2
Phoenix
Have you ever wondered why some psychologists seemed more troubled than their patients?
Ever wondered why they would choose a profession dedicated to helping others find stability when they clearly couldn’t follow their own advice? That’s how I felt about my career choice.
Sometimes, I felt like a fraud.
How could I be a glorified sobriety coach when I struggled every single day to keep my own demons at bay?
Why did I put myself in the line of temptation just to help others muster the willpower to face it? Maybe it was my Omega nature that drove me to take care of others, even when I couldn’t always take care of myself.
Maybe it was the thrill—the adrenaline of managing my own addiction while performing as someone I wasn’t.
If my boss had known the truth about me, there was no way I would have been hired.
Not only was I concealing my struggles with addiction, but I was also suppressing my Omega nature and posing as a Beta.
Omegas weren’t meant for careers—not unless they had a pack or guardian to sign off on it.
The laws were clear: an Omega had to be bonded or on suppressants to even enter the workforce.
But getting those suppressants legally? That required guardian or pack approval, constant monitoring, and routine check-ins.
Society had decided for us—either we belonged to someone, or we didn’t belong at all.
I refused to accept that.
So I found another way.
The black market wasn’t cheap, but freedom never was.
And the first time I took those pills, it was like flipping a switch.
No heat cycles.
No overwhelming need to submit or bond. The hormones, the instincts that once hijacked my brain? Gone. No more battling the ever-present hum of my biology whispering things I didn’t want to hear.
I could function—hell, thrive—as just me.
Phoenix.
Not Phoenix-the-Omega.
It felt like freedom, even if deep down, I knew I was trading one kind of cage for another.
The anonymity had been a blessing, though, and I had been able to find a job at one of New York’s finest PR firms.
They probably wouldn’t have allocated me clients who needed help due to their substance abuse if I had been honest about my history, but I was making a difference.
No one had caught on to my charade yet, though every day was a nerve-racking balancing act.
But this had been my dream job—working for a top public relations firm, traveling, experiencing new things, and earning enough to never worry about finding a pack.
It was more than I had ever hoped for.
So I wouldn’t be letting my demons or my designation get in the way of that.
Focusing back on the client in front of me, I tapped the polished surface of my desk, the rhythmic sound of my fingers drumming a steady beat.
Across from me sat Marissa Kelley, a celebrated Beta actress whose performances had captivated audiences worldwide.
Today, however, the glamorous exterior that she so effortlessly projected was marred by a weariness that made her look decades older than her thirty-five years.
She spoke in a quiet, measured tone as we went over the press release details, addressing the fallout from her most recent public meltdown under the influence.
“I want to ensure we’re handling this situation with as much transparency as possible. I can’t afford another misstep,”
she continued, her voice tinged with a mix of regret and resolve.
I nodded, understanding her concern. “Absolutely. We’ll need to address the issue head-on while framing it in a way that shows your responsibility and a commitment to change.”
She glanced at the document with a furrowed brow. “I want to make sure that this doesn’t come across as just a PR stunt. I want people to see that I’m genuinely working on improving.”
“That’s a valid concern,”
I replied. “We can focus on outlining the steps you’re taking and the support systems you’ve put in place. That way we can show that you’re sincere.”
She leaned back, running a hand through her hair. “And what about the media backlash?”
“We need to anticipate potential criticism,”
I said. “I can draft a set of talking points to address common concerns and prepare a few statements for different scenarios for you?”
She gave a small nod, looking somewhat reassured. “That would be great. I appreciate your help, Phoenix.”
“It’s my pleasure. I’m here to support you through every step,”
I assured her.
Marissa smiled, a flicker of hope in her eyes, and I watched as she left the room.
The door closed behind her with a soft thud, and the room felt suddenly colder, more detached.
The professional mask I wore felt heavier now, like an ill-fitting suit that constricted my every movement.
I needed a moment of respite.
As I strode quickly to the bathroom, the sharp clacking of my heels echoing off the marble floors mirrored the rapid pace of my thoughts.
The bathroom was a sanctuary of cold, sterile calm, a contrast to the chaos I often felt within.
I approached the mirror, my reflection staring back at me wearily.
Pulling out my sobriety chip, I traced its smooth, cool surface with my fingers.
It was a small bronze token, but its weight was significant.
