Chapter 26
Sully
Even her sullen is cute, but she'd probably smack me if I said so. She's feisty, unbridledly passionate, and I adore her immensely even though we can't look at each other without snapping or huffing exasperatingly. It's different from how she is with Theo. He likes to push her buttons, get a rise out of her.
I just want to keep her safe.
Which is how we ended up in a car together, Ophelia's arms crossed, looking out the window, mad at me for sending the others into the office for the day. She assumed since her harem all followed her around like she was the pied piper that they'd argue with me. She was wrong.
She also doesn't know where we're going. I could have told her when she asked, but frankly, I had a feeling she'd refuse to come. But it's time she stopped pretending she didn't bond with one of the wealthiest packs in the city and took her role as Ophelia Constantine. And that means becoming involved with projects she cares about, not just passing judgment and commentary on how all we do as alphas or OFA supporters is get it wrong.
Thanks to her and Theo's little outing, rumors are already circulating about Ophelia, and I don't want her to be blindsided by the press that's likely about to start popping up.
She must have had some inkling of where we were headed, but when we roll up to the gates at the OFA, she tenses.
"Mr. Constantine, a pleasure to see you. Do you have an appointment?" The guard at the gate asks.
"Yes, with Madam Fletcher and Dr. Rubens." The guard steps back into the booth, types something into the computer and dips back out, tapping the roof of our car.
"You're all set, Mr. Constantine, go on up."
I steer toward the visitor parking lot near a small building to the left of the main estate where most events and all the OFA classes take place.
When I park, I'm acutely aware of the rage flowing off of Ophelia. It's bitter and acrid, tinting her lovely lavender and sage scent. My brothers tell me that very near to her skin, her pulse points and her perfume smell like roses. And when she comes, her rare, earthy, floral scent is the most intoxicating thing on the planet.
At this rate, I wonder if I'll ever experience it. I'm just glad she's not wearing scent-blockers.
"You're mad."
"How can you tell?" She turns to me in her seat, her smile unnaturally wide. Her wild brown hair is tied into a ponytail high on her head, showing off her elegant high cheekbones and wide ocean-blue eyes. She's achingly beautiful.
I could do what I failed to do before we got in the car and explain. Or I can accept that she'll fight me every step of the way regardless and move forward.
Climbing out of the car takes her a second, but she reluctantly follows.
"You remember what Fletcher did, right? You remember what I told you?" She asks as we walk up the steep gravel walkway toward the offices.
"She tried to convince you the Olcenes weren't in the wrong."
"Yeah! She did! And?" This time she stops. There's real pain behind her eyes. I want to take it away. I want to ease every burden, to shield her from the harshness of the world.
She talks about Alma more than her parents because she had to grow up fast and doesn't like to be vulnerable, but it's painted right there on her face. She lost her protectors, and it's hard to explain that this is what I'm trying to do now: protect her.
"Ophelia, look at me," I encourage, brushing a stray curl from her forehead, taking her face in my hands. Her eyes drag up to meet mine, begrudgingly.
Lips pressed together, her pout is nervous. She's scared.
"I know what you told me. And I know what Fletcher said when I confronted her about it after you told us what happened."
"You confronted her?"
"I did. I think you need to hear her out. Her side of the story."
She rips away, pulling my hands from her face. "Her side?"
"Ophelia, you were sixteen—a child. And you just lost your entire family. I'm not saying what you remember was inaccurate. In fact, it matches her story perfectly. But… I think her point of view should be heard. At the very least, to give you some closure."
She looks down at the ground. Only a foot or two of distance between us but it feels like a field.
"Ask her all the questions you've been holding onto for years. I'll be right there with you."
She doesn't respond, looking up toward the office before marching forward. I follow. Because, of course, I do.
I pick up the pace as she approaches the door so I can open it for her. Ducking beneath my long arm, I don't miss how she breathes me in and slips inside, pretending to be unaffected.
Fletcher, the Director of the OFA for the last twenty years, has made this office her home away from home. Unlike the typically put-together older beta woman, the waiting room outside the offices is warm, inviting, and cozy, likely for the benefit of the omega residents, most of whom live a few buildings over.
Ophelia runs her fingers over the soft pillows of the couch in the waiting room. Theo mentioned her temperature has been spiking and whether she admits it or not, her nest has been slowly growing with bits of clothing and other items that smell like us. Her alphas.
I know Ophelia would deny her collection if I pointed out that a t-shirt I work out in went missing. Also missing was a hand towel I left by my bedside that I, ahem, used for relief after hearing her scream her mates' names in ecstasy every fucking night.
