Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Playing: “Supernatural” by Ariana Grande (ft. Troye Sivan)
What does one wear on a date—that’s not a date—with your scent match that doesn’t know he’s your scent match?
Because of my blip with dating after getting my diagnosis, I want to say jeans aren’t completely out of the question, but all of those dates failed, so what would I know?
Fuck, this isn’t even that type of date.
I shake my head as I look between the options that I have before opening up my phone and calling the one person who might be able to help me.
Rory’s face comes up on the screen, her smile wide as she pushes some of her dark blue hair behind her ear. Before she says anything, I turn the camera around and show her the different types of clothes I have set out. “Help me, what do I wear?!”
She lets out a snort. “Are you actually going with Kit to see that movie?”
I don’t dare turn the camera back around because then she’ll see my guilty expression. “Please, Rory. What says, ‘hey, I’m cute’ without saying ‘hey, I’m your scent match’? Jeans, right?”
“Jeans that make your ass look great,” she replies.
“But jeans that do that are also very uncomfy.”
“Opal, let me be honest.” I halt, because those are words that nobody wants to hear.
I turn the camera back around and practically hide in the corner of my screen.
“You could wear a plastic bag and Kit wouldn’t care one bit.
I don’t know how it happened, but you have that omega wrapped around your little crocheting fingers. ”
“Rory, he has an alpha.”
“An alpha who is your scent match,” she reminds me. “They are both your scent matches. And Thatcher…” She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to fill in the dots.
I heave a heavy sigh and finally admit the truth. “Yes, he’s my scent match, too. Don’t—”
“I knew it,” she shrills, excitement filling her voice, but then she looks at me with a serious expression. “Opal, these men are your scent matches. If you let them, they could be everything you’ve ever wanted. Why are you fighting it?”
I look away, afraid to spill my guts. I can’t tell her the real reason because it would open up another enormous can of worms that I’ve been keeping bottled up since before I met them.
They would know that I’m not like them. That I don’t have any bond marks, but somehow, I know what it feels like to writhe in pain with cramps that feel like my insides are being hit with a meat mallet.
The only difference is that I had no one to help me through it.
The images of being locked in that hospital room come to my mind again.
How I went in and out of consciousness. How I had to be restrained to eat.
The toys I was given to help myself through it.
The gut-wrenching humiliation strikes me every day, freezing me in place whenever I think about how horrible it was.
The flare-ups I can handle. The migraines and the sore muscles and the fevers were nothing in comparison to the rejection and nothingness I felt while in heat. I know it’s going to come again sooner rather than later, and I don’t want to deal with that. I’m not sure if I can deal with that.
It’s not the first time, but I suddenly feel all alone with the knowledge that no matter what I do, things are going to get messy. Despite knowing and consciously understanding it, I can’t for the life of me quit running away from it.
My fight-or-flight response has always been the latter, and now I am sprinting at full speed.
These are my scent matches. My only chance at a happily ever after, but they don’t know me or what being with me means.
And if they don’t feel the same, if they don’t want to include me in their pack… that would utterly break me.
“What if they don’t want me, Rory?” I ask, voicing some of my fears without spilling the entire truth. “They’re a pack, they’re established. Kit is one of the best people I’ve ever met in my entire life. Why would they want to add another omega to that?”
“Because that omega is you.” Her soft voice comes through the speaker like an angel on my shoulder. “You deserve to be with the ‘best people you’ve ever met,’ as you said. You just need to let them see that that title includes you, too.”
I hang up with Rory a few moments later.
She gave me some advice on my clothes, but I just stare blankly at the bed, anxiety riddling my body.
It doesn’t feel like me as I get dressed, my body on autopilot as I put on some boyfriend jeans and one of my DIY crocheted sweaters.
I don’t even realize it’s my green apple one until it’s on and decided.
It comforts me a little bit, knowing that I have this token, even if it’s a secret for just me and my omega.
She rumbles, delighted and expectant, in my chest. She is blissfully free from the anxiety I have to deal with consciously. There are no worries or potential hang-ups, just excitement as she looks forward to the night ahead with her scent match.
Gosh, our inner beasts are such simple creatures. I envy them.
