13. Rosie
Chapter 13
Rosie
“D on’t turn here!” my grandma says, apparently scandalized by my decision to take the cut-through on Magnolia Road.
I glance at her as I course correct. That’s about as much energy as she’s had all morning. “Where is it you need to go?”
She makes this overly dramatic noise. “To see your painting.”
Right. I’d forgotten about my promise to take her to Bambi’s. The meeting with Grandma Lily’s doctor this morning was a lot, and the painting is the last thing on my mind.
I managed to get her in at their Saturday morning clinic downtown instead of her usual office. They’re running some blood tests first but probably upping her medications. The doctor also made some gentle suggestions that it was time to plan for staying home with her full-time or hiring nursing care.
It's not exactly good news, and doctors already creep me out. I spent most of the year between sixteen and seventeen being shuffled to specialists while my mother tried to find a miracle that would save her from having a beta daughter.
My exact developmental disorder is a Latin name I can never remember, but it’s translated as latent omega . I’m a beta, but I’ve got more omega traits than most. I’m highly empathetic and can feel the emotions of others. I need touch and the coregulation that often happens in a pack—something I struggle with. I’m susceptible to an alpha’s bark and overly sensitive to smells and fabrics. My sex drive is higher than normal too, but not enough of the omega gene carried to give me heats, slick, perfume, or increased fertility. Basically, it’s all the needy parts of being an omega without benefiting from super-hot sex.
I chew my lip, my fingers dancing on the steering wheel as we wait at the light, and I try to let go of the morning by focusing on the humming activity downtown. Knotty Pines is beautiful on weekends in the spring. I love how the shops and stands pop up out of nowhere, filling the streets with people and homemade jams or crafts. I follow the detour past the farmer’s market until I find an alternative route to Bambi’s.
When we pull up to the curb, my grandma gasps. I parallel park and turn off the car, looking toward the store. I can’t see it all from the driver’s side, but I don’t know if I’m ready to revisit the window art. It was an impulsive moment of being raw, just the brushes and me. Now that it’s done, I sort of wish I hadn’t made it a piece for the whole town to see.
Grandma Lily turns to face me, her weathered hand caressing my cheek and her green eyes full of love. “Everything blooms in its own time, and this is your time . Don’t hide from the coming sunshine because you know how to survive in the rain.”
There’s so much meaning in those words that my throat gets tight. I may not have found a pack like I grew up wanting, but I sure did luck out the day I packed my bags and showed up at her door.
She kisses my forehead before unbuckling her seat belt. “Now, let’s go. I’ve got a contest to win. Then I want one of those fancy teas from Tanzy’s. It’s not every day you take me for a date on the town.”
“I didn’t know I was this morning,” I say as I get out. I hustle around the car to help her onto the curb. “Anywhere else on your list?”
* * *
It’s Saturday night, and my grandmother’s bridge group is popping off. Their hoots and cackling laughter travel upstairs and blend in with the deep rumble of my new neighbors’ voices coming from their backyard. I can’t see the omegas downstairs or the alphas next door grilling, but the backdrop relaxes me while I wait to hop onto my regular game.
After our date in town, my grandmother napped, so I headed to my room and have been trying to work on a commission. So far, all I’ve ended up with is a sketch of ghost Nash in the truck, a tattooed arm propped on the window, and another of Dane, his eyes on me.
I toss my tablet and check the clock. My stomach tightens with anticipation and a heavy dash of nerves when I realize it’s late enough to be acceptably early without being weird.I find my laptop and move to the overstuffed chair by the window, curling up with a mound of blankets and my headset.
It’s stupid, but I have the biggest crush on this omega who plays with us. We became online friends through the game when he was a friend of a friend who started subbing in. Eventually, he stuck. I did a commission for his main character two years ago. In the process of emailing and messaging, we have something that feels complicated but doesn’t have a name, especially after last week. I kinda blew him off, and I’m hoping he’s not mad.
Kelly is funny and kind, with a wickedly witty tongue and a sharp mind. His voice has this musical quality that always sounds a little bit devilish. He also happens to be a bonded omega.
In the past, we haven’t shared much about the details of our lives—not in the way I do with my face-to-face friends. I know he loves his mates and just finished his residency in physical therapy. Still, beyond that, we’ve always had an unwritten rule—don’t get too personal, don’t share photos or real names. We’re online friends, and that’s that.
Except it feels like the rules are changing.
I know Kelly on a soul-deep level. We’ve spent days, sometimes weeks, debating and discussing books, songs, art films, or games. My ears are attuned to the difference between his chuckle and his real laugh, or the low pitch he sometimes uses when he’s flirting. But I also don’t know what he looks like. I can’t read his facial expressions, can’t identify his scent.
And let’s be real, I never will.
He lives on the West Coast. He’s got a pack. He’s not a real option. It doesn’t stop me from getting excited when I hear his voice or see a message from him on my screen.