I couldn't figure out where it went and when I caught a light, faint trace of lavender and realized she was in my room, I should have felt embarrassed. Instead, my chest puffed up, and I felt about ten feet tall.
We wait in loaded silence until the receptionist, a lovely beta woman around my age whose name I cannot remember, comes around the corner, taking a seat behind her desk.
"Oh, Sullivan! So nice to see you again. Madam Fletcher will be right out," she smiles and leans forward on her desk. "Is there anything I can get for you while you wait? Water? Or…"
She blinks rapidly, darting her eyes to Ophelia, who scoffs.
"No, thank you. We're both fine."
I can feel Ophelia's distress. She should know there's no other woman for me, even if she's still being stubborn accepting me, mad I strong-armed her into moving in.
So I place my hand on her lower back, and when she softens beneath my touch and her scent blooms between us, I lean in and kiss her temple. It's a small, simple thing, but it's the most I've touched her since we met. I must give her some indication of how much I crave her touch because the look she gives me in exchange is one of… hope.
"Mr. Constantine, come on ba—oh. Ophelia. I wasn't expecting you."
"Fletcher," Ophelia drawls, but the old woman doesn't bristle. She gives us both a tight smile, tugs on her button-up suit jacket, and leads us to a conference room just outside her office. The walls are glass with a long narrow table within, but, like everything else in Fletcher's domain, it's comforting and cozy with pillows and soft lighting. Ophelia seems to approve when she sighs and heaves onto the couch at the edge of the room instead of sitting at the table.
Fletcher pauses, looking from the table arranged with snacks and tea, to Ophelia who's kicking her legs up on the couch, and then back to the table with snacks. Without laughing like I want to, I join Ophelia on the couch, but I take her legs into my lap when she tries to steal them back.
"Right. Well." Fletcher gathers all the accouterments and sets them up on the low glass coffee table, dragging one of the chairs from the table opposite the couch. The moment she settles, Dr. Rubens enters the room.
I've met the man only once, and only in passing. He's older, with a long, white, winding beard and a soft demeanor. Most OFA employees are betas, and he's no exception.
Ophelia doesn't seem to recognize him, so I guess we're off to a good start.
"So, what's all this bullshit about," Ophelia sighs, pulling her legs from my lap and tucking them beneath her legs. I suppose giving her a heads up might have made her act a little less like a bratty teenager, but I'm not about to chastise her after everything the OFA has done.
Fletcher has no such qualms. "Goodness, dear, had you joined the OFA, perhaps you'd have learned some manners."
"And if I'd joined the OFA, I'd probably have endured statutory rape and an invisible chain around my neck while I cooked and cleaned for a random pack you shuffled me off with before I turned eighteen."
"Or you'd have met your pack sooner. The Constantines have been paying members of the OFA, accepted into our courting program for, what was it, Sullivan? Seven years now? You'd have found your scent-match that much sooner, rather than cavorting with criminals and dressing like a hooker at a strip club."
"How do you know about that?" She sits a little taller on the couch. Rubens and I glance at each other, listening while the two women volley back and forth. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. Where I work, how I dress, and what happens between me and my pack is none of your business. Don't act like you deserve any credit in our bonding. Besides, if I remember correctly," Ophelia taps her finger on her chin, looking up as if she's trying to recall some distant memory, "You have a history of ruining the lives of young omegas who are scent-matched. Isn't that right?"
If I thought Fletcher would flinch or cower, I'd be wrong. I almost interrupt, but this conversation has long since needed to be hashed out. So, instead, I offer my silent support to Ophelia, bringing my hand to her back, rubbing circles at the base of her spine.
"Oh, please. I may have let you get away with that when you were sixteen, but you're an adult now. I'm sorry about what happened to Alma. I've never had more regret over anything in my entire life than what the Olcenes got away with, taking her outback like they did. But they were only nineteen themselves, had met their scent-match, and consensually mated with her. She knew the consequences of her actions, not telling them to wait. She was not forced."
Ophelia gasps. Honestly, I'm right there with her. I can't believe Fletcher is defending them. They may have only been a couple of years older than Alma, but still. There were four of them, and they're alphas.
"I spoke with Alma myself. She wasn't upset about the mating, she was upset because they…" Fletcher has the decency to pause, to look away. Her hands shake slightly as she pours a cup of tea, busying her hands to get the words out. "What happened was wrong. They've been banned from the OFA, from taking another omega home. Across the country, in fact. Their names are not allowed on any registry, heat clinic or omega-match making program."
That, I didn't know. It explains why they show up to events but never leave with anyone. But then I remember what Jackson said about taking omegas at heat clinics. Maybe it was bullshit, false bragging. I wouldn't put it past them. "Why are they still allowed to attend events?" I ask.