I’d had it engraved with the date of my last drink, five years ago.
I ran my thumb over the numbers, grounding myself in the moment.
I scrutinized my reflection, adjusting a stray lock of red hair.
My appearance was polished, the tailored suit and carefully styled hair creating the perfect Beta illusion.
But behind the composed exterior, there was a constant struggle—a raw, unfiltered reality that I kept hidden.
My gray eyes, though bright, betrayed a hint of the fatigue I felt.
I splashed my face, hoping the chill of the water would shake off the weariness that clung to me.
The bathroom was a quiet space, the only sound the gentle hum of the ventilation.
It was a rare moment of solitude, away from the prying eyes and expectations.
I adjusted my suit and checked my reflection one last time.
My mask was back in place, my exterior polished and perfect.
I squared my shoulders and headed back to the main area of the firm, ready to face whatever came next.
◆◆◆
I was buried in paperwork when my boss’s voice crackled through the intercom, summoning me to his office.
I sighed, reluctantly setting aside the press release I was scrutinizing.
I had wanted to finish it off before close of business, but that would have to wait.
Trent was behind his desk, his sharp eyes assessing me as I closed the door behind me. His office was a picture of neatly organized chaos, with piles of books and files taking up the majority of the space.
“Phoenix, come in. Have a seat,”
he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
I sat down, trying to keep my anxiety in check. Trent’s serious expression was enough to put me on edge. Fuck, had he found out about my history with substances? Or worse, my designation?
“I’ve got an important assignment for you,”
he began, shuffling through some papers before looking up. “You’re going on tour with Purely Onyx.”
At first, a deep sense of relief washed over me, knowing my secrets were safe. But it wasn’t long before his words started to register, and their meaning hit me. Purely Onyx. The mere mention of the band sent an involuntary shiver through me. Known for their intense presence and, more importantly, their intimidating Alpha members, they were a force of nature.
“On tour?”
I managed to get out, though my voice wavered despite my best efforts to sound composed.
“Yes,”
he confirmed. “They’re in need of a public relations specialist who can handle their image and manage some substance abuse issues. We need someone who can maintain a strong presence without causing too much disruption with the band. You’re the best fit for this.”
“Isn’t there someone else who could take this on?”
I asked, my mind racing with a dozen reasons why this assignment was a terrible idea. Not that I could voice the most important ones. “I mean, I’m not exactly experienced with handling”—I struggled to find the right words—“high-profile Alphas. Plus, I’ve never managed clients around the clock on a tour.”
Trent raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “This is a significant opportunity, Phoenix. I know it’s a challenging assignment, but it’s also a chance to prove yourself. I’m confident you can handle it.”
I wanted to argue, but I didn’t have a good enough excuse without exposing myself. My heart sank as I imagined myself surrounded by powerful, overwhelming Alphas. The fear of not being able to maintain the facade I had worked so hard to construct was almost paralyzing.
Swallowing my hesitation, I forced a steady breath. “Alright,”
I said. “Am I handling their entire media presence, or is this just damage control?”
Trent relaxed slightly, as if sensing my surrender. “Both. Their reputation is in the gutter. Venues are hesitant to book them, sponsors are pulling out—it’s a mess. Your job is to clean it up. Get them through this tour without another scandal.”
“Right.”
I nodded, mentally preparing myself. “And what’s the setup? I assume I’ll be traveling with them?”
“You’ll be embedded with the band. Same schedule, same bus,”
he confirmed, watching my reaction. “Their label wants a closer eye on them this time. They’ve burned through too many chances, and they’re not taking risks.”
I clenched my jaw, suppressing the urge to curse. Sharing a bus with a group of unhinged Alphas was the last thing I wanted. But I couldn’t back out now.
Instead, I gave a tight smile. “Got it. When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow. Pack light.”
I barely managed a nod before standing. My head was spinning, but I refused to let it show.
“Phoenix,”
Trent called just as I reached the door.
I turned back, masking my unease.
“You’re good at what you do,”
he assured me. “I wouldn’t have put you on this if I didn’t think you could handle it.”
I forced a smirk. “Guess we’ll find out.”
I left Trent’s office in a daze, already wondering what the hell I’d just gotten myself into. My mind drifted back to a moment from my past that felt eerily relevant now. I could almost hear the echo of that old AA meeting room.
