Theater Reels for His Omega

Chapter One

Eryx

It started on an ordinary Tuesday.

“I’m gonna buy a house on the beach.”

Our client, the one we’d fought for, got up with a huge smile on his face. The lawsuit was cut and dry. Some humans canceled a rental agreement after they found out the client was a shifter. They claimed they didn’t want wolf fur all over the place.

Ridiculous. During the trial, it turned out they were bigoted against all kinds of beings, but shifters were at the top of their list.

The client left, and a feeling gripped the middle of my chest. I’d heard the notion before. Take the money and buy a house, a dream car, pay off debt.

I’d been there. Sitting in the same chair. Watching as the client signed off on almost the same documents. Even the sticky flags poking out of the file were the same color.

I’d been here before. Many times. And now that I thought about it, too many times.

This wasn’t what I wanted. Never had been.

My father stood from the chair he’d occupied at the side of my desk during the signing. “Get that sour look off your face, Eryx. We just came out on top of a big case. A fraction of your bonus will take you to Hawaii.”

The client deserved the compensation for the way he had been treated, and we got paid.

But…this was my father’s life I was living.

I grabbed the paperwork and stacked it. “I’ve been to Hawaii, Dad. You have too.”

He scoffed. He’d been scoffing my whole life. In fact, my life and choices, other than the one to become a lawyer and join the firm, were all lumped into one big scoff at how disappointing I was.

“Then go to Bali. Find a damned omega to go with you but whatever you do, get that damned look off your face. You’re an alpha lawyer, a rich one. Act like you’re one of the privileged people, because you are.” He left.

“Yes, sir,” I answered, not a thought in my mind when I did. “Yes, sir” was the only acceptable response to my father, even at twenty-eight years old. The youngest in my family to graduate law school and with the best grades.

As I sat there and the rest of the partners walked out talking about golf and cigars or whatever they talked about, I remembered who I was.

I hated this.

I never wanted to be a lawyer. Didn’t care about the big payouts. They meant nothing if I went home every night questioning my morals and life and dignity.

The whole moment felt like I was standing on the edge of a life-or-death decision.

I raised my head, peered out the window, and saw the world outside from our high-rise building. Walking over, I wondered what it was like to have actual lunches instead of cramming a sandwich down my throat while hovered over files and evidence.

A couple, walking hand in hand, caught my attention. They stopped at a stand and bought hot dogs, and one of them wiped mustard from the other’s mouth. They both laughed.

I hadn’t been on a date in months. Even when I did, I lied about what I did for a living.

That should’ve been my first clue.

My life needed to change.

“You’re still here.” My father had returned.

While I considered my life, day had turned to evening and in the distance, beyond the skyscrapers and every other building doing their damndest to block the view, the sun pushed her oranges and pink rays into the sky as she settled for the night.

“I’m still here.” I looked at him over my shoulder. His suit jacket was no longer on. The top button unbuttoned and his tie loosened.

“Are you ever happy?” he asked. “You made big money today. We all did. And every month since you started here. You’re a partner here. I’ve done all I can do.”

“My happiness is not your responsibility, Dad.” The words tumbled from my mouth before I could think about how they would land. With my father, I always thought about how my words would be absorbed.

We were attorneys, after all.

My heart stumbled over the next beat. This was one of those moments in life. The couple eating the hot dogs had long gone, but I knew what I wanted.

And none of it could be found at a boardroom desk or in the courtroom.

My education didn’t matter.

The money was all saved up because I’d learned early on that the car and the house and the vacation served only as a bandage for a blister that enlarged by the day.

“That’s true, but it looks like you’re not taking responsibility for it either.”

He was right. In his own harsh way, my father was always right. Except for one thing.

He promised that eventually law school and being like him would bring me some joy.

“I don’t want to be a lawyer anymore.”

He snorted.

“Let me rephrase, I’m done being a lawyer, Dad. Today is my last day.” I turned around to see the end of a dramatic eye roll. Laziness, he’d once told me. Eye rolling was for people who couldn’t express themselves otherwise or defend their case. As bad as whatever.

“Not this again. Why must we revisit this argument every few months? Does my reasoning have an expiration date I don’t know about?”

“Yes. It does. And it expires for the last time tonight.”

“You’ll be back tomorrow, Eryx. Sleep on it, Son.”

On my way to the door, I patted him on the shoulder. Not one time could I recall him hugging me. I’d laid my heart on the line once, when I was in kindergarten and had an eventful day. Asked him for a hug.

He’d gathered his briefcase and said he was late to court.

It was a Sunday.

“You’re going to fail.” He’d switched to the nasty tone. The one he used in the grit of closing arguments. Pointing a finger at the guilty party.

“At what?”

He pushed his hands into his pockets. “At anything but this. This is who you are.”

“Then I fail. But I can’t do this anymore.”