Chapter 28
BLAIR
“Grandma loves baby Mervy and Marley,” my mom sings to my cats. She takes turns feeding them a squeezable fish puree treat, each of them sucking up to their grandma like the little traitors they are.
I groan in irritation.
I’ve been miserable since I’ve come here, symptoms of a flu plaguing my body.
My inner Omega is nauseous and desperate for her scent matches.
The longer I’m away from them, the worse I feel.
I know this is a mistake, but I’m not sure what the alternative is.
Should I go back and tell them I was wrong? That I do want them after everything?
Would they even want me after this?
“Hey, kiddo. You want to help me make dinner?” my dad asks, joining me on the couch. “We’re making roast chicken.”
I want to vomit on the floor, but I smile weakly instead. “Sure.”
“Liar.” My dad ruffles my hair playfully, and I bat him away. “Go back home and stop running from your troubles.”
“I’m not running from my troubles. And this is my home.”
“You know what I mean.”
My parents are both Betas; and while they don’t exactly understand what it means to be an Omega, they’ve tried their best all these years. To my dad, ‘scent match’ means finding the right perfume, not something primal that makes my entire body come to life.
To my mom, nests are just fancy blankets. Has she bought a ridiculous amount of them every year for the holidays? Absolutely. Does she realize I don’t need that many?
Nope.
My parents don’t have to worry about the complications of any of this.
“She can stay as long as she wants,” my mom chirps, feeding Mervin his squeeze treat. “As long as she brings my grandbabies with her.”
I roll my eyes. “Mom, he doesn’t need that many treats. He’s already had two of those.”
“He’s at Grandma’s house. He can have as many as he wants.”
I sigh, then a buzz from my phone interrupts my annoyance at my mom. I peer at the phone screen, anxious, then exhale when I see it’s just a text from one of the volunteers at the shelter about our inventory.
“Is that them?” my dad asks, peering over my shoulder.
“No, dad.”
“Want me to beat them up?”
I snort and look into the eyes that resemble mine so much. His are slightly richer, with more green mixing into his hazel hue.
“It’s three on one, dad. I don’t think so. And they didn’t do anything wrong, technically.”
My father frowns. “Then what happened?”
“She won’t tell me,” my mom says, scooping Marlin into her arms. She presses kisses to his nose and pretends to chew on his ear. “But that doesn’t matter as long as she brought my babies.”
My dad rolls his eyes. “At least I know where you get all this cat stuff from,” he grumbles. “You would think I’m not even in the house, the way she dotes on them.”
“They’re cuter than you, Arthur,” my mom replies instantly.
I smile weakly. My parents love each other deeply, and their house has always been filled with warmth and understanding.
Well, most of the time. My mom has a tendency to blame herself when things go wrong, and my dad gently course corrects her.
The time I broke my leg as a kid? Her fault.
When my dad had to have surgery on his knee? Somehow her fault.
When the power goes out? She must have tripped a breaker by blow drying her hair.
Even me presenting as an Omega when I turned eighteen was somehow her fault.
She was convinced she took the incorrect vitamins and not enough supplements when she was pregnant.
Her thought process is chaotic and has been going on as long as I remember.
Which, I realize with horror, sounds way too familiar.
“Hey,” my dad says, patting my knee and snapping me out of my thoughts. “You can stay as long as you want, okay? But you’re not going to lose your job, right?”
“Nah. I sorted everything out with Piper and my boss at Scents.”
Quincy didn’t bat an eye when I told him I needed a break. He simply told me to take as long as I need, which is more than generous.
I told him I would be back in two weeks.
“Good. Well, you want to help me make dinner, or not? We’ll start in two hours; you should take a nap. You look awful, kid.”
“Thanks, dad.”
“Arthur,” my mom warns, rubbing Mervin’s black and white belly. “Be nice to her.”
“I am! I’m telling her to take a nap, Marcia.”
I’m not in the mood for their playful banter. I’m not in the mood for their healthy, cute relationship.
I’m also not ready to deal with the awful realization that I had just moments ago.
“I’m going to take a nap,” I tell them, standing. “I’ll be back downstairs to help with dinner.”
“Sure, kiddo,” my dad says.
But by the time I make it to my childhood bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed, my mom has followed me in. She closes the door behind her quietly and stands in front of it, her arms crossed and her lips pursed.
I study her. Her hair is golden like mine, long and straight with streaks of white mixed in. Her high cheekbones and dainty nose make her look ethereal, and I’m lucky to have inherited even a percentage of her looks.
