Chapter 8 Jessica #2
The fear is physical. My omega wants me to run, to hide, to find pack safety NOW.
"Listen to me carefully, Mrs. Whitmore." My voice comes out steadier than I feel, and maybe that's my omega giving me strength.
Giving me the courage to stand up against a threat.
"I did not have a mental breakdown. I made a choice to run from your son because staying with him was slowly killing me. "
Silence.
"Furthermore, I'm not going to apologize for any of it. Not to Callum. Not to you. Not to the two hundred guests who came to watch me sign my life away to a man who thought he could control everything about me."
"Jessica..."
"And finally, if you ever call me again, spread my medical information around town, come anywhere near me, I will file harassment charges.
The sheriff in Largo Waters is a family friend.
" Nacho's face flashes in my mind. His scent.
Leather and rain and safety. "I'm sure he'd be very interested to hear about how you're using illegally obtained medical information to harass your son's ex-fiancée. "
"You ungrateful little—"
I hang up before she can finish.
My hands are shaking violently now. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The empty house feels too big, too quiet, too unsafe. My omega is in full panic mode, screaming for pack, for protection, for an alpha who can stand between me and threats.
But underneath the adrenaline and fear, there's pride.
I just told off Eleanor Whitmore. I just refused to be manipulated by the most manipulative woman I've ever met. I just stood up for myself in a way I haven't in two years.
My omega gave me that strength. Made me fierce when I needed to be.
Maybe there's hope for me yet.
My phone buzzes again. I flinch, expecting another attack, but this time the name on the screen makes something in my chest loosen.
Stacey Turner.
I answer immediately, desperate for a friendly voice in the emptiness.
"Please tell me you've seen it," Stacey says before I can even say hello. "Please tell me you've seen the absolute circus that is your ex-fiancé's Instagram."
"I've seen it." I settle back against my pillows, pulling my knees to my chest. "I've also seen the TikTok memes. Did you know I've been photoshopped escaping from Jurassic Park?"
"The one with the velociraptors? That's my favorite. You're running from the T-Rex in your wedding dress. It's art."
I laugh. The first one in what feels like forever, and my omega settles slightly at the sound of pack-adjacent friendship.
Stacey and I have been best friends since seventh grade, when she transferred to Largo Waters Middle School and I was the only person who didn't make fun of her braces.
She's loud, chaotic, fiercely loyal, and currently engaged to three alphas she met at her sister's album launch party.
Her life is a romance novel come to life.
"How are you doing?" she asks, her voice softening. "Really. Not the brave face version. The real version."
"I'm eating peanut butter in bed and watching my life become a meme. So, you know. Living the dream."
"Jess."
"I'm okay, Stacey. Really." I take a shaky breath. "I'm scared and confused and I have no idea what I'm doing. But I'm also relieved. And that feels weird because I should be devastated, right?"
"That's because you escaped a prison sentence disguised as a marriage." Stacey’s voice is firm. "I never liked Callum. You know that. From the first time you brought him home, there was something off about him."
"You could have told me."
"I tried! Remember the bachelorette party? I made a whole speech."
"I thought you were just drunk."
"I was also drunk. But it was a warning."
I smile despite myself. "Well, consider me warned. Six months too late, but warned."
"Better late than never." There's rustling on her end. "So what's going on? You sounded weird on the phone yesterday. Not just wedding-escape weird."
This is it. The moment I tell someone outside The Negrorios Pack and Pedro what's happening to me.
"Stacey, I need to tell you something. Something medical."
"Are you sick?" Her voice sharpens with worry.
"Not sick. Just... changing." I pull Dad's shirt tighter, breathing in his fading scent for courage. "I'm omega, Stacey. Late-presenting. I've been on suppressants since I was sixteen, thought I was beta. But I stopped taking them a few weeks ago and now everything's happening at once."
Silence on the other end. Long enough that I start to worry.
"Mel?"
"Oh my God." Her voice is soft. Wondering. "Oh my God, Jess. That's... that's huge."
"Yeah."
