57. Willow
Chapter fifty-seven
Willow
I wake with a jolt, the memories of yesterday slamming through me. I wait a moment, for the paralyzing panic to follow, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s the scent of my three alphas lying heavy in the room, or the grounding ache of three bite wounds on my body, but the despair remains dormant.
Doesn’t take away the nausea in my stomach when I consider that Boss Omega is probably done for, especially since I haven’t put out a statement yet.
But lying snuggled into Alessandro’s chest, with a heavy hand locked around my waist from one of the brothers, it’s like their arms form a cage that banishes the crushing weight of failure.
I lie still for as long as I can manage before my body protests, digesting all that’s happened to me. I, Willow Sheldon, an abandoned omega, actually accepted a pack’s bonding. And even though I search for it, I can’t find even a speck of regret.
I just needed to meet the right men to realize not all alphas are jerks.
Which leads me to ask: Have I been too harsh on alphas all this time on my channel?
I smile to myself as all the bigoted comments telling me to get back in my nest come to mind.
No, I can be as harsh as I like, so long as I remember that it’s not all alphas.
My alphas aren’t like that.
Even knowing I’m a broken liar, they still held me close and begged to help. They also stopped me from doing something so stupid, I can’t believe I even considered it.
I ease upright. Jeremy’s snoring into Alessandro’s back, which means the solid arm over my hip belongs to Joel. I shift it off me with difficulty; even in sleep my alpha doesn’t want to release me.
As I slide toward the end of the bed, Alessandro stops me. Groggy and more asleep than awake, he tugs me close and offers his lips. My heart swells as I look down at his pouted mouth and closed eyes.
I press my lips to his. He’s awake all right, because a swell of tingling heat runs through our shared bond. When I drop another kiss on his cheek, his short black beard tickles my skin.
Alessandro releases me and I slip free, padding to the bathroom.
As I shower, I consider my options. For the most part, I’d rather just avoid the whole situation.
Delete all my accounts, disappear from social media.
The Boss College could keep operating, running on ads from a hired account manager.
Not everyone using social media knows who I am, and not everyone would learn how my empire fell.
That would be running away. Again.
Back then, when the Ilvine pack abandoned me, I didn’t know about human rights.
Hadn’t heard about the omega support programs that would’ve helped me sever the bond and get back on my feet.
So, I endured it all, agonizing over every sexual encounter streaming second-hand into my heart, shaking every time the alphas connected to me got sick, scared, or frenzied during ruts.
I wish I could sever my bond to social media as cleanly as the lightning seared my bond to those bastards. Wish there was a way to stop caring about how millions of people now see me as a fraud.
But it’s also my life’s work. Hundreds of hours of filming, advising, helping people. Would I really take it all back if I could?
No. Not one bit.
I hop out of the shower and wind a towel around my hair. Jeremy stumbles in, bleary-eyed, herb scent thick on his shirt. He hugs me from behind, arms caging me in.
“Okay?” he mumbles into the back of my neck.
I stand in his arms for a moment swaying side to side in the steam, processing how the bond carries my emotional state to him and his to me—yet we still want to talk about it out loud.
“Better than yesterday,” I whisper, stroking the dark hairs on his arms. My throat scratches, sore from all the screaming.
He nods. “What do you want to do first?”
“Coffee. Then damage control.”
He kisses the back of my neck and releases me. “I’ll be right behind you, baby.”
And that’s how it’s going to be from now on.
A hint of a smile plays across my mouth as I get dressed in comfortable slacks.
I cast around for an oversized shirt, but then I spy Joel’s shirt on the floor from yesterday, presumably discarded after I soaked it with tears.
I tug it over my head, lifting the collar to breathe in his baked clay scent.
All warm and earthy. Like the sun’s dried into the fabric, if the sun had a scent.
Yeah, this will help me get through my day.
Jeremy and I have our coffee in near silence, him holding my hand and squeezing it often. Mr Shares and Jock, accidentally left out overnight, both stick their heads in my lap for cuddles.
Thank God the weather’s so warm and they had each other.
My alpha gets up before our drinks are finished and makes toast. He brings me two slices slathered in mashed avocado with onion and cheese, and I eat a few bites, knowing he’s worried I’ll need my strength.
Joel and Alessandro get up as I’m finishing my coffee, each alpha pausing by my chair to kiss the top of my head. It sinks in that the days of sleeping alone in my car are so far behind they may as well be another lifetime.
The three of them flutter around the dining table, looking for things to do.
Alesandro makes himself a coffee but doesn’t drink it.
Jeremy rearranges my shelf of newspapers.
Joel goes to the pantry three times for the cereal he’s already put on the table.
We’re all nervous, but for different reasons.
“I think,” I begin, pressing my palms flat to the table. “That I need to make an announcement. A recording.”
My alphas gather around the table in mere seconds.
“That is your primary form of media,” Alessandro says with a hum.
I nod.
“And what are you planning to say?” Jeremy asks, worry in his eyes.
