Chapter 25
I can't believe I'm saying this, but thank God for Clarke's mum. Or mom. Whatever.
I used to feel guilty for feeling like that, especially considering they always put us up when we come back to LA, but the woman, in her own words, is a "hos before bros" kind of omega. Which isn't easy, when you happen to be one of said bros, who is also in a committed relationship with her son.
She was the one who reminded us, when we told his family we'd been accepted onto the Heatseekers app, that "the only context where alpha should come before beta or omega is in the Greek alphabet.
" The very first time I met her, she asked whether I preferred giving to, or receiving from her son—yes, like that—and warned me that if I edged him out when I got my "forever omega," she would castrate me.
Incidentally, I absolutely believe her on that one.
She may know how to make every alpha within two clicks incredibly uncomfortable—but the woman is nothing if not consistent when it comes to supporting omegas—and her son.
According to Zeke, when he just couldn't sit still any more and burst through their patio door, she interrupted his barking commands with a breezy comment about meeting a lovely girl this morning over coffee by the pool this morning, who was very upset about something she saw on someone's phone, and oh, she happened to put her number in the girl's phone.
Apparently, she was clutching a worn shirt like she couldn't bear to let it go.
Something in me broke when I heard that.
At least we know Dellie wasn't kidnapped or anything. But according to Clarke's mom, she took a fucking taxi, so even that isn't a given.
My alpha has been going mental since we woke up and she was gone.
I breathe in a sigh. The poolhouse floor feels cool and grounding. I lean back against the box spring, running through what I know in my head.
I know we connected. I know she saw the parts of me nobody notices because I don't let them. I know she isn't here.
My brain is stuck on a loop of how did we not see this coming? I was an ER nurse for years. It was literally my job to see the worst coming and head it off at the pass.
It must be the medical training. When something goes wrong, you find out the root cause and you make sure you understand it, so you never have to go through it again. You put in barriers, procedures, cross-checks. You build safety protocol.
But I feel like I've been blindsided by a semitrailer. And I still can't work out why. I stare at the doorframe, running what I know through my head, over and over.
A strong, warm hand is resting on my shoulder. Lemon verbena. Allen. "Seb? Buddy? It's nearly eleven. You need to sleep."
I stare at the door frame.
"She might call Clarke's mom tomorrow and she might want to see us." Always the psychologist. He always knows how to catch my attention.
Hang on.
I turn my head towards him and blink. My eyes are sticky and dry. "You knew, didn't you?" My tongue is heavy in my mouth, my throat hoarse.
Allen freezes, like a deer in headlights. I let the silence sit. He sinks to the floor next to me, and leans back against the box spring. His head drops against his knees.
"Yeah. I knew it was unethical. I knew I should have got us out of there the second I scented her."
My head snaps towards him as I frown. He lifts his face and stares straight ahead. "No—no. I meant—you knew she'd leave when she found out what we do. What we are."
He sighs. It's bone deep. "I… Seb. I should have. I thought I would have… but I just didn't pick it. She seemed fine with us being experienced. She wasn't bothered by us testing regularly or needing to check her testing status. She…" He sighs, quietly. "I don't know how I missed it."
He's staring at the same patch of doorframe my eyes have been resting on all day.
"Why did you miss it?" My voice is barely a murmur.
"I don't know." His voice cracks.
I stare at him for a few more moments. He doesn't move. I'm not sure that he can.
I push myself off the floor and crawl into bed between James and Clarke. James is asleep, his face distorted by sorrow.
I hold Clarke as his tears seep silently into his pillow, our bond slack and lifeless. Allen remains stationary by the foot of the bed as I wait, impatiently, for sleep to overtake me.