"How are you feeling? What are you experiencing? Do you need anything?" The questions tumble out rapid-fire. "Have you told your mom? Does Callum know? Please tell me Callum doesn't know."
"Mom knows. She's in Mexico but she knows.
Callum doesn't know, but his mother just called and apparently Patricia at the clinic told her bridge club so it's probably spreading through town as we speak.
" My voice cracks. "I'm terrified, Stacey.
My body is doing all these things I don't understand.
My sense of smell is insane. I can smell everything.
My own scent is everywhere and I hate it.
And Pedro says I'm going into heat in less than two weeks and I don't know what to do. "
"Okay. Okay, breathe." Stacey’s voice shifts into the practical, take-charge tone that's gotten us through a dozen crises over the years.
"First, your scent is probably beautiful even if you hate it right now.
Omegas always think they smell too strong but trust me, it's not as bad as you think.
Second, going into heat alone for your first time is brutal.
Do you have somewhere safe you can be? Someone who can help you? "
"I'm alone in my mom's house. Mom's in Mexico. I don't have anyone."
"What about The Negrorios Pack?”
My stomach flips at the mention of them. Why is she bringing them up? "They're Callum's friends. What does that have to do with anything?"
"Jess. Come on. Don't play dumb with me." Stacey’s voice is gentle but firm.
"You've been in love with that pack since before you left Largo Waters. And they've been in love with you. Everyone could see it except apparently you and Callum."
"That's not—"
"It is. And now you're omega and they're a pack of alphas without an omega and you're about to go into heat and you're telling me you haven't thought about it?"
I have. Of course I have. Carlos's sandalwood and sawdust scent. Pedro's sage and honey making me feel safe even in the clinic. The memory of Sergio's warmth, Nacho's steadiness.
"It's complicated," I whisper.
"I'm engaged to three men who used to be business rivals.
I invented complicated." Stacey pauses. "Listen, I'm omega.
I know what you're going through right now.
The hypersensitivity, the emotional intensity, the way your body is screaming for pack and safety and alpha.
It's biological, Jess. You can't fight it.
And trying to go through your first heat alone? That's not brave. That's dangerous."
"I know. I just..." I stop. Swallow hard. "What if they don't want me? What if I'm reading everything wrong? What if I go to them and they reject me and I have to live in this town seeing them everywhere knowing I threw myself at them and they said no?"
"Then they're idiots and you move on. But Jess?
I don't think that's going to happen." Her voice is warm.
Certain. "The way Carlos looked at you at that Fourth of July party?
The way Sergio watched you when you laughed?
The way Nacho was always just there whenever you needed something?
Those men are gone for you. Have been for years. "
"I ran from Carlos yesterday. Literally ran."
"Because you're scared. That's allowed. But fear is just fear. It doesn't mean you're making the wrong choice. It just means you care about the outcome."
I curl tighter around myself, alone in this empty house, my omega crying out for pack.
"I don't know if I'm ready," I admit.
"Then take your time. But Jess? When that heat hits, you're going to need someone. And I'd rather it be four alphas who worship the ground you walk on than some stranger from a heat service." She pauses. "Or worse, Callum showing up and trying to stake a claim."
The thought makes my stomach cramp with fear. "He wouldn't."
"Are you sure? His mother knows you're omega. How long before she tells him? How long before he decides an omega mate is exactly what he needs to fix his image?"
She's right. I know she's right. The way he escalated in those texts, going from pleading to threatening so fast. The possessiveness Eleanor showed on the phone. They see me as property, not a person. And now that I'm omega...
"I need to go," I say suddenly, urgency flooding through me. "I need to... I don't know. Do something. Figure this out."
"Okay. But call me, yeah? Anytime. I mean it. I'm here for you." Stacey’s voice softens. "And Jess? I'm proud of you. For leaving. For standing up for yourself. For being brave even when you're terrified."
"Thanks, Stacey. Love you."
"Love you too. And stop looking at Instagram. Nothing good ever comes from Instagram."
She hangs up.