That’s the million-dollar question, literally. “Well . . .”
Alessandro slides a notepad and pen across the dining table. I don’t know when he got it, but it’s the one I scribbled ideas on yesterday, right before breaking down.
Cover things up by denial. Tell a half-truth or . . . my pen flicks across an empty section of the mind map. Tell the truth.
“I know you think you aren’t perfect enough for your viewers,” my gentleman alpha says. “But we disagree. You didn’t become the life coach you are today because you were perfect, but because you figured out ways to succeed regardless of what happened in your past.”
His words, softened by his accent, sink deep into my soul. Oh. I wanted to help omegas because I’d been abandoned. It was sleeping in my car at night that forced me to think about financial security.
My hand drifts to my leg. I trace the scars under the fabric. The lightning? It taught me about private healthcare and planning for emergencies. How to access at-home services. Oh, and enough resilience to learn to walk again.
“I have a question,” Joel says, crossing his arms over his chest.
I nod. Nothing in the bond suggests anger or blame. How nice to have a conversation without fearing what the other person’s thinking or suffering because of what they feel.
“In the Boss College modules, you asked us to discover and prioritize one goal.”
I smile. “Yeah, you all discussed that one a lot.”
Joel leans forward. “So, what’s your goal, Willow?”
I scratch the pen idly over one corner of my page. “My goal was always to help omegas.”
Jeremy takes my free hand, picking up his brother’s line of thought. “So how can you help omegas, even with all this shit going on?”
I chew on my lip. Well, the modus operandi hasn’t really changed. Yeah, I’ve lost a shit ton of credibility, and nothing I do is gonna erase that.
As the silence drags, Alessandro leans over to tap a finger on my notepad. “What would Boss Omega tell her omegalings in this boat to do?”
That makes me smile. “Never give up. Pivot but keep going.”
“Always darkest before the dawn?” Jeremy asks.
I snort. “Something like that.”
“Well, we’re right here for you cara mia.” Alessandro sinks back into his chair with a smile. “We’ll change all the light globes in the house for you, so it's no longer dark.”
“That’s right.” Jeremy beams. “We’ve even got an electrician on demand.”
He slaps his twin’s back.
Joel karate chops Jeremy’s hands away, making me chuckle. Those two are as lively as our pack’s fur babies.
“Okay. I’m going to tell the truth,” I say, nodding firmly. “I’m going to tell omegas it’s okay to be broken.”
Alessandro pushes his chair back and comes to my side, kneeling on the ground. He bunches up my slacks until he uncovers his bond wound and sucks gentle at it, sending a burning thrill running through my veins.
When he looks up at me through his luscious black eyelashes, he says, “And your scars, cara mia. These are just as beautiful.”
I thread my fingers through his hair, exploring the contours around his lovely face. The contrast of his dark facial hair and white tank top sparks an idea. It will require some preparation, but it just might make my statement more meaningful. At least to me.
“All right. Let’s get this over with.”
The next twenty-four hours are some of the hardest of my life.
I cry every time I try to log into my socials.
I shake so badly while writing my script that I repeatedly drop my pen.
The worst straw is when my personal assistant Kylie resigns.
The pressure’s too much for her, the online critique harshly attacking anyone involved with me.
Can’t blame her. As passionate as she is, this was still a job for her. For me, it’s my life.
But no longer my entire life.
With my office trashed, I use my tablet on the dining room to work. My pack keeps a revolving door of tissues, warm face towels, hydration, and snacks coming past the table. Not to mention mental fortitude and so much love streaming through the bond. Their belief keeps me going.
Finally, I have my words on paper, and I review the script, shallow breaths wisping through me as I read and fix a few points. The truth, in all its messy nakedness.
We set up my green screen room, except I cover the backdrop with a black sheet, pinning the folds in place with help from my alphas. We drag one of the bucket seats in front of it and after some special prep, I dress up in a cream satin gown—right after I cut a split in the side almost to my hip.
I sit down and cross my legs, and Jeremy snaps some photos to show me how it looks. The black and white pallet carries an elegant somberness. And me? Sexy, fragile, and scarred.
For the first time in my life, I don’t cover up the Lichtenberg figures. They’re on full display, along with the rest of me.
My alphas settle on stools behind the cameras and lighting gear, hiding their nerves with clasped hands. Jeremy, who’s my self-professed cameraman, starts the recording, checks it, and gives me a thumbs up.
I stare into the lens.
“Hello, Omegalings. Right now, my feed is blowing up with all sorts of things, and you deserve to know the truth. So here it is.
“Yes, I faked my off-site videos. If you stop watching now, that’s fine.
I understand, and I hope I made your life better somehow along the way.
But if you’re curious to learn why I faked those videos, and why I’m sitting here now, like this, then listen up.
This is the truth. You may find it hard to believe, but I’ll post my medical details and arrest records as evidence in a linked folder.
It’s the least I can do. All I ask, is that you hold off on judging me until the end.
“Because this is the story of Willow Sheldon, the Boss Omega, unmasked.”