18. Nineteen
Nineteen
Taryn
For absolutely no clear reason I could think of, I didn’t sleep well Wednesday night.
Thursday morning I was sore. Thursday afternoon my head hurt. Thursday night I finally slept. A bit, at least.
Friday I convinced Brea to go to work. She’d begged off on Thursday, rescheduling her appointments and pushing back a few due dates for papers and evals so she could stay home with me.
But she’d worked too damn hard for this.
It wasn’t going to slip through her fingers in the home stretch because of the asshole she’d run away from to start with.
I doubted she’d have gone, except she double-checked that Caine would be upstairs all day, and Lin would be in and out of the area too.
I dozed on and off through the morning. I was working on convincing myself to eat something for lunch—my appetite had been weak at best the last two days—when Brea texted me.
Brea
Officer Norton phoned. We’re meeting him at the station tonight to finish the ROs.
She got home a little earlier than normal—she must’ve skipped her last lecture and caught an earlier bus.
My head throbbed as we hopped in our rideshare and made our way to the station downtown.
And it throbbed as we waited in the lobby, one of the fluorescent lights humming and flickering every few seconds.
And it throbbed when they led us into a tiny interrogation room, all cinderblock and steel, half an hour later.
And it throbbed when Officer Norton finally joined us another twenty minutes after that.
“I’m so sorry to keep you both waiting,” he said as he dragged the metal chair backward, the metallic scrape an ice pick in my ear that made me flinch.
“Of course,” Brea said. “Has the restraining order gone through?”
The officer flashed a tight smile. “Actually, I was having a little trouble locating Taryn in our systems.”
Something white hot stabbed right through me. I knew what was coming.
“You reported your name at the scene as Taryn Rose Maddox?” Officer Norton asked, tone conspicuously even.
I gave a curt nod.
“We don’t have anyone in our system with that name. We do, however, have a listing for Taryn Rose Lennox?”
Brea and I had been trying to think of a way to make our chosen surname legal almost since running away. We’d been chasing after a new life, so a new shared name seemed fitting. Brea Madison and Taryn Lennox became Brea and Taryn Maddox.
Informally. Socially.
Legally speaking, not so much. For one kind of huge reason.
“That’s me,” I confirmed, hot acid rising up my chest. Up my throat. Threatening to spew out over the beta cop across the table.
Officer Norton gave a slow nod, like he’d heard precisely what he expected to hear, but wished he wouldn’t hear. “Well, the thing is, Taryn Rose Lennox has a social security number and a birth ID…but she’s not Registered.”
And there it was. The fucking Census. The hill my mother and grandmother had died on, that I’d intended to as well. Even if it kept me from taking the name I’d chosen for myself.
Shit. I should've prepared for this. I should've thought about this before we were sitting right the fuck here. No options. No cover stories. No nothing.
I crossed my arms. “I'm a conscientious objector.”
The officer shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.
“Be that as it may, unregistered omegas are ineligible for any legal services, including restraining orders and government assistance. And even setting that aside,” the officer continued, cutting Brea off before she could speak, a rarity for a beta, “now that I know you’re unregistered, I’m a mandatory reporter.
You should know that it’s a five-hundred-dollar fine. ”
An aghast breath burst from my lips. We had some decent savings between us, but that would still be a huge hit. Brea’s eyes shuttered, and she gave a little shake of her head. “Fine, we’ll pay—”
“A month.”
I gaped. “Five hundred bucks a month? ”
“Until you Register, yes. Now, technically, I could also backdate that fine from the month of your delinquency, but considering everything else going on right now, I’m not gonna do that.
” He looked between the two of us, eyes serious.
“But as soon as I report you as an unregistered omega, it’ll work its way through the pipeline and you’ll eventually get a notice in the mail.
Refuse to pay, and they’ll garnish your wages for a while.
When they can’t do that anymore, then they’ll issue the warrant for your arrest.” He sat forward in his chair. “I don’t want that to happen.”
Brea and I exchanged wary glances. Registering on the Census went against everything Gran had stood for, fought for.
Registering now felt tantamount to spitting on her grave.
If it were just me, I’d give this goon the middle finger, buy a paper shredder, and wait for the bills.
But Brea was my mate. I couldn’t drag her into something like this.
