Chapter 27
Ophelia
No one ever accused me of being subtle. I adjust in my seat, but when I do, I accidentally spill my cup, drenching the pristine white carpet in brown liquid. "Shit," I hiss. But when I attempt to grab a napkin to dab up the spilled tea, I accidentally knock over the entire fucking pot.
Fletcher mutters several 'oh dear's' under her breath. Sully chuckles, trying and failing to get me to chill out and stop attempting to clean up my mess. Fletcher finally tells me to sit down, and like a student scolded by the teacher, I listen, feeling like a dumbass.
The receptionist from out front scurries in, takes the tea away, tells Fletcher she'll call a cleaning crew, and gives me a pointed look as if I were the cause—okay, I obviously am, but how did she just guess that?—then leaves us to it.
Once settled, the old man gives me a warm smile.
"Miss Constantine," he inclines his head. I almost correct him, but when I don't, Sully's silent approval makes me and my omega sigh in contentment, so I leave it be. "My name is Doctor Rubens, and I'm the on-staff doctor for the omegas here at the OFA. Madam Fletcher and Mr. Constantine asked me to join this meeting. I've been told little else."
Sully and I are working our way toward something amicable, but I can't hide my distrust. Is this the part where he has me meet the doctor who takes me out back to examine my procreative capabilities? No, I can't see him doing that. Or his brother's being okay with it, either. I check my bond with Asher and Enzo and it's calm and supportive. I wonder if they know where we are today.
Sully tilts his head, expressing concern. I've been keeping him at arm's length, and he's been letting me. If Enzo is the silent sentinel at my back, Sully is the infantry at my front. He's done nothing aside from forcing me to leave my apartment, and, admittedly, my neighbor was randomly shooting a gun, so it's not like his worry was unfounded. I might have been mad at how he went about it, but I can understand it. So, I take a leap. Like I did that day I climbed into the car with Enzo after the luncheon, or when I took Theo's hand and pulled him into the back room at Queenie's, or snuck into Asher's room.
I give him my trust.
It pays off when Sully explains to the both of us, "I asked Doctor Rubens here because I was hoping he could shed some light on some of the medical injustices omegas face today. As a recently unbonded omega, you've lived years under the tyranny of alpha and OFA influence and rule. You are the best person to speak on the subject, and I'd hoped that together, by changing and allocating our funds," he gives Fletcher a pointed look, "we can begin to make some changes. But without understanding where the cracks in the system are, we can't begin to repair them."
I stare, open-mouthed, dumbfounded at my alpha. My fucking alpha.
I don't care that Fletcher and Rubens are right next to me. I don't care that, until recently, I'd sworn off high-society, wealthy packs, my own pack. Maybe I'm a hypocrite.
But I launch into Sully's lap, and he catches me. Our lips collide, and I nearly bite him, wanting to swallow down his essence, that which makes him who he is. He grunts, his large, capable hands gripping my sides, and only the sounds of discomfort from the people around us make me pull back.
Before I pull away altogether, though, Sully grips my chin like a misbehaving child. "Later," he growls. A promise. A threat.
I can't fucking wait.
Fletcher clears her throat, so I wipe my hands on my legs in a weak attempt to gain some control and face the two.
"So, let's talk about omega's rights."
The discussion lasts hours. By the end of it, we argued, I cried. Fletcher more than once slapped her hand on her knee and got up to pace the room, only to return and resume arguments.
The laws are too general. There's no legislation to protect omegas' rights, but there aren't many laws against us either, aside from designation disclosure to employers; beyond that, everything is left up to interpretation. The OFA, while government-funded and obviously has a significant influence on everything omega-related on a national level, is still just one organization.
There's a lot to do. Too much. And it will require help from everyone on a grassroots level. I need to hustle. I need to get busy getting support. But getting the perspective and having the audience of the Director of the largest OFA academy in the country and the head doctor at said facility, with a man at my side whose finances can basically bankroll their entire foundation, means real progress is possible.
It's not within immediate reach. It won't be easy or quick. But it's possible.
There's a lot left in the air and so much to do. We ate take-out while we argued and plotted. Fletcher was deeply offended by Sully and my opinions of the changes the omega courses at the OFA have taken over the last decade, the push to make omegas look and act so perfectly doll-like. She defends her curriculum, and I'm not sure we'll ever see eye to eye.
