Chapter 40 #2
“I slept with Finn,” I say finally, the words landing heavy between us.
Aisling’s brows lift but she doesn’t look shocked. “I suspected.”
“He didn’t even recognise me,” I continue, the bitterness creeping back in. “Remember, I wore that wig to the beach party weeks ago? We slept together that night and he had no idea it was me.”
Aisling sits up straighter. “You’re kidding. I never put two and two together that you were that blonde. He was obsessed with that chick…until he started spending more time with you.”
“Not kidding, no.”
She lets out a low whistle. “That’s messy… I can’t believe you slept with him and never said a word to me!”
“Humiliating, you mean. Even when we slept together again, he still didn’t realise it was me. I thought it would…trigger a memory or something.”
“Yeah,” she agrees gently. “That’s bad. But that’s on him, Lani. Not you.”
Silence stretches for a moment before she speaks again.
“So what exactly did you hear?”
“That they were calling off the bet,” I reply. “That it started as a challenge. That it needed to end properly – whatever that means.”
“And you heard that part?”
“Yes.”
“And nothing else?”
I hesitate.
“There wasn’t much else,” I admit.
She nods slowly. “Timing matters.”
My chest tightens again.
“I kissed Koa,” I say quietly. “The night before.”
Aisling’s gaze sharpens. “And?”
“And it wasn’t fake. I really like him.”
“Okay...”
“And Kai—” I exhale. “Kai already lied to me once, pretending to be his brother.”
She grimaces. “That’s classic Kai. Idiot behaviour. He used to do it all the time. Thought he’d pretty much outgrown that prank by now.”
“And Sol—”
She glances toward the hallway. “Where is Sol in all this?”
“He wasn’t part of the bet,” I say quickly. “I know that.”
“How?”
“Because he wouldn’t be. It seems too…juvenile for him?”
Aisling studies me carefully then looks around. My nest may be hidden upstairs, but the little nods to each of the guys is unmistakable in daylight. I can smell their scents everywhere. Surely Aisling must too?
Aisling turns slowly back to me.
“Oh,” she says softly.
Heat floods my face.
“I didn’t mean to,” I mutter. “I have no idea how it happened, but I kind of like all of them.”
She breathes out slowly and sits carefully on the edge of the sofa.
Her gaze lifts to mine. “Lani, are you an omega?”
The word lands differently when someone else says it.
“Yes….maybe? Nearly.”
“This is new?”
“Yeah.”
She nods slowly. “And you didn’t know before?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I sit down opposite her and stare at my hands.
“My father didn’t want an omega daughter,” I say, the words feeling brittle. “My mother was an omega and I think now with hindsight, that from a very early age it was clear to him that I would be too. My father decided to stop that from happening, no matter what it took.”
Aisling’s jaw tightens. “That’s illegal.”
“Not if you own the doctors,” I reply flatly. “And work for the pharmaceutical companies.”
“What do you mean?”
“I need to tell the guys this, but basically my father is an addict and a drunk. An all round bad guy with horrible morals and even worse political views. He believes omegas destabilise society and all women should be betas. When he lost his job, he took his research with him, thinking if he could prove it worked – that he could ensure omegas’ DNA could be altered to prevent them from emerging, essentially forcing their bodies to remain trapped as betas – that they would give him his job back, as well as prestige and fame.
I was the experiment that would give him his life back.
Or I would have been, if I hadn’t run away the first real chance I got. ”
Silence stretches thick and heavy between us.
“That’s fucked up, Lani.”
“I know.”
“Surely if you ever met your scent matches, your natural biology would trigger anyway?”
“I don’t think he planned on letting me go anywhere to meet anyone who could make that a possibility. I don’t know. Like I said, he’s a drunk. I don’t think he was ever thinking clearly all the times he was injecting god-knows-what into my body without my consent.”
“Jeez, Lani. That’s heavy.”
“Yeah. He did it from such a young age I never thought to question it. There was always some reason or other. An excuse. He made out like I was sick and he was trying to help me get better. I remember being so scared to end up like my mother that I trusted him, even though I never felt unwell. Sometimes I think he would inject me in my sleep too. I would always wake up groggy and feeling the tell-tale side effects. Even when I got older and tried to stand up to him, it never worked. He always got his way. That’s when I started to suspect that he might not let me leave and I started to squirrel money away when I could.
I wanted to go to university. To get away from him, at least for a while. ”
“Fuck, girl. That sounds insane. But I have to ask…who bit you?” she asks quietly.
I take a deep breath before answering, more to push memories of my father away than to brace myself for my admission. “Sol.”
“And Sol biting you triggered your presentation?”
“Yes. Or the rejection sickness that came after did, maybe. I’m not sure.”
“And the others?”
I swallow. “I think it’s more than just Sol.”
Her nostrils flare again as the breathes in slowly. “Yes,” she says quietly. “I can see that.”
“I thought it was just rejection sickness,” I admit. “But it got worse when I left their house. Not just because of him. Because of all of them.”
Aisling leans back slightly, absorbing that.
“So,” she says carefully, “Scent aside…you like them?”
The simplicity of it catches me off guard.
“Yes.”
“All of them.”
“Yeah.”
“And that’s terrifying.”
“God, yes.”
She studies me for a long moment.
“Do you think you overreacted?” she asks gently.
The question lands softer than it should.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“You heard a part of a conversation,” she continues. “You didn’t hear intention.”
“They still started it as a game.”
“Yes.”
“That matters.”
“It does. But ending it matters too.”
I stare at my hands, my fingers unintentionally twisting in the fabric of my top.
“They sent items. Clothes that smell of them,” I say quietly.
“I gathered.”
“No notes. No speeches. Just…their scents.”
Aisling nods. “That’s not boys playing a game. That’s men trying not to lose something important.”
My throat tightens again.
“I don’t want to be stupid,” I admit. “I don’t want to forgive them just because my body reacts to them.”
“You won’t,” she says firmly. “You’re not that girl.”
Silence settles again, softer now.
“So,” she says after a moment, “what do you want?”
I think of my nest upstairs. Of the careful folding. At the spaces where they could fit.
“I want to hear them out,” I whisper. “But I don’t want to go back just because I miss them.”
“Then don’t,” she replies simply. “Make them come to you properly.”
The idea settles somewhere steady in my chest.
Not forgiveness.
Not surrender.
Conversation.
And maybe—
Choice.