chapter TWENTY
Reese
I count my suppressants for the third time since we checked in.
Four pills. Four small white tablets that stand between me and complete disaster. I should have six left, but two disappeared with everything else when my room was ransacked. The backup supply Eli gave me helped, but now I'm down to my final emergency stash.
Four pills for three more days until my next shipment arrives. The math doesn't work.
I sink onto the hotel bed, staring at the medication bottle in my trembling hands.
The team meeting ended an hour ago, dinner finished thirty minutes past that, and Bo has graciously given me space to "decompress" from the confrontation with my parents.
He's probably down in the lobby with the others, or maybe getting ice from the machine down the hall.
Either way, I'm alone with the growing certainty that everything is about to fall apart.
My phone buzzes with a text from my mother: We'll speak again after your race tomorrow. Your father expects an answer about Westlake.
I delete it without responding and toss the phone onto the nightstand. One crisis at a time.
The suppressants glare at me from their amber bottle, mocking in their inadequacy.
I've been on them for three years, ever since my family decided my designation was an embarrassment to be managed rather than accepted.
The pills regulate my cycle, mute my scent, keep me safely in the realm of "normal" where Omegas don't cause complications for anyone.
Except now I'm facing a weekend surrounded by eight unmated Alphas with barely enough medication to get me through tomorrow's race, let alone the drive home.
A soft knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts. "Reese? It's Bo. Can I come in?"
I quickly stuff the bottle back into my toiletry bag and smooth the bedspread. "Yeah, come on in."
Bo enters carrying two bottles of water and wearing the kind of gentle expression that makes people confess their deepest secrets. "Thought you might be thirsty. Grabbed these from the vending machine."
"Thanks." I accept the bottle gratefully, the cool plastic a relief against my palms. "You didn't have to do that."
"I know." He settles into the chair by the window, giving me space while making it clear he's available if needed. "Rough conversation with your folks?"
"You could say that." I take a long drink of water, buying time to decide how much to share. "They want me to transfer back to Westlake."
Bo's expression darkens. "Because of the break-in?"
"Because of everything." I curl my legs under me, suddenly feeling younger than my nineteen years. "They don't approve of my choices. The team, the school, any of it."
"Their loss," Bo says simply. "You're the best cox we've ever had."
The words settle in a dark part of my chest that I would rather stay empty.
I don’t have the luxury of feeling the impact words like that could have on me.
In the space of one afternoon, I've been told by my parents that I'm making catastrophic mistakes and by my teammates that I belong exactly where I am. The contrast is dizzying.
"Bo?" I set down my water bottle carefully. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"When you first joined the team, did you ever feel like you were pretending to be someone you weren't?"
He considers this, head tilted slightly. "You mean like imposter syndrome? Thinking everyone would figure out I didn't belong?"
"Something like that."
"Every damn day for the first year," he admits. "Kept waiting for Coach to realize he'd made a mistake recruiting some kid from backwoods Alabama."
"But you got past it."
"Eventually. Realized the only person who thought I was pretending was me." His warm brown eyes study my face. "You having doubts about the team?"
"Not about the team," I say quietly. "About whether I can keep doing what I'm doing."
It's as close to the truth as I can get without revealing everything. Bo seems to understand anyway, nodding slowly.
"Whatever's got you worried, we'll figure it out," he says. "Team takes care of team."
The simple statement should be reassuring.
Instead, it makes my chest tighten with guilt.
The team would take care of me if they knew what I really was, but that knowledge would also destroy everything we've built.
University policies, competition regulations, social dynamics.
My presence as an Omega would complicate their lives in ways they don't deserve.
"You should get some sleep," Bo says, finishing his water. "Big day tomorrow."
"Yeah." I force a smile. "Thanks for the water. And for listening."
"Always." He pauses at the door. "Reese? Whatever your parents said tonight, they're wrong. You belong with us." I nod, but I know he doesn’t trust it. He sighs. “I’ve gotta talk to Coach real quick, but I’ll be back in a few. If you need something while I’m down there, just text.”
After he leaves, I sit alone in the quiet hotel room, surrounded by the familiar sounds of a team settling in for the night.
Muffled conversations through thin walls, the occasional laugh from down the hall, the distant hum of the ice machine.
Normal sounds from a normal team preparing for a normal race.
Except nothing about this situation is normal.
I retrieve the suppressant bottle and count the pills again. Still four. Still not enough.
My phone rings, startling me from my calculations. Unknown number, but I recognize the area code. Atlanta.
"Hello?"
"Miss Callahan? This is Dr. McGregor from Westfield Pharmacy. I'm calling about your prescription refill."
My heart pounds. "Is it ready?"
"I'm afraid there's been a delay. The manufacturer is experiencing supply chain issues. We're looking at another week before we can fill your order."
The words hit like ice water. "A week? But I was told Monday."
"I apologize for the inconvenience. We're doing everything we can to expedite the process, but with the current shortages..."
I barely hear the rest of his explanation. Another week means I'll be completely out of suppressants by Sunday morning. It means facing my heat cycle surrounded by the team, with my parents watching, during the most important regatta of our season.
"Miss Callahan? Are you there?"
"Yes." My voice sounds distant even to my own ears. "Thank you for calling."
I hang up and stare at the phone in my hands, mind racing through increasingly desperate scenarios. Emergency doctors who might prescribe something temporary. Alternative medications that could buy me time. Ways to fake illness and get sent home before anyone notices.
But deep down, I know the truth. Three years of suppressants have regulated my cycle to predictable intervals.
I'm already twelve hours overdue for my next dose, and my body is starting to respond accordingly.
The elevated heart rate, the restlessness, the way every Alpha scent seems more noticeable than usual.
By tomorrow night, there will be no hiding what I am.
A text notification breaks through my panic. Cameron's name on the screen.
You okay? Saw Bo come back down looking worried.
I stare at the message, surprised by the contact. Cameron and I have barely exchanged a dozen words since I joined the team, yet somehow he's checking on me at midnight from three floors away.
Fine. Just nervous about tomorrow.
Want to talk about it?
The offer catches me off guard. Cameron Blake, the silent observer who speaks only when necessary, offering to be a sounding board for my problems.
Thanks, but I should sleep.
Fair enough. But Reese?
Yeah?
Whatever happens tomorrow, you've got backup.
I smile despite everything, warmth spreading through my chest at his unexpected support. The team might not know my secret, but they're already rallying around me in ways my own family never has.
Thank you. That means more than you know.
Sleep well.
I set the phone aside and prepare for bed mechanically, trying not to think about tomorrow's inevitable complications. Four suppressants. One race. Eight Alphas who will start to notice my scent changing within hours.
Bo returns quietly about twenty minutes later, moving carefully in the darkness. I hear him brush his teeth and settle into the other bed, probably thinking I'm already asleep.
But as I lie in the darkness listening to Bo's steady breathing from the other bed, one thought keeps cycling through my mind: for the first time in my life, I'm part of a team that values me for who I am, not what they expect me to be.
Whatever happens tomorrow, I won't face it alone. That has to count for something.