40
Phoenix
The silence in the room was suffocating. I hadn’t moved from the bed since they’d left me here—since he left me here. My head was a mess, thoughts swirling and crashing into each other, none of them making any sense. This room, the Omega suite, was a cruel reminder of the pack’s conflicting intentions. They had gone from trying to get me booted from the tour to now bringing me back, putting me here of all places. A suite meant for comfort, safety, and care—things I didn’t feel worthy of anymore.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the thoughts, but they came anyway. Why did they come for me? After everything that had happened, after what they did… I didn’t know what to think. Was this out of guilt? Pity? My chest tightened at the idea. I didn’t want their pity. I didn’t want their help.
What I wanted was a drink.
The thought made my fingers twitch, my body craving that familiar numbness, the one thing that seemed to drown out the noise in my head. Alcohol had become my anchor, my only solace in my loud mind. But there wasn’t any here. They had made that clear when we arrived. No booze in the house. The promise that they’d get me whatever else I needed felt hollow. Nothing else would touch this pain.
I hadn’t even bothered to explore the room. I knew there were other doors, one leading to what I could only assume was a nest. My Omega stirred at the thought, eager, hopeful even, but I shut her down before she could get her hopes up.
No. I wasn’t going to let her nest. Not after how my heat ended. Not after how they left me. Abandoned. Rejected. Broken. She didn’t deserve to hope for something that would never come. She whimpered in the back of my mind, but I ignored her, pushing her away as best as I could. It was bad enough that she was content to stay here after Zephyr all but fucking kidnapped me.
I curled tighter into myself, wishing the blanket could just swallow me whole, when a soft knock broke the silence. My heart leaped into my throat for a second, panic seizing me. Had they come back? Were they here to check on me, to talk? The last thing I wanted was to see any of them right now, not after the mess I’d become.
The door opened slowly, and a woman stepped inside. Not one of the pack. She didn’t have the same overwhelming Alpha scent. She smelled different—calmer, softer. A Beta.
“Phoenix?”
she asked gently, her voice like a soft breeze in the too-still room. She stepped further inside and gave me a warm smile. “I’m Callie. I’m an alcohol and drug counselor. Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?”
I stared at her, my mind sluggishly processing her words. A counselor. Right. They’d said they were bringing someone. I felt the urge to snap at her, to tell her to leave me alone, but the words didn’t come. Instead, I just nodded slightly, too exhausted to fight. What was the point, anyway?
Callie moved over to a small sitting area near the window, gesturing to one of the plush chairs. “Would you like to sit with me over here? It might be a little more comfortable.”
I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to do anything but lie in this bed and disappear into the mattress. But something in her tone—gentle, patient—made me drag myself up. My body felt heavy, like every step was a monumental effort, but I forced myself across the room. I collapsed into one of the chairs and pulled a blanket that had been left there over me like a shield.
Callie sat across from me, giving me space, not crowding me, but her presence was calming in a way I hadn’t expected. She didn’t rush me, didn’t try to force a conversation right away. Instead, she waited until I was settled before speaking again.
“I know this is all a lot, and you’re probably feeling overwhelmed,”
she began, her tone soothing. “But I’m here to help you through this. We’ll go at your pace, okay? There’s no rush.”
I nodded again, still not trusting myself to speak. My throat felt tight, like if I opened my mouth, I might choke on whatever words tried to come out.
Callie continued, “You’ve been through a lot, Phoenix. It’s not easy to admit when we need help, but I’m here to support you in whatever way you need. You’re not alone in this.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. Not alone. I felt alone. I had felt alone for so long. My chest tightened, and I pulled the blanket tighter around me, trying to hold myself together.
Callie didn’t push. She just sat there, her presence steady and unthreatening. After a moment, she spoke again. “I understand if it’s hard to talk right now. That’s okay. We don’t have to dive into anything heavy if you’re not ready. But I’d like to help you figure out how we can get you feeling better. One step at a time.”
I swallowed, my mouth dry. “I don’t know if I can… get better,”
I mumbled, the words slipping out.
Callie didn’t flinch at my admission. “I hear you,”
she said softly. “It might feel like that right now, but I promise you, there’s a way through this.”
“I can’t… I don’t know if I can stop,”
I admitted quietly, staring down at the blanket. “The drinking… it’s the only thing that makes it stop.”
Callie nodded, not judging, not pushing. “I understand. It’s been your way of coping, hasn’t it? When things feel too overwhelming, it’s been your escape?”
I nodded slowly, my eyes burning. The truth of it was almost too much to say out loud. I’d sworn I’d never turn to alcohol again, but here I was, drowning in it just to keep the pain at bay.
“We’ll take it one step at a time,”
Callie repeated gently. “I’m not asking you to stop everything all at once. We’ll build a plan that works for you, something that helps you find other ways to cope.”
I didn’t know if I could trust anyone. But as I looked at Callie, sitting there with her kind eyes and patient demeanor, something in me shifted, just a little. Maybe… just maybe… she could help.
