Chapter 1
Juniper
Staring down at the acceptance letter, I wonder not for the first time if it’s even real. I mean, the letter was addressed to me, my name printed clearly on the front of the crisp white envelope. But it still feels surreal. I mean, me, a nobody from a trailer park, won a scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the world.
Someone, slap me, because clearly I’m dreaming.
Or maybe I’m delusional.
Either way, I can’t tell if I’m actually looking at the right words, or if my mind is conjuring what I want to see. I know how much work I put into trying to get that scholarship. Not an easy feat when you’re taking the last of your school years online while falsifying documents that claim I’m still living with the last foster pack. Still, I’ve worked my tits off for this thing. Countless sleepless nights, tears, and almost-late deadlines, and it has finally led me here. And I can’t bring myself to believe it.
Rubbing at my tired eyes, I peer down at the paper once more and find it unchanged.
Congratulations! You have been awarded the North Five Educational Scholarship …
I don’t even bother reading the rest, the first word enough to have me crumpling the paper and hanging my head with relief, a shuddering laugh slipping from my lips before I can stop it. I did it. I got in. I’m going to fucking college . “Holy shit.”
Another laugh slips out, echoing through the still bare room in my shitty rental, and I bite my lip to trap any more that wants to escape. Swiping a hand over my mouth, I flatten the paper clutched tightly in my hand and force myself to continue reading. I’m told that I’ll receive an introductory package that will include information about my dorm, class options, and a schedule will follow soon after. The only thing I’ll need to pay for are essentials for my dorm, all of my textbooks and school stuff will be paid for under the scholarship grant. I can hardly believe it, but the ink on the paper doesn’t change, only warbling slightly when tears fill my eyes.
Grinning, I check the starting date. Two weeks from Monday. Shit, that doesn’t give me a whole lot of time. Although, it gives me enough time to hand my notice in at the bar I’ve been working at for the past couple of months. I can’t say I’m sad to give it up. I mean, it was only a source of income to keep a roof over my head after moving to a different city when the last one didn’t quite work out. Or the one before that. Or the one… you get it. I’ve been city hopping for years, ever since I got out from the last foster’s that thought they could take advantage of a sixteen-year-old omega without suppression tablets. Not much better than the assholes who birthed me and made my life hell for twelve long years. Right up until the night I almost died at their hands, anyway. After that night, everything changed, and not all of it was for the better.
Hand tracing the last burn scar on my forearm I received at that home, I decide to text my boss and let him know I’ll be quitting in two weeks. It takes me two seconds to shoot off the message, receiving a blunt, “You’re in tonight, though,” that has me rolling my eyes with a grin. At least he didn’t fire me straight away like he did the last girl. Probably why he’s not acting out, actually. Asshole is short staffed and I’m the only stupid bitch willing to work whatever hours available to save for cash. Cash that keeps me fed, homed, and only slightly warm when the heaters actually want to work. Beats living in hell, though, so you won’t hear me complaining too much. Anyway, I’m his favorite, so of course, he’s not kicking up a fuss.
With my cell still in my hand, I scroll through what little notifications and messages I have, one in particular catching my attention over the spam that bogs my phone down. It’s a reminder for my appointment at The Centre, a six-month check-up that I’m overdue and reluctant to attend. After all, The Centre did fuck all to help me after the night Hershal beat me until I was internally bleeding. I was forced there after I’d recovered enough at the hospital, forced there for two years while my designation came in and we learned that I’m an omega, and then they discarded me when I refused to join their Program for a Pack. Sent on my way with what little belongings I had and six months’ worth of suppressants, I was forced into the system, foster home after foster home housing me until I ran from the last one when the sons thought they could bag themselves a breeder for their fucked-up family.
Reaching into my purse on the cracked counter, I scoop out the small bottle of pills and rattle them, wincing when I realize I’m going to need a new prescription. Especially if I’m heading to a new school filled with alphas, betas and omegas alike.
Sending a reply to confirm the new appointment at The Centre nearby to North Five University, I ditch my cell and go about getting ready for a long night bartending at a rowdy bar filled with ruffians and assholes for shit tips and backache. Slipping on my bar-issued shirt that reveals a little too much cleavage for my liking, and tight, black leggings that suction to my ass, I style my dirty-blonde hair into a messy bun and swipe the bare minimum of makeup I can get away with on. I blink at myself in the mirror, nodding at the mascara, eyeliner, and lick of mauve lipstick, before leaving the crappy bathroom to stuff my feet into a pair of five-inch stilettos that are going to make my life hell tonight .
Scooping my purse from the counter, I stuff my letter inside and take a suppressant right before spritzing my entire body in deodorant and body spray that will hopefully disguise the lingering scent of my perfume. Satisfied that I smell more like a cheap hooker and not an omega hiding from her past, I hook my purse over my shoulder and head out.