I had walked into the meeting trembling, clutching a crumpled list of reasons why I needed to stay sober. The room had been filled with strangers. I remembered sitting there and feeling like a tiny boat adrift in a sea of pain and hope.
“I’m Nix,”
I had said when it was my turn to speak. “I’m here because, honestly, I’m scared shitless of what’ll happen if I don’t get my act together. I don’t wanna let down the people who care about me, but sometimes, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stop.”
The room fell silent, each person listening to my words. Their faces reflected a blend of understanding and concern. Afterward, an older woman with a soothing presence approached me. Her eyes were gentle, and her voice carried a warmth that eased my anxiety.
“Don’t let your fears overshadow your hope, child,”
she said softly. “The path to recovery is filled with challenges, but every step you take, no matter how small, counts. You are stronger than you realize, and the journey you’re on is one we all walk together.”
Those words had stuck with me. They were a lifeline, a reminder of why I had chosen this path—despite the constant struggle to maintain control. And now, facing the prospect of spending weeks with Purely Onyx, those fears were resurfacing with a vengeance.
The thought of being on tour, surrounded by Alphas who might sense my true nature, left me feeling exposed. The risk of relapsing into bad habits was palpable. I could almost hear the whisper of temptation, just beyond reach, threatening to pull me back into the abyss. Going on tour with a band known for their partying, was I fucking insane?
The reality of the situation was settling in, and the weight of the assignment felt like a leaden anchor around my chest. Back in my office, I took a deep breath and tried to steady my nerves.
I prepared to leave for the day and mentally braced myself for the task ahead. The tour with Purely Onyx would test my limits, but I had to remind myself of my strength. I had faced battles before and emerged victorious. This was just another chapter in my ongoing struggle, and I would face it with the same determination I had shown throughout my recovery.
I would not let fear dictate my actions. I would meet the Alphas with professionalism, masking my vulnerability behind a facade of control. It was what I had done for so long, and it was what I had to continue doing.
◆◆◆
I desperately needed a meeting before heading out on tour. The metal chair beneath me was cold. Unforgiving. Like the circle of eyes I could feel on me even though they weren’t staring. That was the thing about AA—everyone looked, but no one judged. At least not out loud. The judgment came from inside. From the mirror I was forced to hold up every time I opened my mouth in this room.
I shifted forward, elbows on knees, palms damp.
"My name is Phoenix, and I’m an alcoholic."
The words never got easier, but they didn’t sting like they used to.
A few people nodded. Someone muttered, “Hi, Phoenix,”
but I couldn’t bring myself to look up.
"I guess… for me, it didn’t start with a drink. It started with feeling too much."
I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, my fingers trembling slightly. “Ever since I was a kid, emotions have never stayed in their own lanes. It didn't matter whether they were my own feelings or other peoples. They all hit me the same way. Loud. Heavy. Constant.”
A pause. I counted the seconds on the beat of my pulse. One, two, three.
“When I was sixteen, my birth mother tracked me down. Said she'd been looking for me my whole life.”
That part still made me sick.
“She told me she’d made mistakes. That she wasn’t ready to be a mother back then but had never stopped thinking about me. Said she wanted to know me now. To build something.”
I forced out a laugh. It was hollow and tasted like dust.
“I wanted to believe her. I needed to believe her.”
My hands clenched into fists in my lap.
“A few months before my mother showed up, my adoptive sister had come into a lot of money. There were magazine articles about it. Headlines on how a young, orphaned omega had inherited a thriving empire.”
I swallowed hard.
“My mother saw one of them. She must’ve. Somehow, she made the connection between my sister and I. And suddenly, all those talks about getting to know me shifted.”
I looked up then. Just briefly. Enough to catch the eyes of the woman across from me, her gaze steady and kind.
“Eventually, she asked me to talk to my sister. To ask her for money.”
Silence settled like snowfall, soft but suffocating.
“I said no. Of course I said no. And she turned on me so fast it made my head spin. Told me I was ungrateful. That I owed her.”
My voice cracked, and I had to press my lips together to stop the sob threatening to rise.
“She never wanted me. Not really. She wanted access. To my sister. To her money. And I was just the bridge.”
I exhaled shakily.
