Page 34 of Your Wild Omega (The Feral Actress #2)

Chapter twenty-eight

Callisto

Media is a terrifying thing. It hasn’t even been two full days since the gala, but every gossip rag in the city features Red and her leashed alpha on the front cover. The titles are imaginative too. My favorites are Catfight Bares All and Dress Fury Unleashed.

I pick up a copy of the first one as I wait in the checkout line at the supermarket, staring at the photo of Red smiling on the red carpet.

She’s hemmed in by her alphas, with Rickon on one side and Zack on the other.

Ricky looks like a real stud in his suit with his homemade glittering vest and pearl-pink long-sleeved shirt.

And, of course, the smoky eyes with a splash of teal.

My heart throbs and I tuck the glossy magazine into my cart as the line moves forward.

I once warned Rickon that Red might use him to get her foot in the door, but I never considered what her fame might do for him.

His previous actress hardly ever let him appear in her photos, but it’s clear Red isn’t the same.

Her meteoric rise to fame will take him along in her blazing trail.

He deserves all of it. She even credited his fashion, although I’d bet my foot she made up the name on the spot. Ri-Jones Couture. I chuckle.

While I’m thinking of it, I check out the domain names for the different versions of Ri-Jones Couture and buy them all, along with shooting off a message to a patent attorney I know to get the ball rolling on securing the trademark in my friend’s name .

Ricky will have his hands busy with his pack, so I’ll snap them up before anyone else does and send them his way.

The line moves forward, and I set my items on the conveyor belt, double-checking I have everything.

It feels strange to be shopping with my own two hands.

Usually my groceries get delivered to the apartment and the doorman takes them right up into my kitchen.

I put a stop to that once Red and Rickon moved in, but Ricky’s been taking care of groceries since.

It’s even stranger to be taking the ingredients to my parents’ house.

When I pull into the driveway, Lector hangs half-in and half-out of his car, running interior polish over the 1976 Chevrolet and trying not to look like he’s watching the road.

I never flake on appointments I’ve made, but I guess I’ve had so few with my family in the last couple of years he doesn’t know that.

I wave and he comes over to help me get the bags out of the trunk.

“We could have got this ordered for you,” he says after we exchange greetings, peeking into the bags.

“Yeah, I know, but there was something therapeutic about picking it out myself.” Even if it meant starting work at four a.m. this morning.

“Right. Well, Lexi and Simon will be back any minute. She’s out getting her nails done.” He drops the bags on the countertop in the kitchen. “Need anything else?”

I shake my head. “I can find my way around. Thanks.”

He hesitates, looking to the door and back. Does he not trust me?

“How is Mom today?” I ask. “Anything I need to know?” Now I understand her anxiety comes and goes without warning, not something that can be predicted or controlled.

He smiles, warming to the one topic he can handle. “She’s good. Excited to have a date with her son.”

I raise my brows. “Is that why she went out to get her nails done?”

He holds one finger to his lips. “You didn’t hear it from me. Good luck. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Somehow the revelation makes me feel small. Mom’s so excited about an hour or two with me she’s getting dolled up. I’ve been an ass of a son.

The bench top hosts a few new gadgets, but otherwise the French Country styled kitchen is the same as I remember. I set the rice cooker with onion and garlic mixed in, and then start on my chickpea salad and baked salmon.

The sizzling oil and steamed rice aroma fills the house by the time Mom walks in. “Callisto?”

I stride around the bench and open my arms for her. “Hi, Mom.”

She feels small and frail as she steps into my embrace. I silently calculate the years and realize she’s fifty-nine now. Still a beautiful woman but showing hints of age.

“Let me see your nails,” I order as I release our hug.

“Oh, that Lector’s in trouble,” she sputters, dropping her gaze.

I chuckle as I slide my hands down her arms to capture her hands, lifting them for inspection. A pretty two-tone hue glimmers across her fingertips, changing from pale apricot to fuchsia.

“Looks lovely, Mom,” I tell her.

“Thanks.” She drops her hands shyly and sniffs the air. “Smells good. What are we having?”

“Rice and salmon. I’m almost ready to plate up, so where do you want to eat? Is the deck too cold?” I point to the jumble of cutlery, side plates, and glasses I left on one end of the kitchen bench. “Wasn’t sure where you preferred.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s a warm evening.”

Mom takes the cutlery outside and sets up while I serve out the portions. After a few minutes, we sit down at an angle from each other on the back deck, looking out over the city.

“Wow, Callisto,” she declares, turning the shallow bowl to study the pink salmon fillet on the bed of feta, avocado, rice, and salad. “Who taught you to cook? Because it wasn’t me.”

I laugh. “I’d say Ricky.”

She nods, smiling. “Sounds right.”

“Let’s dig in.”

A pang runs through me as I glance down at the food. If I were eating at home, Red would mutter one of her insane pre-meal blessings right about now. I dig my fork into the food, forcing the memory away.

“And how is Ricky?” Mom asks after her first mouthful.

“Good,” I reply, trying not to think about the fact I haven’t seen my best friend since Zack asserted himself.

“Oh, that reminds me.” I duck inside and grab the magazine.

“Did you see this?” The sun’s set, so I flick on the porch lights.

The lantern-shaped housings glow a warm orange, illuminating the deck and the path out to the swimming pool and guest house.

“Well, consider me chuffed,” she declares, taking the magazine. “Doesn’t he look splendid?” Her eyes widen as she glances up at me. “Wait, is this her? His omega?”

