Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
Kit and I walk into the bar side by side, our hands grazing as we move under the dim lights and take in the air that smells like craft beer.
I haven’t been to a bar since that traumatizing date, but I’m doing fine with Kit and his pack by my side. The familiar atmosphere doesn’t feel as scary when there are three men and my entire friend group standing around for protection. My omega and I both feel safe, which is a relief.
My hormones have been so unpredictable since my last flare-up.
I’m having more and more issues with my migraines, and I find myself taking naps at the most random times.
A part of me is aware that it might have something to do with the environment that I’m in.
It’s possible that being around my scent matches like this could be expediting the process to my next heat, and that thought scares me.
It’s not unreasonable by any means, either.
Just meeting Sam last year tossed me right into my first heat despite being on blockers.
It’s now been a little over three weeks since I moved in, and it’s causing my symptoms to go haywire.
Not to mention, hooking up with Kit and kissing Sam probably didn’t help either.
My gaze falls to Sam, who has dressed casually for once in a dark T-shirt and jeans. It’s such a good look on him that I almost feel hypnotized, my attention falling to him yet again to get another peek.
Sam sneaks me a look while I’m staring, and I dart my eyes away, not wanting to see the indifference on his face.
I know he feels anything but apathetic towards what happened between us last weekend, but my nerves like to twist that truth.
My scent match is an expert at pretending like everything is okay when it’s not, so things have seemingly gone back to normal.
Still, the night left me feeling sour. Half the things I said were unwarranted, and guilt bubbled inside me at the fact that he was left in the dark about who I am to him.
He and I still spend our mornings together, but it’s quiet, and I don’t know how to fix it.
He still uses the lychee mug, thanks me for breakfast, and tries at small talk.
But the guilt is eating me alive. I don’t know how much longer I can go without telling them the truth.
The clock is ticking down, and with it goes my sanity and ease.
“Hi guys,” Uriah greets us as we fall into the group to the side of the tiny stage. “I’m glad you could make it.”
I grin at him, and Sam gives him the same pleasantries, thanking him for inviting us.
Stacia’s mate is a very private person, and he usually doesn’t allow anyone to come see his band play.
From what I heard, his pack only started going to gigs last year after they met Stacia.
So, it’s an honor to be here, and I think Sam and Thatcher feel the same way, having known Uriah for years.
“I’ll get us some drinks,” Thatcher offers, and as he walks away, a flash of blue hair pokes out through the crowd. Rory makes her way to us, smiling with her mates behind her.
“I’m so fucking stoked to be here!” she exclaims, looking around the group.
Kendall laughs. “We are, too.”
Uriah playfully rolls his eyes before turning back to Rory. “Thank you for coming.”
Her face falls as she looks at him. “Why the long face?”
I raise a brow. Does Uriah look sad? I think he looks the way he always looks.
“This is his last gig,” Ciro announces, and for the first time since I met him, he sounds a little bit sad.
“What?” Rory’s eyes widen as she turns to the alpha in question. “You’re not going to be a part of Sacred Sound anymore?”
Stacia nods solemnly and answers for him. “Uriah decided it’s time. He needs to let them find another bass player because we’ll be moving whenever Atlas gets signed anyway.”
“I’m sorry it’s not going to work out, Uri,” I tell him. It’s obvious he loves being a part of it and loves the band, but I understand why he made this tough call. Sometimes, things aren’t meant to be.
Cindy flashes through my head, and I blink away the image. I don’t want to think about any of that right now.
He shrugs, looking appreciative. “These guys are going places. They need someone with them who wants that, too. I’ve never wanted to be in the spotlight.”
Thatcher comes back then, drinks in hand. When he doesn’t produce one for me, I let out a gasp.
“What? You didn’t get one for me?” I say dramatically and the group laughs around me.
“You’re not twenty-one,” Thatcher supplies. “And they’re really strict here.”
“I am twenty-one,” I reveal to them.
They all turn to blink at me.
“But your birthday isn’t until May,” Stacia says.
“And you’re the same age as us,” Rory argues, narrowing her eyes at me.