“Okay,”
I whispered, barely audible, but it was enough for now.
Callie smiled softly, and for the first time since my heat, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t felt in a while.
Hope
◆◆◆
The room was too quiet, too still. The air felt thick, suffocating even, as I sat across from Callie in the small sitting area of the Omega suite. I was wrapped in a blanket, a flimsy barrier against the emotions threatening to break through. I’d barely managed to make it through the first session with her, and now there was someone else. An Omega-specialized psychologist. Wonderful.
I should’ve felt grateful. These people were bending over backward to help me, to fix me. But all I felt was an overwhelming sense of dread. My head was still buzzing, the alcohol cravings gnawing at the edges of my mind, and no matter how much I wanted to pretend I could handle this, I knew I was barely holding on.
My Omega side was a fragile mess, and it infuriated me that the only thing making it bearable was the scent of my Alphas. No, not mine, I reminded myself. Fuck.
I had decided to stay for the time being and accept the help offered, but I was still pissed.
Callie offered me a small smile, gentle and understanding, as if she could sense my hesitation. “Phoenix, this is Dr. Lyra. She’s here to work with both of us so we can take a team approach to help you.”
Dr. Lyra had a warm, calming presence. She was a soft-spoken woman with kind eyes, the kind of person you’d trust with your deepest secrets if you weren’t so afraid of being hurt. Her gaze met mine, and I quickly looked away, focusing on the pattern of the blanket instead.
“We’re here to make sure you’re getting the best support possible,”
Dr. Lyra said, her tone gentle but professional. “This isn’t just about the substance abuse. We’re also here to help you with what you’re going through emotionally. As an Omega, you have unique needs, and we want to address those too.”
I flinched at the word “Omega.”
It felt like a dirty word to me now. I’d always resented that part of myself—the weakness, the dependence on others. After what happened with the Alphas, with Zephyr… I didn’t even want to think about it.
“I know this is hard,”
Callie added softly, her voice soothing but firm. “But you’ve already taken a huge step by agreeing to these sessions. That shows strength, Phoenix.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. My body felt heavy, weighed down by a mixture of exhaustion and emotions I didn’t want to face. Part of me wanted to get up, leave the room, and find the nearest bottle of liquor to numb everything away again. But the other part—the part that knew I couldn’t keep running—kept me rooted in place.
“What are you thinking about right now?”
Dr. Lyra asked, her eyes still trained on me, but there was no judgment in her gaze. Just quiet patience.
I glanced at her, and for a brief moment, I thought about actually telling her the truth. About the gnawing guilt, the shame, the overwhelming sense of betrayal and loss that had hollowed me out from the inside. But the words got stuck in my throat, choking me. I couldn’t make myself say them.
Instead, I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Callie exchanged a look with Dr. Lyra, and then she spoke again. “It’s okay, take your time.”
“That I want to be anywhere but here,”
I muttered, half-expecting them to push back or force me to engage. But they didn’t.
“That’s completely valid,”
Dr. Lyra said, her voice steady. “This isn’t supposed to be easy, Phoenix. If it were, you wouldn’t need us. But it’s okay to feel uncomfortable. It’s okay to not have all the answers right now.”
My heart raced in my chest, the pressure building behind my eyes. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But I couldn’t do either, because that would mean giving in to the pain I’d been trying so hard to keep at bay.
“We’re not going to force you to talk,”
Callie reassured me. “But we do want you to know that we’re here when you’re ready. And when you are, we’ll listen.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, hating how vulnerable I felt. Hating how broken I was. These people were strangers, and yet they were the only ones trying to help. My own Alphas, my supposed fated mates, had wanted nothing to do with me. They’d tried to cut me loose, to save themselves from dealing with my mess. And yet, here were these women, trying to pick up the pieces of someone they barely knew.
“It’s… it’s hard,”
I finally whispered, my voice trembling. “I feel like everything is broken. And I don’t know how to fix it.”
Dr. Lyra leaned forward slightly, her expression empathetic but not pitying. “You don’t have to fix it all at once. That’s why we’re here—to help you take small steps forward. Healing isn’t linear. Some days will be harder than others.”
My hands trembled beneath the blanket, and I gripped the fabric tighter, grounding myself in the sensation. I wanted to believe them. I wanted to trust that they could help me through this, but the darkness felt too vast, too all-encompassing.
“I don’t even know where to start,”
I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
Callie smiled gently. “You’ve already started, Phoenix. Just by sitting here with us, by staying in this moment and allowing yourself to feel—no matter how hard that is. That’s the first step.”
I blinked away the moisture gathering in my eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. But deep down, a part of me wanted to believe her. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as far gone as I thought. Maybe there was still a small piece of me left that was worth saving.
“I’m scared,”
I finally confessed, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
Dr. Lyra nodded, her expression softening even further. “That’s okay. It’s okay to be scared.”
A tear finally slipped down my cheek, and I wiped it away quickly, feeling raw and exposed. I fucking hated that I was here again.