19. Cyrus
Chapter nineteen
Simon is late for dinner. He's the one who implemented the pack dinner rule, and he's late.
I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin lately. I'm not sure if it's the strained pack bond, moving to a new home, or the knowledge that my Omega is out there on her own in the world, but I am always so uncomfortable. I know I'm taking it out on my packmates, but I can't help it.
Nothing about this situation is right. Nothing about this is normal.
I hear his bike rumble up to the curb as I drain my glass of whiskey. "About time," I mutter to Rafe.
"Don't be an ass," he replies. "It's not a big deal."
But it's very clearly a big deal when Simon stumbles into the front door, blood crusted on his face, his eyes bloodshot from the tears that are still streaming down his face.
He doesn't notice us as he collapses on the couch, pulling his legs up to his chest as he sobs loudly into his knees.
Rafe and I exchange strange glances before the other Alpha jumps to his feet and runs to the couch, gently pulling Simon into his arms. "Slime?" Rafe says softly, rubbing between Simon's shoulder blades. "What's going on, man?"
The broken Alpha doesn't look up as he says, so softly I struggle to hear it, "Jordan rejected me."
My entire body stiffens as I lower myself down next to my packmates. "What do you mean?"
"She doesn't want me."
"You saw her?" Anger and jealousy wind up inside me, threatening to take over. It's unfair to be upset with him over it, but try telling my instincts that. "Did you talk to her?"
It's like my words aren't registering with Simon. "She was missing. Didn't go to work."
"You know where she works?" Rafe interrupts. "How long have you known?"
"Years," he replies. "I've kept tabs on her for years."
I grab him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him to my face. "You kept her from us?"
"I wanted to warm her up first. Didn't want you to go in all aggro and scare her off." He sniffles, turning those bloodshot eyes on me. "I sent her gifts. I was trying to court her before you came in there, demanding she be ours."
My hands loosen, and his shirt drops from my grip. "You can't go off making decisions like this on your own! We decided to approach her together. She's ours!"
"Not anymore," he says softly. "She's bonded."
Those two words shatter my tenuous hold on my sanity, and I pick up my empty glass and hurl it at the wall. Rafe swears under his breath, jumping to his feet and pacing throughout the room.
"Who is this fucker who stole our Omega?" I growl. "I will fucking end him."
"He's pack."
Rafe skids to a stop. "He's what now?"
"He's pack," Simon repeats with a shrug. "He's her scent match, too, and I met him. Without a doubt, he's pack."
"That's good, isn't it?" Rafe says, his eyes lit up with excitement. "He'll want to pack up with us. Pack draws are strong, too. This may be the in we need."
Simon chuckles darkly. "No, he doesn't care. She doesn't want us, so he doesn't either."
"This is unacceptable." I look at the shattered remains of my glass, regretting that I now have to dodge the shards on the floor. "We need to speak to her. To tell her everything."
"I doubt she'll listen. She said something…" He looks up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. "She said we made her question her own mind. That we made her think she was insane."
"When she was right all along," Rafe murmurs. "We basically gaslit her."
"There is no basically," Simon says. "We told her what she knew was true was false. And now that she's an Omega, we're finally accepting that she was right."
For a long time, we're all silent. I'm sure the others are spinning around that final conversation with Jordan in their heads, too. Thinking back to all the things we said to her, the ways we tried to distance ourselves the year before.
Of course, I regret what we did. How could I not?
I regretted it almost immediately, but I knew it was what was best for her. Loving someone means doing things that are good for them that they may not like.
But now all of us know better, and she's punishing us, she's punishing herself, and she's punishing her Alpha by keeping him from his pack. It's selfish.
It's immature.
But it's understandable.
"What'd she smell like?" Rafe asks softly. "Did you get to scent her?"
"Yeah." Simon's voice takes on a dreamy quality. "She smelled like peach milkshakes."
The image of a freckled seventeen-year-old Jordan drinking a peach milkshake through a striped red and white straw fills my mind. I'm not surprised that's what she smells like to Simon.
He didn't call her peaches for nothing.
"Did she say what you smelled like?" I ask, despite the jealousy eating me alive that he got to see her, to scent her.
"Chocolate malt."
His order at the diner. The diner she dragged us to at least once a week from the moment we were old enough to walk home on our own.
How was there ever a doubt those two would end up with anyone other than each other?
It makes me feel so fucking stupid. How did I miss it all those years ago? That we were fated for one another?
With the way those two fit together it should've been obvious.
Does she fit like that with me? I think, at one point, she did. But what about now?
Emotion chokes my throat, and I turn away from my packmates in shame.
What the fuck did I do?
I can't sleep.
I've been lying here in bed, staring at the ceiling in this room that is not mine but is slowly becoming such, spiraling out of control about all of the ways I've fucked up.
I no longer believe that when Jordan scents us, she'll forgive us. Simon blew that theory out of the water. And as much as I know I messed up, I really did think I was doing the right thing.
After going over the interaction with this other Alpha in detail, Simon finally told us everything. About how he'd been tracking Jordan, the gifts he was sending, and every detail he'd gleaned about her life, including how she'd been hiding from us.
I've got her company website up on my phone, and I've read her bio over and over, willing it to give me something that can help me bridge the gap between us.
But of course, it doesn't. These are just words on the internet describing an executive who works diligently to make her clients' products successful.
Her email address is right there, taunting me. I've been trying to talk myself out of it for hours, but my lack of sleep has me feeling reckless.
Jordan,
I hope this email finds -
I immediately trash the draft. I can't speak to her like one of her clients. It can't be impersonal. It has to be from the heart, right? I have to show her I messed up.
Jay,
It's been ages. I'm not saying that's your fault. I know it's mine. But the phone does go -
Fuck.
Why is this so hard? It shouldn't be this hard to tell someone I fucked up, and I want to talk to them and smell them and bite them and -
Okay. I see where I may be going wrong here.
Jay,
I fucked up.
Come tell me just how much.
-Cyrus
Before I can second guess myself, I hit send.
But what if she doesn't respond? What if she leaves me on read?
An idea smacks me in the face, and I dial Ronda.
"Stargazer, it's five in the morning," she says, not sounding tired at all. "What's so important you couldn't wait until after my morning coffee?"
Ronda has been my agent for a decade, way back when I was still on the ice. She's been with me through my injury and the relaunch of my career as a sports broadcaster. I trust her implicitly.
Even with this.
"Ronda, I need a favor."
"You always need a favor."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Look, I found my scent match." Her gasp has me plowing through the next words before she can interrupt. "But I've known her for a long time, and I've fucked shit up, and she won't talk to me, Ronda. I need her to talk to me."
Her gasp turns into a deep, angry sigh. "Do I wanna ask what you did?"
"Can we just say I was a boneheaded kid and I made a mistake, but she has every right to be pissed at me?"
"How can I help you, Stargazer?"
"She's the exec over print media at Hurry Up and Grow. I need to get on a campaign they're managing." There's silence on the other end of the phone, and I run my hand through my hair, getting my fingers stuck on a few of the curls, a telltale sign it's a wash day. "Ronda?"
"You're asking me to get you in a print ad?"
"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."
"Do you know how many people want you in an ad, Stargazer? Fuck, this is the easiest ask you've ever made of me. I can tell any of them they have to use HUG."
"Let me know when it's done," I tell her before hanging up.
I swing my legs over the side of my bed and practically skip to the bathroom.
Today is going to be a much better day.