I snort. “I was held back in the third grade.”
That brings forth another round of incredulous looks. They all start asking me a million questions at once.
“Why the hell did they hold you back?” Sam starts.
“Why haven’t you been buying our drinks all this time?” Ciro adds.
“I feel like my life is a lie.” Rory quips, not as a question, but hilariously.
And then Kit says, “Oh my god, out of us omegas, you’re the oldest.”
I decide to answer him first, my grin teasing. “Is that surprising?”
Rory, Stacia, and Kit all nod and say, “Definitely.”
“Well, I was held back because I failed the reading test that year. Don’t ask me how, I barely remember it.”
“Who needs to know how to read, anyway?” Ciro asks.
Kendall hits him upside the head and says, “Considering she’s going to be teaching the next generation how to read, she definitely does.”
They start an argument about that, and my amusement only grows.
My joy is always at an all-time high with my friends, and I realize that if it weren’t for that awful date, I would never be here with people who truly make me happy.
In some small way, that makes me grateful that the misunderstanding happened, no matter how or why it occurred.
As the thought occurs, something strange happens. A sharp cramp hits me in the pit of my stomach, and the swoosh of it brings immediate sweat to my forehead.
Oh god, no.
I cool my features and whisper to Kit. “I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”
I don’t bother to hear his response as I start to move through the crowd, trying to find the nearest place of privacy. When I spot the sign for the restrooms, I walk as quickly as I can, my fear causing the heat on my skin to flare even more.
The bathroom is empty, and I finally let tears spring to my eyes.
The familiar but also foreign feeling remains.
The pain isn’t as deep as I remember it being.
It’s surface level in comparison, so I hold onto that fact.
I am not going into a heat today, but this might be something else, so I need to stay put until it calms down.
Luckily, it only lasts a few minutes. The sting subsides and the air starts to feel cool again. I wipe my forehead, getting rid of the sweat like it’s evidence of something more heinous than it is.
As the heat flash completely dissipates, I throw some cold water on my face and take a few deep breaths.
I’m okay. I’ll be okay. I can make it through the night.
My omega whines, not liking the idea of postponing her needs, and I shush her. I can not deal with this right now. Not in a bar full of people.
After I’ve done all the consoling with my omega that I can, I march out into the hallway, prepared to go back into a sprawl of people.
When I bump into someone’s shoulder, I let out a squeak, and the person stops.
“Oh fuck, sorry.” His hand comes to my shoulder to help me situate, and the sweetest aroma hits my nose. It’s full of spice and freshly baked apples, with a note of cider that completes the entire picture.
My eyes widen. He’s an alpha.
The tiniest bit of fear hits me, along with a swirl of pain deep down that I completely ignore in his presence. He must see the anguish, because his brow creases in concern.
“Are you okay?” he asks, taking his hand off me and giving me a little more space. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to apologize for not watching where I was going.”
I spot the beer in his hand, the tiny white cup filled with beige liquid, and the tiny guitar pick wedged between his fingers. My eyes widen.
“Are you in the band?” I ask.
He grins and although it’s kind, the presence of it is downright sinful. “I am.” He wiggles the guitar pick between his fingers.
“Oh, thank god,” I say out loud, relieved, but then my cheeks flush as the alpha laughs. “My friend’s mate is in the band. Uriah. Well, I guess you can say he’s my friend, too, but still.”
“Oh, shit, okay. I don’t think we’ve met before. My name’s Nova.”
He reaches his hand out to me and I return it. “Opal.”
“Like the gemstone? I like it,” he replies just before he looks at his watch. “Well, Opal. We have a few minutes until the show starts. Would you like to have a drink with me?”
His flirty smile never subsides, and I find myself charmed by it. “I’d like that. Lead the way, Nova.”
The alcohol sits in my stomach like lead. My symptoms are playing a special game of hide-and-seek, and it’s causing severe stress that isn’t helping my current state at all.
Heat flashes and minor cramps continue to visit me through the night, but I try not to let it stop me from having a good time with my friends. This is Uriah’s last time performing with his band, so all I want to do is be there for him and have the time of my life.