Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The TV has gone idle, the screen taken up only by the show’s logo.
That call was … intense.
Grant is squeezing my hand so hard it hurts, and Ivan has buried his face in his hands.
I don’t think Onion was the only one who needed this. I think we all did. Like it or not, all of our relationships, with her and each other, are going to change.
Gone are the days of us crowding on the couch and texting her together, coming up with responses as a group. Sure, we all had times where it was just us and Onion, but for some of the tougher things, we all weighed in.
Kind of like how we do when we need to come up with a solution to something that affects the pack. She just didn’t know she was already a part of ours.
“Do you think that was the right thing to do?” Ivan’s voice is filled with an unusual amount of hesitation. This phone call was his idea. I was surprised the producers went for it.
“It was a good idea.” Grant rests his head on Ivan’s shoulder, his silvery hair falling into his face. My packmate looks down at our Beta with a fond smile that crinkles the corners of his rich brown eyes. “I’m glad you suggested it. Hopefully, it’ll allow us to start over.”
“Do you think she’ll finally read the letter?”
When Onion told me about the letter, I encouraged her to read it immediately. She wasn’t ready, so I dropped it, but every year, on the anniversary of her brother’s death, we reminded her she had it and suggested she open it up.
I knew she was afraid to. The last words her brother will ever ‘say’ to her carry a weight that may be hard to adjust to once it’s gone.
I hope she opened it up.
I hope she read it, and that whatever it said helped her in this moment. Maybe it eased some of her fears, or propped her up as she felt herself falling.
Ivan’s stomach roars, and he clutches in typical Ivan dramatic fashion, sniffling away his emotions in an attempt to be funny. “I’m wasting away over here. What kind of food do they have in the fridge?”
“There’s stuff for sandwiches.” I wave toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you make one for Onion, too? Even if she doesn’t come out, we can set it by the door for when she’s ready.”
He bounds over the back of the couch like a child, crashing into the kitchen. I’m sure America is going to wonder if he’s playing up for the camera, but he’s not. He’s clumsy, overexcited, and affectionate, like a puppy.
A big, handsome puppy.
I didn’t think about it before now, but what if she’s not attracted to us?
I don’t know why I’m worrying about that, because it doesn’t matter if she’s attracted to us if she never wants to see us again.
Grant cards his fingers through my hair, and I hum happily at the contact. “I love you.”
His fingers stop moving, and he pecks me on the cheek. “I love you, too.”
“I don’t want you to feel… replaced. Or like how I feel about you is any less with Onion here.”
“Ariana. She wants us to call her Ariana.” He slips onto my lap, straddling me, and captures my cheeks with his hands. “Why would I ever think that? I love her just as much as you do. I know I’m not being replaced.”
I rest my forehead on his, luxuriating in his sweet orchid scent. “I read online that some Betas feel neglected when an Omega enters the picture, especially during heats. I don’t want you to feel that way. I want you to know that my feelings for you won’t change. You are my Beta, and I need you.”
He kisses me with a soft, delicate sweetness, the way he’s done a thousand times before.
“Alpha. I know that. I’ve known from the moment I met you that I wasn’t the only person you loved.
And I’ve always been okay with that. Are you okay with sharing her affections?
Is it going to upset you if Ariana wants to be romantic with Ivan or me? ”
“Of course not. You both love her as much as I do.”
“See? Why would you assume that I’ll feel slighted?”
“I don’t know. I’m just…” I hold his hips, pulling him closer to me and resting my face on his slim chest. “I’m afraid that everything is going to fall apart. That there is no way I’m going to have everything, everyone. I’m owed some negative karma after lying to her for so long.”
“Ah, I see. You’re feeling guilty, and you’re assuming the rest of us see you the way you see yourself.”
As always, Grant immediately latches onto the core of the issue.
I don’t want to look in the mirror right now, because I know I won’t like what I see. Ariana has been locked in a room for hours, and it’s my fault.
Sure, Grant and Ivan helped me keep up the lie, but there were two years before they came into the picture, when it was only Onion and me.
I’m the one who decided to lie to her about my designation.
If I had told her I was an Alpha the moment I presented, would we be here? Would she have cut me out as soon as the words left my lips? Or would she have determined then that I was worth the risk?
I’ll never know, but it doesn’t stop me from ruminating on the what-ifs.
“Dinner is ready!” The clanking of dishes on a table and Ivan’s words have Grant hopping off my lap and running toward our packmate. “I made sandwiches for all of us. Couldn’t just feed myself and our girl.”
Our girl.
I have to hold onto hope, no matter how blind it is, that she will be our girl one day.
The three of us spread out, like we’ve done hundreds of times before, and tuck into our sandwiches. We’re joking around, chattering away about bullshit, when a soft voice interrupts us.
“Uh. Hi.”
She’s behind me.