But I can’t go there. The fantasy feels safe. Trying for anything more spells disaster.
I plop the computer on my lap and chew my lip while I wait for the server to load on our tabletop service and log into our group’s Discord.Kelly is already waiting, and my stomach swoops with butterflies at the first sound of his voice.
“Raven, how I have missed you after this dreadful week,” he says by way of greeting.
He calls me Raven because my character in game is Raven Nightshade. It doesn’t matter that others in our group shorten it too; it always feels like a term of endearment when he says it. His voice is possessive, hitting a chord deep inside and making my belly swoop.
“What about it was dreadful?” I ask, entirely too breathless for the question.
He pauses, then his voice gets more intimate and vulnerable. “Apart from the fact that it’s been a week since I talked to you?”
I’ve imagined his face so many times and wondered what it would be like to sit next to him and watch a movie or share a meal.But I didn’t text him this week like usual because in our chat on Saturday night, he hinted that we should meet in person. Again . As much as I’ve imagined what it would be like to be with someone like Kelly, this stupid part of me is hanging on to Nash and how he looked at me on that roof.
I also might be a big flopping chicken.
Maybe if I give Kelly a chance and meet him in person, I can find out that it’s possible to have someone else want me like that. But if I’m not what Kelly expects, if it turns out he's disappointed when he sees me? I'd be devastated. And his two alphas would need to want me as a packmate too.That's a tall order.
There are too many what-ifs to stomach. No, I can’t go there. This has to be enough.
“I’ll promise to message more, but I thought you were swamped this week?” I say, changing the subject.
“I am, but I missed our chats. I wondered all week what art you were making and wanted to tell you that your podcast recommendation led me down a rabbit hole. I blame you because I already have season two loaded for my trip tomorrow,” he says.
Gods, this man and his voice of sin. It’s so tempting.
The rest of the party trickles in before we can get ourselves into any more muddy waters. We get sucked into greetings, then our Dungeon Master takes over.We play for almost four hours, and we’re basically getting our asses kicked trying to recover the spellbook from the Lich’s Crypt. Bad rolls keep us from advancing much, but our chat is full of memes, and the banter between Kelly’s character and our DM makes me belly-laugh. It lets me get lost in another world for a while.
After the game, I help see off the bridge club, including carting one very drunk Ms. Maple down the block.
When I return, my eyes widen at the messy dining room before I give my grandma a serious case of side-eye. “This party was too lit for me. I’ll deal with the mess tomorrow.”
“You’re never too old for a good party.” Grandma Lily laughs, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Thank you for all this, sugar. Today made my whole week.”
She heads to bed, and despite the joy in her voice, I can see that today wore her out.
At the hallway entrance, she turns to me. “I left a note on the counter for the cheesecake, but I might be too tired tomorrow to deliver it. You don’t have to talk to the neighbors. Could you just set it on the porch for me in the morning?”
“You're a menace,” I say, seeing right through her.
She laughs. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
I watch her move slowly down the hall and wonder if the doctor is right. Maybe it’s time to think about getting some help. Mulling that over, I get ready for bed and crawl into my quasi-nest tucked into the corner of my bedroom.
I’m almost asleep when a buzz draws my attention to an incoming text.
Kelly: I can take a hint but can’t take losing us. Sleep well, Raven.
I spend the night tossing and turning, worried on all fronts, until I finally find sleep at dawn.
* * *
The absolute surefire way to go from hot neighbors to assholes is being loud before seven in the morning on the weekend. I bury my head under my pillow, but the shrill sound of a saw and the rumbling whine of some other tool penetrates my defensive measures. It still sounds like construction is happening in my room.I got zero sleep, and my temple throbs with an incoming headache.
One of the jerks turns on music, and now I really want to kill someone.
No manners . That’s what this is. And I’m about to tell them about themselves .
I thunder down the stairs and through the kitchen, bang open the back door, and hurry down the steps, hollering. “Do you know what time it is?”
The sun is barely even up yet!
It comes as no shock that the assholes can’t hear me over the noise. I yell again, louder this time, but I’m no match for the power tools and playlist.
Weaving through my grandma’s flower bushes, I make my way to the wooden fence. I’m tall enough to peek over the edge on my tippy-toes. The side of the house obscures my view of the alphas, and the shit-ton of wood outside destroys any hopes I had that this torture would be short-lived.
On a huff, I march out the side of my grandma’s yard and around their house until I find the gate. I should have put on a robe, probably shoes. The wet grass stuck to my cold feet fuels my commitment.
I fling open the latch and stomp through my neighbor's backyard, rounding the corner into flying sawdust. “Hey!”
Only one of the jerks is out here, but he can deliver the message.
I yell again, but he doesn’t hear me, so I get louder. “Hey! What is wrong with you?”
The whining saw fizzles out, and the perpetrator’s head whips around in surprise. “What?—"
I don’t hear the rest of his question because Dane Daniels is staring me in the face for the second time in two days.