“I remember the day she walked away for good. I could feel the betrayal burning under my skin. Like acid. And I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know how to deal with the pain.”
I looked down at my hands. Pale. Cold. “So I drank.”
It was a confession I’d made a hundred times. But somehow it always felt like the first.
“I stole a bottle of vodka from a convenience store. And that night, for the first time in forever, I didn’t feel anything.”
Someone across the circle nodded slowly, as if they’d lived that same night.
“And that was it. Every time something hurt too much, I drank. When I was anxious, scared, angry—anything. Everything. I didn’t want to feel it. I just wanted to be numb. And alcohol made that possible.”
My throat tightened.
“I loved how it just made the chaos quieter. Less screaming. But I wasn’t in control. Not of my emotions. Not of my choices. And definitely not of myself.”
I let the silence hang this time. I needed to.
“But I’m here now. I’m not perfect. I still feel everything like it’s a tidal wave inside my chest. But I’m learning how to stand in it without drowning.”
Another pause.
“I’m learning that I don’t have to drink to survive it.”
Someone across from me smiled.
I looked down again, whispering the only truth I had left.
“And maybe someday… I’ll believe I deserve that peace.”
After I finished speaking, I let my gaze drop back to my lap, my fingers twisting the silver ring on my thumb as my heart knocked against my ribs.
There was always that moment right after I spoke where I felt bare.
Like my skin had been peeled back and I was just sitting there, all nerve endings and vulnerability.
But no one looked at me with pity. No one turned away.
Instead, a woman across from me gave a soft nod. A man to my left murmured, “Thanks for sharing,”
under his breath. And then the room shifted, one person after another picking up where I’d left off. Some were quiet, voices full of grief. Others laughed at themselves, shaking their heads like they still couldn’t believe they’d made it this far.
I listened. Really listened.
There was something healing in the honesty. In the way we all came here as strangers, yet held space for one another like it mattered. Like we mattered. It was the one place I didn’t have to pretend I was okay when I wasn’t.
When the meeting wrapped up, chairs scraped softly against the floor as people rose to their feet, lingering in little clusters.
I stood slowly, slinging my handbag over my shoulder.
My stomach twisted with hesitation, but I crossed the room anyway, weaving through the gentle murmur of voices until I reached the facilitator, Cal.
He was stacking papers back into a binder, his expression calm and easy behind wire-framed glasses.
“Hey,”
I said quietly.
He glanced up and smiled. “Phoenix. You did good tonight.”
“Thanks.”
I shifted my weight. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
I hesitated, then let the words out in one breath. “I’m being sent on tour tomorrow. For work.”
His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. Just listened, the way he always did.
“I’m going to be on the road for a while but I still want to come to meetings. I need to.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I know you’ve had people join remotely before. I was wondering if I could do the same.”
Cal nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely. I’ll get everything set up.”
Relief loosened something tight in my chest. “Really?”
“Really,”
he said, already pulling out his phone and flipping through the calendar. “We’ve done it for a few others. It’s not a problem at all. I’ll send you the meeting link—it’s the same one every week. You’ll be able to join in via video or audio, whatever works best for you.”
“Thank you.”
I exhaled. “It helps knowing I’ll have this… consistency. Something stable.”
“You’ll always have a place here,”
he said, meeting my eyes. “No matter where you are.”
I nodded, the knot in my throat making it hard to say much more.
“I’ll email you the details tonight,”
he added. “And if your schedule changes, just let me know. We’ll work around it.”
“Okay.”
I swallowed. “Thanks again.”
As I turned to leave, Cal called out, “Phoenix?”
I paused.
“You’re doing the hard part. Keep going.”
I managed a small smile. “Trying.”
I walked out into the cool night air, my boots hitting the pavement with slow, steady steps. Above me, the sky stretched wide and clear, stars winking faintly behind the glow of streetlights.
I pulled my jacket tighter around me and started walking the few blocks back to my apartment.
My mind buzzed with the familiar need to plan, to keep my hands and thoughts busy.
I started mentally listing everything I needed to do before I left for tour—pack my gear, double-check the itinerary, make sure I had enough of the small comforts that kept me sane on the road.
Tea. Headphones. My journal.
I had to think of everything that would make this trip as easy as possible. No chaos. No scrambling at the last minute. Just clear steps and a plan.