Even in her older age, my mother is still stunning.
Her concerned expression would be unsettling if it wasn’t for the teal Furr and Purrs sweatshirt she wears.
“Nice outfit,” I nod at her, and she looks down at the sweatshirt.
“Thanks,” she murmurs. “My daughter owns a cat rescue.”
I chuckle weakly. “Everything okay?”
“You don’t have to help dad with dinner,” she says. “He was just giving you a hard time.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind. I might as well make myself useful around here.”
She clicks her tongue. “Hmm.”
She studies me for a considerable amount of time, just staring at me.
“Mom?” I ask gently. “What are you doing?”
“You never told me about your pack,” she says. “You only mentioned them once you were planning on visiting.”
My throat tightens. “Yeah,” I admit. “I hadn’t really told anyone about them.”
“So, what exactly happened? What made you leave?”
“I just wasn’t good for them, mom.”
My mom rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Now that’s a lie. You make anyone better by being around them.”
I bark out a laugh. “Mom, come on.”
“You make me better, Blair. And you sure as hell make your father a better person.” My mom narrows her eyes. “I won’t argue about this. You’re the best thing that’s happened to us.”
“That pedestal is way too high, mom. Seriously. It’s also not accurate. Maybe because you’re my parents you have to think that, but with them, it was different.”
“How so? What made you think you weren’t good for them?” My mom joins me on the bed, looking at me curiously.
Memories of Rowan’s wrecked car fill my head, and I wince and shake my head.
They could have died because of me, I want to say.
People have already died because of me.
“Mom, please.” I pull back the covers and begin to climb into bed. “I don’t want to talk about them.”
“Is it because of what happened to your other pack?”
I freeze. “No.”
“Because you know that wasn’t your fault, right?” my mom presses. “You can’t still seriously blame yourself for what happened, right?”
I open and close my mouth, unable to find the words to speak.
Mervin and Marlin make their appearance, jumping onto the bed with their grandma. They prance around the comforter until they find a space they like and curl up on the fabric.
“Mom,” I croak, looking between her and the cats. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“But it’s not your fault,” my mom insists, her eyes suddenly glassy. “They were such sweet boys, and it was terrible, but it’s not because of you.”
Something about the way she looks at me and the tone of her voice makes fire ignite in me.
“They would have been alive if I had them stay with me that night,” I snap.
“Is that what Annette told you?” my mother counters, her voice rising. “That hateful bitch doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
I ignore her and continue. “And my new pack? They got into an accident on their way to pick me up for a date. So yes, mom, history repeats herself, and I’m bad fucking luck for people that want to date me.”
I’m seething. She shouldn’t be the target of my anger, but it spews out of me, vile and putrid. I feel ill, and I have little patience after everything that’s happened. The last person I want is my own mother consoling me about something she doesn’t understand.
“Honey, you don’t control the weather, you don’t control someone’s life—”
“But if I wasn’t in their lives then it wouldn’t happen! This is my fault!”
I can’t remember the last time I’ve spoken to her like this. Maybe when I was a rebellious teenager and my hormones were going wild.
But even Mervin and Marlin are concerned, peeking up at me curiously, their black ears turned back.
“Mom,” I continue, staring into her wide eyes, “Travis, Rowan, Ryland—” I wince as I say their names—“are my scent matches. They’re made for me. Literally meant for me in life.”
“Your soulmates,” my mom breathes. “You found your soulmates.”
“Sure. If you want to call it that.” My voice trembles.
“Oh, Blair, then you shouldn’t—”
“And they were hurt, because of me. Mom, it’s better if I’m not in their lives and they’re still here, than if I’m in their life and something happens to them.”
“You can’t honestly believe that.”
“I do.” I glare daggers at my mom, my heart breaking. “This. Was. My. Fault. I’m not good for them.”
My mom stares at me, her eyes welling with tears.
“Oh, god, mom, don’t cry—”
“This is my fault,” she whispers, and my eyes turn wide as saucers.
“What the hell are you talking about?!”
“Your dad said this might happen, and he was right.” A tear slides down my mom’s cheek. “Oh, no.”
“Mom, what?”
“You saw me do this all the time,” she whispers. “I still do it, today. And now I’ve passed it down to you.”
“What are you talking about?” I demand. My mom rarely cries, and to see her do it is terrifying. “Mom, it’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Remember how dad told you we were in therapy?”
I nod. “You said it was to make your marriage stronger.”