Holy shit, she’s behind me.
I stop breathing, and my body goes rigid. I don’t know what to do or say, and my packmates seem to be similarly frozen.
“Guys? I’m not a dinosaur. I know you’re there even if you’re not moving.”
Ivan is the first to recover. He jumps to his feet, holding out his hand like he’s welcoming her to a business luncheon.
“I’m Ivan Miller. We talked through the door.”
I peek over my shoulder and see a pretty flush stain on her cheeks.
“Ariana Cooley.”
Oh, and it is a beautiful name. I roll it around on my tongue, speaking it silently, getting used to the way it feels. Hearing it from her is way different than hearing it from Grant.
“Are you hungry, sweetie? I’m not a chef or anything, but I make a mean turkey sandwich.” Ivan gestures at the plate next to me, the one I have been studiously avoiding looking at. “The secret is two different kinds of mustard—plain yellow and dijon. Don’t tell anyone, though.”
Her eyes land on a camera in the corner of the room. “I think the secret’s out, Ivan.”
He blows a raspberry over his shoulder in the direction of the camera. “Well, maybe they’ll edit it out to protect my trade secrets. Who knows how much of this they’ll air?”
The chair beside me squeaks a little as she pulls it out. “Can I sit here?” I nod, speechless, as she lowers herself stiffly onto it and folds her hands on her lap.
I may have heard her voice just a little bit ago through the television, but here, beside me? It’s the sweetest music in the world.
“I’m Derrick.” I force myself to make eye contact with her, to watch the way her face transforms and flickers with her thoughts as she stares at me.
“Derrick.” She says my name slowly, carefully. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She picks up her sandwich and takes a bite, and the silence around us is thick and uncomfortable. After a few moments, she clears her throat.
“Do you have the card?”
“What card?” Grant asks as he leans onto his elbows.
“Today’s challenge. Did they send it in with you?”
Oh.
That card.
Amid the chaos, I forgot that we have actual challenges to complete while we’re in here. One for each day, if their pattern holds up.
“Yeah, I have it.” It’s a bit crumpled from being shoved in my pocket, so I have to smooth it out on the table as I pull it from the envelope.
“Wait, that’s it?” She’s leaning around me, her shoulder nearly brushing mine, and my heart beats a desperate rhythm in my chest. She smells like summertime, like sweet treats and ice cream trucks. I want to touch her. I want to pull her close and bury my face in her neck.
But I don’t.
I can’t. Not yet. I can’t scare her off by revealing how obsessed I am with her so soon.
“Looks like it. We just have to survive.”
That’s all it says.
“Survive?” Ivan snatches the paper from me. “Huh. It really does say we just have to survive. I guess they didn’t expect this to go well.”
“Well, they were right, weren’t they?” Ariana’s nose scrunches at Grant as she looks at him. He holds up his hands in defense. “You passed out. That’s not exactly a smooth introduction, is it?”
Ivan huffs a small laugh. “I suppose not. But survive makes this sound dangerous and ominous.”
“It is dangerous.” Ariana’s harsh words make my chest ache. “Maybe not for you three, but it is for me.”
“We could Rot, you know?” I’m not arguing with her, per se. It’s more of me challenging her. “Alphas without their Omegas can and do get the Rot all the time.”
Alpha Rot is a chronic condition that Alphas can get without a bonded Omega.
For some, it comes after their Omegas die, but for others, it sets in before they even meet their Omegas.
Like Forsaken Omega Syndrome, it’s not usually fatal, but it is a severe health condition that requires a lifetime of treatment.
Eventually, an Alpha can lose the ability to produce pheromones, meaning they will not be able to scent match.
And if they can’t scent match, they can’t find their Omega, who can help their Rot go into remission.
“Except you won’t die from Rot, will you?” Her words are bitter. “Not to downplay the seriousness of Rot, because I understand it’s painful and can reduce an Alpha’s lifespan, but it’s not nearly as common as FOS, and it can go into remission. If FOS isn’t caught early enough and treated…”
“Then the Omega dies,” I finish for her.
“Then the Omega dies.”
She pushes her plate across the table, the sandwich only half finished. It’s impossible to miss the way her hands shake as she stands.
She looks so small. I never realized how short she is. We didn’t share heights. It never felt relevant, but she’s at least six inches shorter than I am. She’s still wearing the copper dress production put her in, and though she looks gorgeous, I know she has to be uncomfortable.
“I’m going to go to bed.”
It’s what I expected her to say. This has been a long day.
“Would you like turn down service?” Ivan jokes, standing and folding his arm like a butler holding a towel. “Or perhaps to schedule a wake-up call?”
Exhaustion draws her features down, and she doesn’t seem to be able to muster up a smile.
“No thanks.”
The door shutting behind her sounds like a gunshot in the quiet, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s a killing blow.