11. A Day Off #2
"You guys call the shots." I look between them, my curiosity taking over. "I meet a lot of Omegas in my line of work. Most of them lack half the independence you do."
Ruby pulls a rogue toy out of a diaper bag and hands it to Leo. "Willowside operates on a different set of rules. We don't put up with the archaic, domineering Alpha bullshit here. My Alphas know I run the house. If they step out of line, I put them on the couch. We demand respect, and we get it."
Sandra nods, her mismatched eyes serious. "We don't live in a perfect, idealized fantasy. Pack life takes work. Caleb and Ollie butt heads. We argue over stupid shit like dishes and schedules. But I never doubt my autonomy. My pack respects my voice. I act as an equal partner, not a pet."
Ollie wraps an arm around Sandra's waist, his blue eyes bright with adoration. "We built our lives together. The town council enforces strict equality laws, but the culture functions on mutual respect. You don't lose yourself when you bond here, Jessie. You gain a team to watch your back."
I sit on the bench, letting their words sink into my brain. I look at Ollie and Sandra, watching the undeniable love and security radiating between them. I look at Ruby, a fierce mother who commands her household with unshakeable confidence.
The lingering fears I harbor about losing my independence crumble.
Jake, Nolan, and Edward proved over and over that they respect my boundaries.
They treat me like an equal. Hearing these Omegas confirm that the entire town operates on the same frequency acts as a revelation.
The terror of losing myself to a pack dissolves into the crisp autumn wind.
I pack the apples and squash back into my canvas bag. I pick up my paper-wrapped bundle of sunflowers from the wooden slats, resting the delicate stems against my chest.
"Enjoy the rest of the afternoon, guys." I offer a warm smile, taking a step back onto the cobblestone path. "Try to keep the kids out of the mud."
Sandra laughs. "No promises on the mud, Jessie. We'll see you around."
Ruby waves a hand, keeping her eyes on Leo as he sprints toward the playground. "Good luck at the clinic."
Ollie offers a bright, parting grin. "Don't be a stranger."
I turn around and walk back down the paths, heading toward the clinic.
The autumn sun warms my shoulders. I look at the storefronts, the colorful awnings, and the locals chatting on the street corners.
The town square buzzes with life, and for the first time, I avoid analyzing the exits or plotting my escape route.
The realization hits me with the force of a speeding truck. I stop right in the middle of the sidewalk, my boots frozen to the pavement.
I do more than survive in this town. I thrive.
The chaotic veterinary clinic brings me genuine joy. Deep respect for the stubborn ranchers and the confident Omegas anchors me to this community. And the most terrifying truth of all: I harbor a profound, undeniable love for my three Alphas.
Jake's steady, protective nature offers a safe harbor.
Nolan's brilliant mind and quiet charm draw me in, while Edward's domestic habits and fierce loyalty make me ache for a shared future.
They bypassed every defense mechanism I ever built, carving a permanent place in my heart.
I stand on the sidewalk, holding my canvas grocery bag and my sunflowers, realizing I'm the happiest I've ever been in my entire life.
I take a deep breath, forcing my boots to move. I jog the rest of the way down Main Street. I reach the clinic, pull my keys from my pocket, and unlock the back door. I bypass the sterile lobby and take the wooden stairs two at a time, desperate to reach the sanctuary of my apartment.
I push the door open and walk into the quiet studio. I set my canvas bag and the flowers on the laminate kitchen counter.
The 90-day deadline of my contract is right around the corner.
With Tom and Becca hired, the town board has an entire support staff ready.
The board members are active in interviewing candidates to take over the permanent veterinarian position.
I know the logical next step. I should march down to the town hall on Monday morning, interrupt their meeting, and tell them to cancel the search because I want the job. I want to stay.
I pull a honeycrisp apple from the bag, but my hands shake. A dark, tight knot of anxiety forms in my stomach.
I kept my mouth shut about wanting the permanent position. I hid my love for the guys behind a professional wall. And as I stare at the faded wallpaper, I realize the exact reason I stay silent.
Years spent bouncing around the foster care system left deep, invisible scars on my psyche.
I remember the plastic trash bags holding my clothes.
The endless cycle of moving in the middle of the night.
Every time I settled into a new house, every time I let my guard down and thought I found a home, the rug got ripped out from under me.
I spent my childhood waiting for the inevitable moment a social worker showed up at the front door to tell me the current family didn't want me anymore. That transient chaos forged my survival strategy: pack up and leave before they get the chance to kick you out.
I walk past the kitchen island and stand in the doorway of my bedroom closet. My battered suitcase sits in the back corner, gathering dust.
A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
Pure terror grips me that the other shoe is about to drop.
I fear that the second I let my walls down, make myself vulnerable, and ask for a permanent place in this town, the universe will course-correct.
I picture walking up to the guys, laying my heart on the line, and watching their faces turn cold.
I picture the town board handing me my final paycheck.
This family doesn't want you either. It's time to move on.
The imaginary words echo in my skull, carrying the weight of a death sentence.
The pack gave me zero reasons to doubt them, but trauma defies logic.
The fear of rejection paralyzes my vocal cords.
I stare at the suitcase in the dark closet, unsure of how to take that final, terrifying leap of faith to leave it there when my contract is up.