His omega. I’m not prepared for the painful lance striking through my heart. I cough a little and shift on my seat. “Yeah, that’s her. Red Jones.”

Mom’s mouth drops open, and she runs her fingertips over the beautiful actress.

“My oath, she’s stunning!” She shakes her head in disbelief.

“Well done, Rickon.” With a sigh she lowers the magazine.

“He was going to bring her over for dinner a while back, but I was so disappointed when he said she had to travel somewhere.”

I stab at my salmon as I work back through the timeline. I think that was around the time Red got caught and ended up back in the Omega Center. “She, yeah . . . she had to go away.”

Mom claps her hands. “Well, now I know she’s back, I’ll reach out again.

And who’s the hottie on her other side? Her bodyguard?

” She beams as she glances at me, but then her smile fades.

It’s like I can see the conversation dying on her tongue as she considers whether to raise the topic of an omega with me.

I drop my fork into the bowl. “Actually, there’s a reason I wanted to see you tonight.” I reach out and flip the magazine over so I don’t have to see their faces. “It’s a little hard for me to talk about, so bear with me.”

She nods. “What is it, darling?”

I pat a napkin on my lips. An apology contains just a few little words, so why do they cling to my mouth so much? “Mom, I . . . I want to ask for your forgiveness.”

Shock ripples across her face but she smooths it away immediately. “Oh?”

I nod. “The truth is, I haven’t been fair to you.

I thought anxiety was something you could just get over, and I got frustrated because it didn’t seem like you were getting better.

But the real problem is I didn’t try to understand what you’ve been going through.

” Taking her hand, I squeeze it gently. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not listening.”

Tears glint in her eyes, and she covers my fingers with her other hand. “Thank you for saying that, Calli.”

I swallow through a lump in my throat as I trace a line in the stone tabletop.

“I had a panic attack myself, and it put things into perspective. Might be the first time in my life I had no control over my body, and I was appalled thinking that must be the same for you.” I sigh and let my chin fall to my chest. “And I’m a real piece of shit for having to experience it myself before acknowledging what you’ve been going through. ”

“Oh, Calli.” Pain crackles in her voice as she reaches out to grab my arm. “Are you all right?”

I drop my head onto her hand. “Are you all right?”

She laughs, the tinkling sound ringing through the quiet night. “Today I’m pretty good because my son took me on a date.”

I shake my head, feeling the press of her faintly wrinkled skin sliding across mine.

She won’t always be here waiting for me to grow up.

I lift my head to study her. “It’s a bit late, but is it possible to start over?

I want to learn what you’ve been going through.

If you want to talk about it, that is. I can’t promise I’ll change overnight, but I’m going to try. ”

She gets a wicked look in her eye. “Does this mean I can nag you as much as I like?”

I snort. “There are boundaries, Mom.”

She laughs again, and a little of the pressure in my chest eases. “It’s never too late, darling. I’m always here for you. And for this perfect salmon.” She toasts me with a portion on her fork.

I smile and watch as she digs in. Sure, most moms are there for their children, but at some point the role is supposed to switch. I’ve been neglecting that responsibility, and privilege, for way too long.

“I’m glad you’ve got Simon and Lector,” I announce.

She grins. “Me too. They keep me sane.”

“Not sure I believe that.” I wave my fork in her direction. “Simon told me about you guys picnicking in Dad’s office when they were courting you.”

She throws her head back with a laugh. “That was a doozy. They had a gift for getting under Alistair’s skin.” After a small hesitation, she meets my gaze. “It felt like a black hole opened in front of me and sucked me in when we lost him.”

Moths flutter around the golden lamps as we start over from the beginning.

I haven’t heard many parts of her story, like how Mom warned Dad he might have a heart attack just two days before it happened, and how she felt like those words somehow cursed him with the real thing.

How little things like the scent of vinegar could send her spiraling without warning, and seeing his favorite model of Jeep would make her weep uncontrollably.

How it feels when a mate bond fizzes away, and how she knew the moment he left this life, even before his workplace called with the news.

How she burned piles of cash, furious that he’d left money instead of himself.

And how the things that used to give her joy all turned gray and lifeless.

Mom bawls and a few tears soak my lashes as we share.

I’m not ready to tell Mom everything yet, so I skirt around the topic of my omega, the matter that gave me the first panic attack.

But I share my revelations about why I work so much and how I suspect the strange thrills that power me through court may stem from anxiety, even though it barely makes sense to me.

Mom has several exercises for me to try, and it hits me that her years of therapy haven’t been wasted. The fact she can go out to get her nails done and sit down to a meal with me is proof she’s come a long way.

The night deepens and we lose track of time until her partners return, Lector dropping a jacket over Mom’s shoulders and Simon helping himself to the leftovers.

We stay out a little longer with a glass of Mom’s favorite chardonnay and time slows once again as the four of us sit watching the city lights spread across the valley.

This is what family means, and like a man trying to press fast-forward on his life, I was always running away from it.

But time won’t stop no matter how many revelations I have, and the court cases won’t win themselves—including the trial for Ricky’s ex and the one for the despicable alpha who abused Red.

The trial I can’t possibly win.

And if I can’t win it, that means a rapist will walk free with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Someone needs to stop him, by any means necessary.

I clear my throat. “Hey, Simon. Any chance you kept the contact details for the thugs Dad sent to hound you that one time?”