"Because they pay their fees," she waves her hand in the air dismissively. "Even knowing it's over for them, that I will never allow them to court someone from this academy. I think it's their way of trying to… make up for what they did."
"Nothing can make up for what they did!"
Fletcher looks at Ophelia, softening just a bit. "You're right. And I'm telling you, I know what they did was wrong. But you need to understand, Ophelia, you and Alma, you were different people. You wanted nothing to do with packs at that age. You wanted to run around setting off firecrackers with that Red friend of yours, Alma's boyfriend. You wanted to play in the dirt and steal soda cans from the corner store. Alma wanted nothing to do with that. She…"
A look of comprehension passes Ophelia's face. Pieces of her life clicking into places. Memories of her sister. She had a very particular view of Alma, and it's been unchanged all these years. Ironclad in her belief that Alma was a weak, impressionable young omega and nothing more. That she, Ophelia, was the strong one.
"She what?" Ophelia whispers.
"She wanted more. Different. She said she liked Red because all the other girls liked him, not because she wanted to bond with him. She didn't like the pack he was forming. She wanted out of South Loop. She saw the Olcenes and mated with them immediately because she wanted to secure the relationship. She told me so herself. She just never anticipated their reaction. Those pompous, good for nothing…" Fletcher trails off, rolling her eyes, taking a dainty sip from her teacup.
"You expect me to believe Alma—what? Asked for it?"
"You can believe what you'd like, my dear. But I'm telling you, what happened that night, as awful and unsanctioned their behavior was, mating in the pool house like that, their impulsive reactions toward each, it was consensual. It's not how omegas are taught to behave, nor alphas. I was angry with the lot of them. Once the Olcenes realized the depth of their ineptitude, once she walked away from them with your parents… Jackson told me later he felt like his soul was being torn away. The idiot thought he could just apologize for dismissing her just because she was poor."
Ophelia looks down at her hands, which fidget incessantly in her lap. I reach out and place mine over hers, stilling them. She doesn't look up but leans toward me, so I side-hug her, pulling her close.
"Alma was so upset."
"Of course she was. Look, I'm not trying to convince you what happened wasn't wrong. It was. But she wasn't innocent either. This was the life she wanted, even if it's not something you could understand at the time."
"And after?"
"After?" Fletcher repeats.
A little of Ophelia's confidence returns. She leans forward and pours herself a cup of tea—no, she pours it for me. I'm surprised when she places it in front of me, pouring a second cup for herself.
I lean forward and kiss her temple like I did outside, but this time… damn, the fucking sun must be shining on me because she smiles. I've never been more relieved to have Fletcher on the receiving end of a scowl because it's no longer directed at me.
"Yeah, Fletcher, after. You know, when the Olcenes followed my parents home and they… what, got in a car wreck? You told me my dad had been drinking. He didn't drink!"
"He had had a few drinks—"
"That's not possible. He was a recovering alcoholic. He hadn't drank in years. The police showed up, and then you were there, and everyone kept talking over me, claiming he was drunk driving."
Fletcher's expression softens again, making her naturally stern, severe appearance slightly more affable. "Ophelia… I don't know if he was drunk. Parents keep things from their children, and I am so sorry because I don't want to taint your memory of him. But witnesses saw him have a few drinks at the gala. When I found out what happened, I immediately went to check on you. I knew you'd be alone. The police were already with you, and they questioned me and asked what happened. I told them, and yes, your father had had a couple of drinks at the event, nothing more. He wasn't belligerent or drunk, as far as anyone could tell, but I told them the truth. I can't say what caused the accident, but I didn't lie to the police."
"Everyone acted like that was the whole story. That my parents got drunk, and Alma acted like a whore. That's the fucking legacy the OFA left for my family."
Fletcher releases a deep breath. She looks tired as she leans back in her chair.
Doctor Rubens joins the conversation. "I remember that night. Well, in fact. We changed many policies after what happened. You're right, there were rumors your father drank, and I remember the Olcenes pushing that theory. Everyone was so concerned about Alma that their story became muddled in the aftermath."
"You okay?" I prod after a few moments of silence. There's a lot to talk about. To understand. The cause of the accident which looks more and more like… an accident. Coming to terms with the Olcene Pack being nothing more than the worse kind of assholes. Her sister not being the innocent-blushing-omega that she believed her to be. It's a lot to come to terms with.
I regret asking the doctor to be here now. I underestimated how much Ophelia and Fletcher had to hash out. Pushing any further right now would be counterproductive.
But, as usual, Ophelia surprises me. She gives me a small, quiet smile, then turns to Rubens. "Who are you, and why are you here?"