40. Cyrus
Chapter forty
I am learning a lot about my Omega by cleaning this condo.
Mainly that she is a sneaky kind of messy.
On the surface, everything looks impeccably clean. I attribute much of that to Icarus, who always seems to be wiping something up.
But when you look deeper, you'll find candy wrappers shoved between couch cushions and dropped behind her nightstand. An errant sock just hanging out under the bed. And I do not know if she's ever dusted her ceiling fan blades.
And the cats.
Fuck, how do the two of them shed so much?
I grab the trash bag from the kitchen, take it to the garbage chute, and run into Simon in the hall.
"Alright, Cyrus?" he asks, tilting his head. "You're clenching your jaw, man."
I didn't notice until he mentioned it, so I work to release the tension. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just in my head, you know?"
How do I say I'm working off jealous, nervous energy because Jordan took him to her nest and went on that date with Rafe? And when I had her alone and had a chance to make headway with her instead, I blew up, doing what I always do and antagonizing her.
Why did I think declaring my love for her on live television was a good idea?
Surprisingly, my outburst did not lose me my job. Eventually, the network decided that the increase in viewership and the positive social media outpouring for our love story were enough to convince them that I was more of a benefit than a liability, and they let me come back to work.
Simon waits for me to toss the bag in the small door on the cream wall of the hallway and then follows me into Jordan's place.
For some reason, it still doesn't feel like my home.
"I just feel like I've fucked things up, and I'm never coming back from it."
He busies himself by making a coffee, turning his back to me as I perch myself precariously on the bar stool. "Have you tried to do something special, just the two of you?"
"What, like you did?" The bitterness leeches into my voice like over-roasted coffee.
My packmate turns around and gives me a scathing look. "Look, Cyrus, you don't get to be upset about me being intimate with Jordan. She accepted my apology and welcomed me in. I can't do that work for you."
"But you had it so much easier!" I recognize that I sound like a petulant child, but I can't help it. I've never wanted anything this badly before, and it's killing me that I can't seem to snatch it. His tattooed hands flex around the coffee mug that reads "Dr. Hot Pants."
"Cyrus," he drags out the 's' like a snake, something he used to do when we were younger, "the idea to cut her out of our lives was yours. You never once attempted to get in touch with her. I did. I called her constantly for two years. She ignored me, but still. I practically stalked her. I knew she was mine, and I've been waiting in the shadows for when she was ready to accept me."
The mug clatters on the countertop, and he runs his hand through his shaggy green hair in frustration. "You're forgetting Jordan is still the Jordan we grew up with. She's not a different person because she goes into heat now, okay? Would the Jordan we went to school with have liked a public apology like that?"
My mouth opens and closes silently as my brain processes what he said.
He's right, of course.
I don't know why it's been so hard for me to connect Omega Jordan with the Jordan from my past. The way Omegas are perceived and treated in society is pervasive, and I seem to have fallen victim to the bias. Because the Jordan I knew is nothing like how I've been told an Omega is supposed to be, I've spent this time operating under the assumption that the behavior of Omegas is genetic and not a societal expectation placed upon the designation as a whole.
And that assumption has had me ignoring who Jordan has always been in favor of the belief that she would fit into the small box today's Omegas are forced into.
Trying to picture teenage Jordan and her reaction to what I did makes me want to duck my head in shame. "Well, fuck. She would've smacked the back of my head."
Now, her reaction at Alphamatic makes a lot more sense.
Shit, I messed up, didn't I?
"Yeah, she would've. That was a lot of pressure you put her under. So, what are you going to do to make up for it?" Despite my protests, he hauls himself up to sit on my clean countertop and swings his legs, humming to himself.
The clock on the stove shines bright neon, broadcasting that it's almost six and Rafe, Icarus, and Jordan should all be coming home soon.
"How about this," Simon chuckles. "I'll throw you a bone, yeah? I'll get the conversation going in a way that may give you some ideas. Worst case? Take her to brunch. She loves brunch."
The door slams open, and Icarus struts in while loosening his red tie. His sandy blonde hair sticks up at odd angles like he's been running his hands through it.
"Long day, boss?" Simon asks with a chuckle.
Icarus rolls his eyes and shoves our tattooed Alpha off the countertop. "You're worse than the cats," he mutters. "I'm working on an application for a research grant for the gene that repressed Jordan's presentation."
