Chapter seven #2
Garrett leans in. “You told me what the director said. About her condition getting worse. I figured it was just talk. People always say omegas need alpha pheromones to function but…” He glances at the closed door, then looks back at me, uncertainty shadowing his face.
“I didn’t think it was real. Not until I saw her up close. ”
“I see it too, Garrett,” I say. “Probably more than even she does. The suppressants took too much out of her. She should’ve bonded a long time ago.”
I grab a towel and scrub my face, rough, chasing off the frustration clinging to my skin.
“We’ll find her a pack soon. She’ll bond with them, get bitten, our match dissolves.
She can start to heal. Until then, we have to wait it out.
We can’t risk hurting Miles to care for her, but she’ll hang on. She’s stronger than she looks.”
“That’s not how scent matches work, Gabe.” He leans forward, elbows on knees. “We’ll make it worse if we’re around her but refuse to touch her. You know that. I know you do.”
I try to find the words, but there aren’t any.
I want to tell him that it’s necessary, that the risk to Miles is too great, that we don’t have a choice.
But I can’t say any of that, not to Garrett.
He’s the only one who ever calls me out, who ever reminds me that sometimes the right thing isn’t the strategic thing.
“She’s not going to last a month at this rate,” he says softly. “You know what’s going to happen if she goes into heat unclaimed, especially with the suppressants wearing off and all the damage done to her system already.”
I do know. I know exactly what will happen, because I’ve seen it before.
Omegas who try to tough it out, who think they can outlast biology.
It never ends well. They suffer a slow breakdown, their body starts eating itself from the inside.
I still can’t wrap my head around how the registry let her get this bad off.
There’s no way they didn’t see it. It makes me think Brennan’s got someone on the inside pulling strings.
There’s no other explanation I can see other than him orchestrating this somehow.
Herding her into his pack from a distance.
“I told her we’d find a solution,” I say. “I’m not leaving her like that. I just need time.”
“She doesn’t have time.” Garrett’s voice is so calm it hurts. “If you’re really not going to claim her, you need to let someone else do it quickly. I know she wants to wait and choose a pack, but she might not have the luxury. You need to let her go sooner than later.”
I grip the edge of the bench, knuckles white. “I can’t.”
He shakes his head, disappointment clear, but he doesn’t push. That’s the thing about Garrett: he never pushes. He just sits with you in the wreckage, waiting for you to figure it out on your own.
We’re quiet again for a while, the only sound the hum of the ventilation and the low thud of weights on rubber.
“Do you ever regret it?” I ask, surprising myself. “The promise. Do you ever wish we’d done things differently?”
Garrett considers. “Sometimes. But not really. I love him. He’s family and I’d do it again.”
I nod. It’s the same for me. I’d do it again, even knowing what I know now. Even with the cost.
He stands up, stretches, and gives me a look that’s almost affectionate. “You should talk to her. She’s not going to ask for help, but she needs it.”
“I will.”
He leaves, closing the door softly behind him. I sit there, towel pressed to my face, and let the guilt run its course.
I know what I have to do. I know what the right thing is, and I know I won’t do it.
I told myself bringing her here was temporary.
I didn’t account for what it would cost to let her go.
I finish my workout, pushing my body until the pain drowns out everything else. When I finally leave, I go outside and walk the yard under the pretense of looking for Cyrus. It’s just an excuse to keep moving. Anything to keep from going to her room.
Anything to keep from admitting that I’ve already lost.
***
My study is the only room in the house that’s truly mine.
The rest of the place is designed for comfort or the maintenance of pack life.
But in here, everything has a place and a purpose: the books are arranged by subject and author, the desk is empty except for a single notepad and a fountain pen, the windows are always shut.
If I have to think, I come here. If I have to make a decision, I do it at this desk, with the door closed and the rest of the world kept at bay.
It’s barely six a.m., but I haven’t slept.
There’s no point trying. I went to bed after midnight, held Miles through a handful of nightmares, then was up and stayed up through the gym.
Now I’m back here, watching the sun crawl up through the trees.