She was finally in a job she loved, finally looking at life like it had something to offer her.
Snatching all that away from her for a principle would’ve been selfish beyond words.
I nodded quietly. “Fine. I’ll Register.”
“Teacup, no, you don’t—”
“It’s fine.”
Not entirely true. Needs must would’ve been more accurate. But I was too exhausted to correct myself or offer any further comfort. Especially now knowing I had a lengthy Census to fill out.
“Excellent,” the officer said as he clicked and typed on his computer, apparently pulling up the Registration form to go through with me. “We can get started now. I know it’s late, but sooner would be better than later.”
Brea swallowed hard, looking to me. By law, omegas had to be alone when they Registered in order to ensure their answers weren’t coerced. Decent notion in theory but crappy in practice.
She released a heavy sigh before leaning down to kiss my cheek. “I’m just down the hall,” she whispered before exiting the room, taking the miniscule bit of warmth that existed in this place with her.
Saturday, Brea had morning sessions. And I was falling on my ass. A lot.
As I hit the ground yet again, the only thought going through my head was how much Brea would enjoy having been right.
Because I’d been out in the sun for nearly an hour trying to get my footing on this stupid rolling board and all I had to show for it were two mild scrapes, three soon-to-be bruises, and a burgeoning headache.
How the fuck did people balance on these things?
I couldn’t stay on longer than a blink before it bucked me off like a damn mechanical bull.
Unfortunately for me, my ass was harder than the concrete currently bullying me. I loved Brea, truly. She was my world. But like hell would she get to I told you so me. Not on this. Not right now.
So, fall after fall, I’d stood back up, stepped back on the death board, and resigned myself to my fate.
I did the same after the most recent fall, stealing as surreptitious a glance to the roof as possible.
Caine still stood there. Even from three stories down, his brooding glare was more than clear.
I’d first noticed him up there half an hour ago, after one of my more spectacular involuntary dismounts.
I’d laid on my back, staring at the clouds and questioning every life choice I’d ever made, when his shadow against the pale blue sky had caught my eye.
I’d bet money Brea asked the guys to keep an eye on me until she came home.
Ignoring him brought me a rather perverse pleasure. Every time I landed on my ass, though, the embarrassment climbed up my face. At least I’d have someone to blame for my lack of progress today. Couldn’t possibly get my bearings with Judge Broody staring me down.
Another quarter hour slipped by. I’d finally managed to stay upright for the length of three whole seconds before the board quite literally sprinted out from under me and planted me flat on my back. Oxygen abandoned my lungs as the cursed devil-wood rolled innocently away. I lay there, gasping.
At least my broody gargoyle had flown the perch.
Okay, maybe it was time to call it a day. Or a wrap.
Some people just weren’t meant to shred asphalt. Maybe I was just destined to be shredded.
Tears prickled the corners of my eyes. Stupid goddamn omega hormones.
Stupid alphas making me feel all small and inept.
Caine…Heath…the beta cop…even Brea, though she didn’t mean it.
But she assumed, same as the others, that I was weak, breakable, better kept safe under lock and guard.
I hated it. I could break my wrist skateboarding if I wanted to, thank you very much.
And I wouldn’t just hole up in our apartment, in my still-as-yet-uncompleted nest, because some alphahole decided to try swinging his big dick around.
Yes, I’d Registered for the Census. One small concession. But that was it. No hiding for me.
Loud, and rough, and dirty, till the day I die.
As I stood—slow, already getting sore—footsteps approached. I looked over just in time to see Caine scooping up my still-rolling skateboard before turning for the parking lot.
“Hey!” I scrambled the rest of the way up, jogging after him. “What the fuck, man?”
“Go inside and drink some water,” he threw over his shoulder, never breaking stride.
I exhaled an incredulous laugh. “You’re not my alpha. Give my board back.”
He turned then, scowling like an actual gargoyle. He took a step back toward me, a fierce enough look in his eye that I halted my own approach. He pointed back toward our building. “Go inside. Drink water.”
“My—”
“You’ll get your damn board back,” he said as he pivoted and made for the parking lot again. “And put some sunscreen on.”
I stared after Caine until he approached his black SUV, tossed my fucking skateboard in the backseat, then drove off.
What. The. Fuck.