I sit in the silence of the empty house, phone clutched in my hands, my omega screaming at me that I'm alone, vulnerable, unprotected.
I need to move. Need to get out of this house before the walls close in completely.
I pull myself out of bed and dig through my closet for clothes. Find a navy blue sweater that actually fits, jeans that are years old, but actually fit and button properly, warm socks. Trade Dad's shirt reluctantly, already missing his fading scent.
Ten minutes later, I'm dressed and pulling on my coat. The one from the wedding escape, still smelling faintly of rain and panic.
But underneath that, sandalwood and sawdust.
Carlos's scent. From when he touched my elbow. Still clinging to the fabric.
My omega wants to bury her face in it. Wants to follow that scent to its source. Wants pack and safety and alpha protection.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. I'm not thinking straight. My omega instincts are too strong, too new, too overwhelming.
I need air, because I need to figure out what I'm doing before my biology makes decisions for me.
The cold air hits me when I step outside, sharp and clean after the closed-in scent of the house. I suck in a breath, letting it fill my lungs, and my enhanced omega senses catalog everything.
And underneath it all, the faint traces of alpha scents on the wind. The town is full of them. Old Mr. Garrett's tobacco. Sheriff's deputy Chen's coffee and aftershave. The Whitfield boy's teenage alpha musk as he walks past.
I'm drowning in scent, my omega cataloging and categorizing, trying to find safety in the chaos.
I start walking without a destination in mind. Just moving. Putting one foot in front of the other. Trying to outpace the thoughts spiraling in my head.
But my feet have other ideas.
They take me past Main Street with its shops and decorations. Past the coffee shop where I used to study. Past the bookstore and the pizza place and all the familiar landmarks of my childhood.
And then I'm standing in front of a brick building with a flag pole out front and a patrol car in the lot.
The sheriff's station.
I should turn around. Go home. This is a bad idea. I'm not thinking clearly. My omega is driving me here, seeking pack, seeking protection, seeking the scent of leather and rain and steady alpha strength.
But my hand is already reaching for the door.
And then I smell it. Through the glass, through the walls, the unmistakable scent of Nacho.
Leather and rain. Clean and masculine and steady as hell. Alpha scent that makes my omega purr with recognition. With need. With the desperate desire for safety.
My hand closes around the door handle.
This is stupid. This is reckless. This is my omega making decisions my brain knows are dangerous.
But I'm so tired of being alone.
I push open the door.
The reception area is small and functional. A desk, some plastic chairs, fluorescent lights that buzz overhead. And the scent—leather and rain mixed with coffee, old paper, the faint tang of gun oil.
A young deputy looks up from his phone, eyes widening when he sees me. "Miss Delacroix?"
He knows who I am. Of course he does. He’s probably wondering what the runaway bride is doing in the sheriff's station on a Monday morning.
"Is the sheriff in?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
"Sheriff Negrorio? Yes, ma'am. He's in his office. Should I—"
"I'll show myself back."
I don't wait for permission. Don't give myself time to second-guess. I walk past the desk, down the short hallway, following the scent trail like a beacon.
Leather and rain getting stronger with every step. Alpha scent calling to my omega. Pack calling me home.
I stop in front of the door marked SHERIFF.
My hand hovers over the handle.
What am I doing? What do I expect to happen? I ran from Carlos on the street. I fled from Pedro's clinic. Now I'm voluntarily walking into Nacho's territory?
But I'm alone. My omega is screaming for safety. And this scent, this alpha, this man who's always been steady and quiet and there...
My omega trusts him. Even if my brain is terrified.
I knock before I can change my mind.
"Come in." His voice is deep. Steady. The voice of a man who has never been uncertain about anything in his life.
I open the door.
Nacho looks up from his desk, and the full force of his scent hits me like a wave.
Alpha and pack and safety.
My omega nearly drops me to my knees with the force of her recognition.
Pack. Safety.
His eyes meet mine. Dark and intense and seeing everything.
"Jessica."
One word. My name. In that deep, steady voice.
And for the first time since I climbed out that window, I feel like maybe, just maybe, everything's going to be okay.