It’s a relief, in a way. I do my best work when I’m tired; it makes the choices easier.
I sit at the desk and open my laptop. I have a file: every unattached alpha pack in the region, cross-referenced by compatibility, pack status, income, arrest record, and a dozen other metrics.
I started making it the night I imprinted on her and realized what I had to do.
Some of these are my friends, some I don’t know beyond what’s in their file.
I scroll through the names, reading the notes I made on each one.
Most of them are fine, on paper. A few are excellent: good families, stable jobs, nice houses.
The type of packs that end up in brochures, holding hands in a field with perfect teeth and perfect kids.
Some of them even have experience with trauma cases.
Some are known for taking in difficult omegas.
I know what I’m looking for. Lily needs someone patient enough to stop when she says no, steady enough to give her space without making her feel abandoned, strong enough to keep her alive when her body wants to give up. If I spend long enough trying, I can find her a place where she’ll be okay.
But every time I pick a name, every time I try to imagine her in a different house, with a different pack, my stomach turns sour.
My mind drags me back to the gala instead—to Lily standing near the lilies, eyes widening when she spotted me, trying to hide the trembling in her hands.
Then the registry the next morning, looking sad and resigned when she agreed to come with me, some small secret part of her still hopeful I’d change my mind and keep her.
And finally how she avoided my gaze when she whispered thank you, like she didn’t expect anyone to hear it.
I see her, and every part of me wants to keep her.
It’s not the bond, I tell myself. It’s not biology. I’m not some idiot teenager, ruled by hormones. I know how to say no. I’ve said it a thousand times before, to a thousand different temptations. But this is different. Dangerous, consuming, deep enough to cut through every wall I’ve built.
I go back to the list. I try again.
Matthew King: good record, decent pack, but too many kids already with his beta female. He’ll want someone who can fall in line, someone who won’t disrupt the balance. Lily wouldn’t last a week there.
Victor Kingsley: wealthy, respected, but I’ve heard things about his last omega. Nothing provable, but enough to make me cross him off without a second thought.
Samir Patel: smart, stable, but his pack is too insular. They’re looking for a certain type of omega. Sweet and obedient. Docile. Lily is some of those things, but I can already tell she’s got more fire than his pack would like. She’s more suited to mine.
I keep going, line by line, name by name, until I’m back at the top. Until I realize that I’m not looking for a solution. I’m looking for an excuse. I’ve skipping right over evaluating them and started eliminating them. None of them feel right, look right, are right. None of them are me.
I close the laptop and lean back in the chair. The sun is higher now, painting the walls in gold and shadow. I can hear the house waking up: the hum of the heater, the creak of the stairs, the quiet footsteps of someone trying not to be heard.
I remember the promise. The years it took to build something stable for Miles, to convince him that I wouldn’t leave, that I wouldn’t replace him.
That I wanted him. Craved him. I think about the time he told me he loved me, like he was asking for forgiveness.
I don’t want to think about all the ways I’ve failed him, even while I tried to do everything right.
I think about Lily, and I wonder if I’m about to fail her, too.
The truth is, I don’t want to find her a new pack.
I want to keep her here, in this house, with us.
I want to see what she looks like when she’s happy, when she’s not afraid.
I want to see if she can heal the way Miles did, if I can be the one to help her do it.
I want and I want and I want, and it makes me sick, because I know what it would do to Miles. I know how it would rip him apart.
But the want is there, and it’s growing.
I stand up, cross to the window, and look out at the trees. The frost on the grass is already melting, and the birds are picking through the debris of yesterday. Everything looks the same, but I know it isn’t. Something in me has shifted, and I can’t put it back.
Lily is alone in her room, and all I can think about is the clock running down on her time here. In a few weeks, I’ll have to send her away, and the thought already feels like tearing out a piece of myself.
Then there are the promises I’ve made. The same ones I’m trying not to break.
I go back to the desk, open the laptop, and start a new list. This one is shorter. It’s just her name, written over and over, until the lines blur and my eyes burn.
I sit there until the sun is high and the house is loud with life. I sit there and wait for the inevitable.