***
“I’ll need my pay by the end of next week,” I remind my boss, Mack, for the third time tonight. He’s following me around, scowling like the burly biker he is, all muscle and beard, and a big ‘stay the fuck away from me’ vibe that can be scented from a mile away. I just didn’t listen to it, got myself a job working for the bald biker old enough to be at least an older brother, and have been working for him for the past five and a half months. The guy didn’t even question that I was only twenty years old. I was hired on the spot as soon as I told him I could hold my own and pour a beer that wasn’t just froth.
“You’ll get your money, girly. What I want to know is why you’re leaving so suddenly. You don’t like working here?” he grouches gruffly, eyeing a guy checking out my ass while I pour another beer.
Rolling my eyes and looking at the guy, I admit, “You know damn well this job sucks, with pawing hands and little tips.”
He grunts, almost in agreement, and I take pity on the pitiful look on the biker’s face.
“I got accepted,” I finally confess, biting back my grin as I slide over the cool beer to my patron, tallying his tab in my head before turning to look at Mack. His eyes have widened in shock, his lips twitching beneath the unruly beard he loves so much, and he’s shaking his head slowly like he’s as stunned as I am that I got into North Five University.
“Well, fuck,” he eloquently murmurs over the nineties rock music streaming from the classic jukebox in the corner .
“Mhm,” I nod, finally grinning at the big, burly guy. “Got the letter this morning. Only opened it just before I came here.”
“Well, fuck,” Mack repeats, right before he tears me into a bone-crushing hug that steals every ounce of air in my lungs. I’m pretty sure I hear my back crack like a glow stick, and I tap out rapidly when I think my lungs are going to collapse. Chuckling under his breath, he lowers me to the floor and steps back. “‘Grats, girly. Fucking proud of you.”
Well, hell. That almost makes me cry like a bitch, but I beat it all back with a stick. Instead, I grin and shove him, muttering, “Thanks. Worked my ass off for this, Mack.”
“No shit. Spent enough time here studying when you weren’t working,” he agrees, leaning against the bar while I wipe it down. “Hell. So, I really am gonna lose my best bartender. Why do you hate me? I thought you were pulling my chain.”
My head falls back with laughter, and I swat him with the towel in my hand. “I could never hate you. But I’m not gonna stay here watching a bar and getting my ass groped for the rest of my life. It’s North U, Mack.”
The big guy sighs, and I give him a sympathetic smile.
“I will miss you, though,” I offer, trying to lessen the burn and realizing pretty quickly that the words are very true. Mack is the only person in my life who’s stuck by me, helped me out, and made sure I was taken care of. I guess it’s in his alpha nature, to look after omegas. Not that he knows I’m an omega, since I’ve taken great care of keeping my designation on lock. It’s for my safety and his that I haven’t told him. Instead, Mack thinks I’m a beta with only the faintest scent of pineapple, and I’ve kept it that way for months.
Mack sighs deeply, glaring at another guy trying to get a peep down my shirt at my tits, before muttering, “Guess I’m gonna have to find a new bartender.”
“Looks like it,” I shrug, accepting a dude’s card with the instruction to close his tab. I do, returning to find Mack still glaring at the guy, and I laugh as I hand the card back over to the other guy, only for him to slip a couple of notes in my hand with a wink.
Shaking my head, I stuff the hundred in my pocket, taking back the comment I thought before about tips being shit.
“Well, alrighty then. You got enough cash stored away for this big move?” he wonders, finally breaking his glare away from the guy now cowering in his seat.
I can’t hide my cringe from him, knowing I only have about two hundred left in my account after paying rent and electricity for the rest of the month. Clearing my throat, I try to save face, now that I have at least three hundred thanks to the generous tip in my back pocket. “I have enough.”
“You’re such a bad liar,” he scoffs before heading to the register, pressing a few buttons, and diving into the register tray as it pops open.
Watching with a frown, I wait for him to finish rummaging, and I shake my head when he starts counting the cash. Alright then, weirdo. Leaving him to it, I go about serving other patrons, mixing drinks and thwarting advances off the regular alphas and betas that come in almost daily.
By the time things slow down again, Mack has left for a little while, my feet are aching like fuck, and my back is begging for a break. It’s almost closing, and only a few stragglers remain, so I do my job until the last one leaves and I’m cleaning the tables and stacking chairs. I’m the last of the staff left, so it’s no wonder why I almost jump out of my damned skin when Mack creeps up on me while I’m reaching for my purse from behind the bar.
“Holy shit, Mack. You scared the crap out of me!” I breathe, my hand slapped against my chest where I can feel my heart thundering against my palm.
Mack snorts, not a sympathetic bone in his damned body for frightening me, and says, “My bad, girly. Here, I want you to have this. ”
Then he hands me a bulging envelope that I eye suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Take it and find out,” he counters, his tone calling me a dumbass without the words.
