An Alpha’s Guide to Finding the One (Packed Up at Harbor U #2)

1. Lainey

“Mom, come on!” I whine, hating the sound as soon as it comes out of my mouth.

I try so hard to suppress the brattier side of my omega instincts, but they tend to slip out when my emotions are high.

And right now? They’re rapidly becoming one with the stratosphere.

“You can’t do this. This store is our baby.

My baby for the last three years. And you’re just going to up and sell to the highest bidder so you can flit off to Florida and spend the rest of your life sunburned and sweaty with your latest flavor of the month?

” I’m well aware my words are harsh, but I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to.

Which I most certainly do not .

My dad started our eclectic little home goods store, aptly named Whimsy, more than a decade ago and left it to my mom when he took off.

I’ve been working here with her since I was just a kid because she hated all things whimsical and didn’t understand why he would leave the place to her or why he and I bonded over such silly things.

And since I was homeschooled, she even allowed me to take over ordering and day to day operations when I turned sixteen.

Now I’m nineteen, starting college, and she’s decided to sell the store and follow her shitty wannabe-alpha boyfriend to Florida , of all places.

It’s asinine, but reasoning with Laura Ryan is like reasoning with a toddler on a nap strike. Or a brick wall.

“Magdalene Olivia Ryan,” mom hisses, ignoring my flinch when she uses my full name.

She knows I hate the fact that I’m named after the man who abandoned us, but she’s too busy glaring daggers at me from across the two-person dinette table to notice or care.

This tiny apartment above the store has been our home since we moved in after Pops and Jude left ten years ago, and though it’s barely big enough to fit the two of us, it works for now.

The space is warm and inviting, with the kitchen painted a cheery yellow to complement the white shaker-style cabinets.

“Contrary to what you seem to believe, you do not get to tell me what to do with my life. You are a grown woman, and this little tantrum you’re throwing isn’t doing you any favors. ”

My shoulders slump, defeat pinning them down like a weighted blanket that’s ten pounds too heavy.

My mother had made it no secret she was disappointed when my designation came in.

As if being an omega is something to be ashamed of.

My biological dad found his scent match — an omega — and took off when I was just a baby, abandoning Mom and Pops without a single glance backward.

I know it hurt her more than she let on, but ever since I presented as an omega at sixteen, she’s forced her resentment on me and made it my problem.

The worst part of it is knowing her feelings have tainted my own about my designation.

I want to be comfortable being an omega.

But when you live with someone who is constantly criticizing you for being too soft, too emotional, and too much, you learn to silence the natural urges that come with the designation.

I take suppressants so I don’t have a heat, compartmentalize my emotions, and carefully make sure every instinct it shoved into a locked box inside my mind so she can’t use it against me.

Choking back the frustrated words that are aching to be spilled, I silently rise from my chair and glance at my mom with the world’s most brittle smile. “You’re right. I think I’ll go downstairs and get a head start on inventory for the week.”

Her frown transforms to a smile that is so saccharine it makes me nauseous, and that’s before I hear what she says next. “Oh, but honey, maybe you should get a head start on packing instead? You seem to have accumulated quite a lot of… things, in that closet of yours.”

Nest. She means the closet that I had to turn into a makeshift nest because she refused to give up the small office space on the other side of the apartment from our bedrooms. I’m so annoyed that for a moment, her words don’t register.

My heart beats so hard in my chest I think it might climb up my throat to strangle me as I struggle to process what she’s saying. “Pack? Why would I…”

She cuts me off with a cruel laugh. “Oh, Mags. You didn’t think I would sell the store and you would just get to keep living here, did you?” I gape, and that smile turns a little sharper. “How silly. No, dear. I have an offer for the shop and the apartment, and I’ve already said yes.”

And just like that, my world crumbled around me for the third time in my life.

Spinning on my heel, I speed walk to my bedroom and barely manage not to slam the door as I throw myself straight into my nest. What the hell am I going to do for housing?

Thanks to several generous scholarships I won’t have to worry about paying for school, but I might have to leave anyway if I can’t find housing.

There’s only one other person I can turn to for help, and despite the complications that come with asking for help, she’s exactly the lifeline I need right now.

Me

I hate to ask, but I need a favor.

Posey

Anything for you, Lainey Loo! What’s up?

Me

Can you help me poke around and see if there are any dorms available last minute for a single omega?

Posey

…

Three dots pop up and disappear more times than I can count, and I know my best friend is deciding just how much she can get away with prying before I shut down. She also knows I have a phobia of phone calls and won’t answer or she would likely be calling me endlessly right now.

Posey

Asking around now. Are you safe?

That’s it. She doesn’t ask me if I’m okay, because she knows if I’m asking for help then I am most certainly not okay.

But she asked the question only she would think to ask.

She’s probably the only person who cares, aside from my half brother, who’s currently somewhere on campus likely grumbling about teaching a bunch of first year students.

Me

I’m safe. Will explain another day, but going to need a place to stay very soon and no offense, but I don’t want to live with you.

Posey

*crying laughing emoji*

None taken, I wouldn’t either. My nest has exploded and now trails out into the living room. Kinda smells like someone painted the walls with honey and then doused the carpet in apple juice.

I snort a laugh, not at all surprised. Posey’s scent is potent, even for an omega.

I met Posey only a few weeks ago at the start of the term and we became instant best friends.

I almost wondered if we were scent matches with how fast we clicked, but I think she’s just my platonic soulmate.

And I have no doubt a great pack will snatch her up faster than she can blink.

As for me? Well, what pack would want an omega with abandonment issues who is ashamed of her designation?

Something tickles my cheeks, and I groan when I find a few rogue tears have escaped. I refuse to sit around and mope about losing another thing I love, and when I spot the sparkly orange fabric hanging off the back of my closet door, an idea hits me.

Screw being sad, and screw staying in with the woman who loves that she’s hurting me.

If I can’t stop my life from falling into chaos, maybe I should make a little chaos of my own instead.