelly as we head toward the elevator bank.
“This weekend will probably be a mess,” Dad says just as we’re walking into the elevator. He pushes the button for the main floor before leaning against the bar on the side, crossing his arms. “Final hearing is Friday.”
For their dissolution, the official breaking apart of Pack Fallon.
I imagine dissolving any pack that’s been together for 25 years is messy.
But add to it Dad’s wealth and Sienna’s absolutely cruel scheming?
It’s been awful. This hearing will probably be the worst as the asset division gets finalized by the Council so all of it can then head to the courts to process.
My stomach clenches. “All right.”
Please don’t make me see her , I beg soundlessly.
“You don’t need to be there,” he assures me, reading the panic in my body. “And there’s no reason for her to end up anywhere near the house. But…”
I offer a half-laugh that’s devoid of humor. “Yeah, the press will be a circus, I’m sure.”
His smile is mirthless as the elevator opens.
He waits for me to get off first, keeping a step behind, unobtrusively making sure he’s within reach in case I sway or have another round of vertigo.
Part of me resents it, but the larger portion has gotten used to my dads hovering.
I can’t really blame them when the dizzy spells have gotten more frequent over the last six months despite my doctors doing their best to keep the sickness under control.
“Mr. Fallon?”
I freeze. I can’t help it.
Dad doesn’t have the same reaction, of course. He’s always been in control, has always known he can handle whatever the person asking the verification question might demand. He’s never taken a punch because of his asshole of a mother immediately after being asked who he is.
“Yes?” Dad asks in lieu of a more formal greeting.
Breathing carefully through my nose and counting to ten, I manage to unstick my feet and follow my dad, noticing at last who asked for him.
And that’s when I realize it’s the same man who delivered the notice from the Unified Council last week, an identical pin holding a solid green tie in place. It might even be the same one he wore before. His gray shirt is pressed, offsetting the deep blue of his slacks.
He offers a small smile as he holds out a large, unmarked envelope.
“My contact information is on the second page, Mr. Fallon,” he says, bypassing niceties. “If everything is to your liking, and you approve the match, there’s a video call scheduled for Wednesday night.”
I stare at him, unable to form a single coherent thought.
Video call? Approve the match?
What match? It was just last week they informed me I wouldn’t be matching at all due to bureaucracy.
His eyebrow rises at my silence, but after another extended, awkward moment, he nods and leaves out the main lobby doors, turning toward the parking garage nestled against the side of the building.
“You want Papa and Father?” Dad asks the moment the Council staff is out of view.
“Um…” I force a swallow and try to figure out what the ever-loving hell is actually going on right now. “Y-yeah, I’d like them with me when I open it.” And then I take in my dad. “Did you do something?”
“No. I have no idea what all of this is about.” He pulls his phone out and sends a text to my other dads without missing a beat. “Last I knew, they were making you go to October’s event.”
Confusion settles into my bones as we stand at the curb and then slide into the back seat of his nondescript sedan.
It grows talons so deep they hurt as he tells the driver the restaurant we’d intended to go to before I have another bloodwork draw.
By the time we’re being guided to a table in the back corner, separated from the main dining area by a frosted glass door, I’m not entirely sure how I’m even walking, my mind is so twisted up over the packet held in a death grip against my stomach.
I’m… matched?
All at once, those nerves settle in my stomach as heavy as concrete, and bile rushes up my throat.
What if it’s not Marcus? What if he was already in the process of being matched with someone else?
The urge to puke gets stronger, but I swallow it down.
Now is not the time. Papa and Father are already at the table, and they surround me without a word spoken between the four of us, easing me into a chair even as Dad wraps an arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple.
“I wonder what happened to make them change their mind,” Papa says, seemingly unaffected by my quiet panic and Dad’s tension.
It takes another count to ten before I’m able to pull the packet away from my stomach and rip open the top. And then I just stare at it, unable to actually pull the information hidden inside.
What if it isn’t Marcus? Will they be okay with me having an accidental bond with someone else?
God, what if it is Marcus? The OBS has been getting consistently worse despite our best efforts.
Can I really ask him to take me on when I might not ever be who I was when we bonded?
My heart pulses in my ears, and I sway a bit in my seat.
“Breathe, son,” Dad commands, an Alpha bark laced in the words for all of their gentle delivery. “Take all the time you need, but you have to breathe.”
Right. Breathing is good. My chest shudders with my forced inhale and too quick exhale.
Just like a bandage. Just pull it and find out what the Council has decided for my fate.
One quick pull, and then at least it’s not sitting over my head like I’m some deranged, modern version of Damocles.
Maybe sitting under a literal sword would be better than all of this, honestly.
The thought frees up just enough of my mind that the anxiety fades a bit.
Before I can lose my nerve again, I pull the packet of information and set it on the table. Rather than read through the official notice from the Council printed on their watermarked letterhead, I dig through the papers and find the included photo.
His eyes are the first thing I see, just like at the gala itself—just like every single dream I’ve had of him.
They’re a shining bright blue that see through me, see into me, even through the photo.
Without any kind of explanation, I collapse against the table and let every overwhelming sensation of the last two weeks spill out, sobbing hysterically as my dads do what they can to comfort me.
“Marcus Harper?” Father asks. “That’s him, right?”
I manage a nod without actually lifting my head.
My dads laugh and celebrate around me. Their happiness is a balm, easing away some of the permanent unease I’ve carried since Marcus’s teeth bit into my skin that summer three years ago.
“Harper,” Dad murmurs. “That’s a good pack name. And it looks like they’re in New York City. That’s one of the best OBS specialists in the nation.”
It is. My doctor out here has consulted with the specialists at the Gallagher Clinic in Brooklyn.
Papa grunts an agreement. “Good job, son.”