But it’s not just my omega. I also want to have a good time tonight, but to do that, I need to let the unknown drift away, and that’s proving harder to do the longer I live in this house.
I make my way out of the sanctuary of my room and immediately run into a tall frame, his deliciously tart scent blooming with brightness. He smiles down at me, his green eyes shimmering. “Good, I was just coming to see if you were ready.”
My mouth opens to respond but stops short when I get a good look at him. His hair is styled messily and it causes me to stare. Then I look lower, my eyes nearly poking out as I come face-to-face with his slim waist, his stomach visible right below his shirt.
I blink at him. “You’re wearing a crop top.”
His dark brow arches but his smile never fades. If anything, I think it widens as he looks down at himself and says, “Yes, I am.”
My omega practically salivates, and I have to say, I don’t blame her. We’re on the same page as my eyes fall upon the visible happy trail below the hemline and the soft ridges disappearing into his pants.
He has a slutty man waist.
If he notices me ogling, he doesn’t say anything as he motions over his shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”
My only response is a small nod, and he takes my hand and leads the way.
The car is cozy and already warm, a gesture that I don’t take for granted in the slightest as I relax in the passenger seat. After he sets off down the road, I suddenly find myself tongue-tied.
“This is a nice car,” I say, immediately cringing at myself, but Kit just smiles that same infectious smile that continuously pulls me in.
“It’s Sam’s. I don’t own a car, but he’s pretty nice about letting me borrow it from time to time.”
I blanch a little at the fact that Sam knows we’re going out together, but distract myself by asking, “He’s really serious, huh?”
Kit laughs. “Sam? Yeah, he can be. Not as much as Thatcher, though.”
Gosh, he can say that again. The only interactions I’ve had with him have been quiet and a little bit off-putting.
That night in the kitchen will forever be burned into my mind.
I don’t think he necessarily hates me or anything, but he’s a lot different from what I expected.
Rory and Stacia, and even Jett, described him as the grumpiest person they’ve ever known, and while that’s true, I also found him to be quite shy and subdued.
Something about that demeanor intrigues me.
Just as I’m thinking about it, Kit says, “I know it’s been a busy week, but have you guys gotten acquainted yet?”
I think about how to answer but ultimately just grimace and return his question with a question. “How do you handle having two serious alphas when you’re so…”
“Annoying?” he jokes with a teasing smile.
I find myself giving a sincere laugh. “I was going to say playful.”
Kit smiles in a way that makes his eyes squint, and I think it’s the cutest face I’ve ever seen, but then his smile falls the tiniest bit before he says, “They’re not both my alphas. Just Sam is.”
My eyebrow raises. “Oh… I just assumed you guys were a pack.”
“Well, we are. My pack bond clicked in with Thatcher, but we’re not scent matches. It’s a whole thing but sometimes that’s just the way it goes, I guess.” He tries to say it casually, but I can tell that the revelation still bothers him.
“And you don’t… feel romantically connected to Thatcher?” I say without thinking, choking on my words. “Wait, that’s too private. Forget I asked that.”
He smiles again, though it’s weak. “I do, actually. That’s kind of the issue. I’ve liked him since the moment I met him. But it’s just not happening on his side. Or, at least, I don’t think it is. He’s kind of hard to communicate with.”
I’d say that’s an understatement. The memory of the same guy walking around me in the kitchen, completely silent and avoiding eye contact, comes to mind.
“Can I ask another personal follow-up question?” I finally say, my eyes glued to the side of his face as he continues to focus on the road.
“You can ask me anything, Pebble,” he says, and the random nickname throws me off guard. The smile it evokes is even more surprising.
“Is that why you haven’t bonded with Sam?” I ask.
The mood in the car turns serious once more as he considers that, thinking over whether or not to open up to me about it. I feel bad for prying because he obviously isn’t ready to talk about it, but as I open my mouth to take it back, he responds.
“I want to bond with him more than anything, but I’m afraid,” he admits.
“Afraid?”
“Of going through a heat,” he states. “If it were with both of them, I think I could handle it. But the idea of going through a heat with only one alpha is… daunting. I don’t know if he’ll be able to handle me or if I’ll be a nuisance when he needs to eat, or sleep, or take a shower.
It just feels safe to prolong it for now until we can all get our shit together. ”