Chapter 60
My body screams out at how wrong it is for the little spaz to feel bad enough that she’s finally sedate.
From the moment we met, she’s been loud and exuberant regarding everything she encounters.
This new, quieter version is off-putting just because it means she feels bad.
I don’t like it. She’s endearing curled up against her beta, and a relaxed version of her could certainly be appealing, but not this quietly pained one before me.
It unnerves me, as if it’s something I should fix.
Paul’s purr rumbles to life for the first time since I’ve known him, and it takes effort for me to drag my eyes from her to him, at the sheer absurdity of the situation.
Other than Spencer, who can’t control it, alphas don’t purr for people who aren’t our family.
Certainly not a random omega. Also, while I don’t know all of what happened, the fact that this is the first time he’s done it since he lost his scent match is unnerving.
From what Spencer has told me, that whole situation was a shitshow of epic proportions, and while the beta he matched to is fine, she was already happily married and had a family.
She wasn’t interested in having an alpha or a pack.
Which sucks for him, but better that she was upfront than to lead him on.
Greg turns, still holding Sarah, and starts down the stairs.
Paul’s purr stutters out, and that fact alone makes me want to bring her back here.
Spencer looks worried, though in all fairness, I think he has undiagnosed anxiety since he’s always concerned with helping everyone else be happy.
A few moments later the front door opens and closes quietly, and they’re out of the house.
At this point, I don’t even know what I want the outcome to be.
Would it be better for her to suddenly go into heat and have to leave completely, cut our losses before any of us get more involved?
Or should I hope, instead, that she feels well enough after some fresh air that she comes back inside to tell Spencer goodnight; that we might get to see her again before she leaves.
For that matter, why do I even want to? I don’t want an omega; they are untrustworthy and manipulative creatures only intent on their own comforts.
Though I suppose the same could be said for any designation.
Heaven knows my old pack threw me over for her in a heartbeat, but I don’t think that these guys would ever do anything like that.
They took me in without knowing anything about me, even before they had a reason to trust me.
Which is the other problem. I don’t want them to get hurt when she goes back.
Because she will; no sane omega would willingly move halfway across the country for a pack of guys she just met.
For one, that would be incredibly dangerous.
For two, her family would have to approve of the transfer, or she would need to bond with us and have the pack paperwork amended to include the two of them so that we could bring her here.
Though it hardly matters, because she’d have to be nuts to leave Los Angeles and move to Mississippi.
We have nothing but catfish, rocks, and way too much fried food.
I’ve been here for a few years now, and I’m still reeling from the culture shock.
All three of us wait quietly for some sound from outside, either their van driving away or the two of them coming back in.
Time seems to stretch on to infinity, but when the grandfather clock downstairs—a housewarming gift from Josh and Billy—chimes eight o’clock, I know it’s been less than ten minutes since they left.
Regardless, the sound seems to draw Paul out of his thoughts, and his shoulders hitch in a sigh before he turns and starts back down the stairs.
Spencer leaves the nest a moment later, quietly closing the door behind him as if he wants to pretend it doesn’t exist, and follows Paul downstairs.
With nothing better to do, I walk down myself, belatedly realizing they’ve both gone into the kitchen.
Paul is pulling out a recipe book that’s seen better days, thumbing through it quietly while Spence fidgets on the other side of the island.
Apparently, our oldest packmate has several recipe books.
Much like my own things, they’ve been packed away in preparation of getting a place of our own, since there wasn’t enough space at the apartment.
He even hung up a dedicated shelf for them in the kitchen—the supports covered in curling vines and grapes that he whittled himself so that he could display them properly.
He says most of them are gifts from his parents; they have traditionally given him and Josh each a cookbook every year for Christmas along with some other gifts that align with their separate interests.
My parents send a card each year with cash; and while I do appreciate it, something a bit more personal would be nice.
Though I can’t exactly blame them either—I haven’t spoken to them or my brothers more than a handful of times since I migrated.
Not that they haven’t tried, but the conversation invariably turns back to why I left so abruptly and what happened with my previous pack, and despite the injury being a few years old now, I’m not ready to discuss it with them.
I love them all, but there is no point in cutting open old wounds to watch them bleed. The past is past.
Spencer finally settles enough to take a seat at the bar part of the island, his big body perched precariously on the tall stool, and his feet flat on the floor despite the height.
My toes don’t even touch the damned ground when I sit there, and it draws into sharp contrast how different we are, not just physically, which is painfully obvious on occasion, but the way he carries himself.