By the time we leave, it's late in the day, and I'm exhausted. I grip Sully's arm, starting and stopping sentences without finishing my thought, my mind whirling a million miles a minute.
We're almost home—home, I've come to think of it as—when I realize something.
"So… I've sort of come out as your omega. Or, as the Constantine Pack's omega."
He clears his throat, hitting the left-hand turn signal before accelerating. "Yeah."
"You think I can really make all those changes we talked about? Getting omegas access to decent health care, especially in South Loop?"
"In all underfunded communities, not just in Arrow Cove. But yes, I do. It won't be simple. With Fletcher, especially. It'll be an uphill battle because you'll basically be forcing her to accept that not all omegas will join the OFA. She won't like that loss of control. But I do believe, truly, that she wants what's best for them."
I've always wondered why Fletcher cares so much. There's a deep well of pain and history in her eyes; I noticed it when I first met her, and she tried relentlessly to get me to join the OFA with my sister. Only someone who has experienced fear or loss can have that kind of desperation. I doubt I'll ever know the true extent of what drives her, but I think Sully's right; Fletcher does mean well. Her need for control stems from a good place, a desire for omegas to be safe, even if I disagree with her methods.
Sully takes my hand in his. I let him. When we pull in and park, the house lights are on, but it's dark outside, everything quiet and still.
I don't let go of his hand. Instead, I trace patterns in his palm. "So, it sounds like I'll probably be pretty busy with all this omega-rights campaigning."
"Mmhmm," he agrees.
"Might not have time to work. With two and a half jobs, my plate might be too full." I glance up at him. He gives me an innocent look, but it's so fake I start laughing. "You planned that, didn't you?"
"Of course I did." He climbs out of the car slowly. I do the same, meeting him on the other side.
"Thank you, Sully." My hands crawl behind his neck, and he leans down, his forehead meeting mine. It's nearly a foot of distance, but craning his neck to meet me doesn't feel like a bother.
"I have a couple of gigs I told Melanie I'd do. I can't be done completely. But I can let her know and put my notice at Queenie's, too."
He nods. "Are you okay with that?"
"Do I get a choice?"
"Always, Ophelia. You will always have a choice. I might feel… strongly," he finds the most diplomatic word possible, "about what you do with your time. But it's ultimately your time. You're incredibly passionate. You put yourself at risk when you deliver those pills to those in need. It's time we helped carry the burden, which means taking it to the next level. No more back alley deals. We do it front and center, and all these high-society alphas who attend the galas and pay their fees to court omegas—we demand they show up, too. It's time we all share that burden."
I don't realize I'm crying when his thumb wipes beneath my eye. My lips meet his in an earnest kiss. I'm overwhelmed and tired, but it's so comforting. I expect him to push me against the car and have my pants off in the next few seconds like Theo would, but, like he always has, he puts my needs first.
Holding my hand, he leads me into the house. I kiss the guys who are waiting patiently for us to come home, but Sully's right when he tells them I need sleep. Before stepping into my room, my nest, he asks permission to come in.
I lead him into the room and watch as he looks around at what I've done with their previously empty omega's nest. At the things Theo and I bought, and how we decorated. Greta helped me pick up a few things, too, and Asher lent me his computer so I could buy the rest online.
It's a blend of all my old things and all these new things. It's a perfect representation of the changes in my life—all the good, all the new, all the old, coming together.
If he notices the collection of fabrics drenched in their scent hiding under the pillows, he doesn't mention it. Neither have the others. Leaving me at the bathroom en suite door, he instructs, "Take a bath, Omega. Rest your body. I'll see you in the morning."
And with that, he kisses me. And though my body is left wanting, I'm not unsatisfied when I crawl into bed. It's rare that I don't sleep with the guys. Still, I have slept alone a few times. After everything—making up with Sully, now on good terms with my entire pack, which means genuinely accepting them as my pack, learning more about the night Alma died and, coincidentally, about Alma, and, lastly, contemplating this very new, massive plan to take on the wealthy packs of Arrow Cove and demand better treatment and respect of unbonded omegas, it's so much to take in, that I'm grateful I can be alone to process.
I'm so grateful to Sully, that sneaky bastard.
I fall asleep with a smile and more content than I've felt all my life.