"Does she know?" I slide off the stool and start gathering ingredients from the fridge and pantry to make dinner as we talk.
"I wanted to wait to tell her until I get the grant," Icarus says as he unbuttons his white shirt.
Simon appears over my shoulder out of nowhere, startling me into dropping the box of dry pasta. "Want some help?" he whispers.
"Never. Get." I shoo him out of the kitchen. I'm not a great cook, but Simon is tragic. I turn my attention back to Russ. "She'll be excited even if you don't get the grant."
"Yeah, I know, but she's still so sensitive about it. She thought it was her fault for so long, and I want to be able to show her for sure that it wasn't." He leans over the counter, propping himself up on his elbows. "She missed out on so much, you know? She never got to go to the Omega Academy or the socials. She didn't have a big first nest shop with her parents or pack. She furnished a nest on her own, quietly."
Simon slides him a beer, and Icarus snatches it up, taking a deep breath. "I wish I met her sooner. That I could've saved her so much heartache."
I clear my throat as I turn away from the stove, and when I meet Icarus' eyes, they hold a confusing mix of remorse and frustration. "Sorry, I'm not trying to rub it in your face. I'm just worrying about her extra today." He rubs his chest absently like he's got heartburn. "She must be having a tough day at work because the bond feels strained, and it's got me in my head."
"You don't need to apologize. We know we fucked up. We could've helped her have those experiences." The only thing I can reliably cook to feed a pack of this size is a very basic spaghetti that is not authentic at all, so I busy myself combining tomato sauce with garlic and seasonings while sausage browns.
He did give me an idea, though.
"I'll clean up. You cooked," Jordan says as she scrapes the rest of her plate into the compost bin.
"No, you rest," Rafe says, taking the plate from her hand. They're still awkward around one another, but she's stopped tensing when he gets close. I guess that means that she scented him, finally. He kisses her on the cheek, and she smiles softly.
It seems I am behind in the groveling.
I clear my throat and tug on my white t-shirt as I stand up from the table. "Jordan, do you, uh, have a minute?"
Usually, after dinner, Icarus grabs a book and curls up on a corner of the couch, and Simon and Rafe play a video game while Jordan scrolls on her phone. Sometimes, I join the guys in a game or head to the complex gym.
But tonight, I join Jordan on the couch as the others busy themselves around the kitchen to give us a moment together.
"What's up, C?" she asks nervously. I'm close enough to her now to smell the sweet, floral wisteria scent of her pheromones, and it makes my head a little fuzzy.
I'll never get over how wonderful she smells. I remember ignoring my parents to sneak out and study with her under our tree, incurring my Dad's wrath when I finally got home.
It was always worth it.
I rub my hand on my neck, nerves flaring up out of nowhere. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to Omegamart."
"Omegamart?" She wrinkles her nose. "Why?"
"I know you have a nest and probably everything you need, but if you wanted…" I breathe out heavily, acutely aware that I'm probably fucking this up. "I'd like to spoil you, Jay. You shouldn't have had to buy your own nest. It's my fault you did. I want to fix it if you'll let me."
Jordan inhales sharply and ducks her green eyes. "I love my nest," she says.
"I'm sorry, it was a dumb idea," I interrupt, lifting myself off the couch.
"Wait!" She reaches out and grabs my hands, stilling my movements. I lower myself to the soft surface, trying to remember the last time she touched me.
We don't hug. We don't kiss. There is no affection between us.
Her fingertips are like a brand. Her touch is a balm on the burnt-out husk of my heart.
"I was going to say," she continues, "that I love my nest. But. It wouldn't be so bad to start fresh."
Joy flashes through me, and I have to stop myself from whooping in excitement. "Let's go tomorrow, yeah?"
"Sure!" Her smile is brilliant, eyes sparkling, and I want nothing more than to grab her behind the neck and pull her into a kiss.
I don't, of course.
She's not ready for that.
"Guys!" Jordan calls out, startling me from my daydreams of what her lips would feel like on mine. "We're going to Omegamart tomorrow to shop for my nest!"
"Rad!" Simon hollers back. "I'm in!"
Rafe and Icarus also voice their agreement, and my stomach sinks. I have to school my face so as not to show her how disappointed I am that it won't be just the two of us.
She squeezes my hand affectionately before curling up in the corner like she does every night. "Thanks, Cyrus. I needed something fun to look forward to tomorrow."