His hunched shoulders and rigid posture.
He always attempts to be smaller than he really is, whereas I go out of my way to be blatantly overwhelming due to my smaller size.
Of course, he’s also the oldest sibling in a house full of betas and I’m the youngest amongst a brood of alphas with only our omega mother being smaller than me.
Not that she ever let her size dictate her status.
She rules the house and everyone in it with a tiny iron fist.
I wonder if Sarah would be like that, a tiny tyrant?
As sweet and charming as a fucking feral cat most likely.
At least she doesn’t put up a false claim of being soft-spoken and demure.
The perfect pretty omega to lure you in until the bond happens, and then you find yourself out in the cold as the pack reject.
No, I suspect that what you see is what you get with her.
Which is refreshing with her outgoing attitude, and honestly, I’m still worrying about how quiet and withdrawn she seemed earlier when the front door opens again, but it’s not her voice that calls through the house.
“Hey! Sorry. I’m taking Sarah home. She’s feeling a bit better, not as spikey.
But I think she needs some rest, and she says ice cream will help.
I’m pretty sure that part’s just a con to get sugar, but it’s not like I’m gonna tell her no, anyway. ”
Spencer looks sad, but turns towards the entryway before Greg makes his appearance, and Paul’s lips lift in a small smile before he responds.
“Sounds good. If she’s still feeling bad tomorrow, let us know.
I’m doing a morning shift, so I should be here in the afternoon.
I can make her up some chicken soup if it would help.
” I don’t know what use chicken soup might be with heat pains, but he’s just trying to be supportive.
His mom is a beta, so he’s probably doing whatever he can think of to help someone who feels sick.
It’s a depressing realization that I’m the only one in our pack who has any experience with omegas, and all of that since I moved out of my parents’ house has been bad.
Greg returns my packmate’s smile. He works with omegas daily, so he understands the futility of the gesture, but his voice holds no derision.
“Thanks, my dude. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.
” His attention turns to Spencer. “She asked if you’re working tomorrow.
She said she doesn’t want to keep bothering you or risk getting in trouble, but she wondered if you wanted to come in sometime when you weren’t on the clock so you two could talk about technique and do squats or something…
Man, I don’t know. Working out isn’t my thing. ”
Spencer’s shoulders relax immediately, his usual grin replacing the previous look of worry.
“No, I’m…I think I’m off the clock. Shit…
er. I mean, I forgot to check the schedule today.
Can she ask Kelly? I think she usually does the scheduling.
” He looks embarrassed. “I can work if they need me to, but I just mean…wait, you don’t work out?
” He gives Greg a suspicious once-over, but the big beta just laughs.
“Not if I can help it, no. I do it more now since it’s important to her, but I’m more of a couch, coffee, and guitar kind of guy.
I’d rather get lost in music for a few hours a day than sweat my ass off.
Nothing against anybody who’s into that; it’s just not my jam.
” Spencer’s laugh is loud and boisterous, finally sounding like his normal self.
“Nah, it’s all good. I got started lifting ’cause of sports, mostly football.
I can’t dribble a basketball to save my life, but football is where I rock.
Also, ’cause I like to eat.” He casts a gaze at Paul, who is back to smiling himself.
“His mom knows what I mean. When I started hanging out with Josh in middle school, she would always invite me over. Then she said I was a food vacuum and she never had to worry about leftovers with four alphas in the house.”
That, at least, explains part of the cookbook thing then.
I guess any beta would look at having a house full of alphas as needing to make sure one of them had skills in the kitchen.
Though Mom didn’t make us learn to cook.
It was never one of her passions, but she trained our fathers well.
Though woe be to anyone who complained about their food.
None of us kids ever used the term “But I don’t like this” more than once.
Our dads were more than happy to send us to bed without supper for upsetting her, and Spencer is right that alphas need a lot of calories to grow.
Well, my brothers did anyway. We technically had nine alphas in the house between me, my siblings, and Dads.
Not that Mom ever complained about it; it was just how things were.
Paul has an alpha dad and a beta mom and his brother.
Spence has beta parents and siblings. So it looks like I’m the only one who grew up in a pack.
Maybe that’s why these two are so accepting of my not wanting to share some of my past with them—they don’t consider it strange not to know everything about each other.
Do they think of me more as a third roommate instead of a pack member?
That could also be it, though I wouldn’t think they would have put me on the mortgage paperwork with them if that were the case.
No…they just must not be used to how packs work. Fuck, I hope that’s all it is.