Narrowing my eyes on the burly man, I slowly take the envelope and open the flap, my eyes widening almost comically when I spy a huge fucking wad of cash tucked inside, along with a set of keys. Mouth parting, I look at Mack, only to find him smirking at me like a jackass.
Before I can utter a single word, he points at me and hurries to say, “I don’t want to hear shit about how you can’t take it, you hear? There’s the rest of your pay for the next week, and the rest you can call your leaving present or some shit.”
“And the keys?” I choke, my purse slipping from my shoulder, my shocked mind too stunned to save it from falling to the floor.
With a shrug, he says, “Figured you could use something that could get you to your fancy new school that was more reliable than the shit heap you call a car. Got an old truck out back that’s yours, so long as you look after her and treat her right.”
Ignoring the absolute disrespect toward my poor, battered, and painfully unreliable car, I bite my lip and look down at the cash in the envelope. There has to be about two grand worth of notes in there, and I find myself battling with my tears once more as Mack shows me that he fucking cares. The only one in life who actually gives a damn about me.
“Mack, this is too much,” I rasp, slapping the envelope against my hand.
“Not enough, really. But it’ll get you by until you figure shit out at that fancy new school of yours,” he counters, stepping close enough to grip my shoulders tightly. With a rare smile, he gently demands, “Now you’re going to go home, pack up, and I don’t want to see you in my bar ever again. You got places to be, bigger things to reach for than a beer tap. ”
Making some weird sound at the back of my throat, I launch myself at him, arms banding around his broad shoulders with a hug that says more than I ever could. He freezes for a moment before he awkwardly hugs me back, his beard tickling my shoulder and neck.
Patting my back, Mack clears his throat and backs away, clenching his jaw before he says, “Now get out of here. I got a cat at home I need to feed, and you’re taking up more of my time than I care to give.”
Laughing loudly, I ask, “You have a cat?”
“Get out of my bar,” he demands, his twitching lips ruining the stern look he was going for.
Shaking my head, I bend to grab my purse, stuffing the cash and keys inside. When I’m standing again, Mack is already walking toward the back hallway where he’ll no doubt stay until he’s done with whatever shit he does back there. Before he disappears, I call, “Thanks, Mack. For everything.”
He throws a thumb over his shoulder before he disappears, and I take a deep breath while I wrangle my emotions under lock and key before leaving the only place that took me in without a second thought.
It doesn’t take me very long to get home with the use of my new truck, and I send my thanks again to Mack as soon as I’m parked at the curb in front of the rundown place I’ve been renting. A step up from the other places I’ve stayed, for sure, but a change is coming. This time in two weeks, I’ll be lying in a bed, in a dorm, at a school of my dreams. I won’t have to worry someone will break in and steal my shit again, won’t have to stress myself sick about paying bills and making sure I have enough money to keep my electricity on.
A new life is on the horizon, my dreams so close that I can almost taste them, and I’ll be damned if I let it slip through my fingers. It’s time for a fresh start, one that makes me almost giddy at the entire prospect.
With a newfound determination thrumming through my veins, I climb out of the truck and lock it, heading into my rental and looking around with a bite of my lip. I don’t have much in the way of belongings, always having to travel light in case I needed to run again. What little I do have could fit in a single suitcase and will take no time at all in packing, and, since I have nowhere else lined up to stay until school starts, I decide that this fresh start should come with a fresh new me, too. If I’m going to reinvent myself at a posh new school, then I’ll be damned if I don’t go with a new look, too.
Hell, maybe this will hide me better, too.
Biting my lip, I dart straight back out of the house and into the car, driving twenty minutes to the nearest store open that will sell hair dye. My options are limited, and since I don’t think a copper color would work as well on me as I’d like, I opt for the next bright option and buy the box before I change my mind. It helps that the color is one that makes me smile, flickers of my old life floating in my mind as I pick up the box.
As soon as I’m home again, I’m hunting down a pair of scissors and marching to the bathroom like a woman on a mission. I deposit the box of dye on the counter, and, with only a determined look in the mirror, I loosen my hair from its leash, wrapping the hair tie around my scarred wrist.
I take a moment to run my hair through my long, dirty-blonde strands, right before I take the scissors to the strands that remind me too much of Tori. The mother who was never a mom to me growing up. As soon as I’ve hacked away a large chunk of hair, I tidy up the wonky edges before tackling the dye. By the time I’m done, my hands are dyed, along with my ears, a few splotches on my temple, but most importantly, there isn’t a single spot of dirty blonde hair to be found anymore.
Feeling incredibly lighter for the first time in I don’t even know how long, I clear away the mess I’ve made before deciding to head to bed. In the morning, I’ll pack away everything I’m taking with me. I’ll email my landlord, cancel all of my bills, and make the necessary plans to get the hell out of here. Tomorrow is a new day, a new step in the direction of the future I wished I could have and never thought possible to achieve, and I’m more than ready to start finally claiming all I thought I lost all those years ago.