Chapter 39
I'm snuggled up next to Allen in the nest, my head nestled in his shoulder, my hand stroking his bare chest. Ralph and Seb are asleep beside us, Ralph's head cradled by Seb's shoulder. There's something utterly beautiful about the way they rest so peacefully together.
James is in Loz's formal lounge, retaping Nate's back—I try not to picture what might have been involved to cause the need for that particular development in the last six hours, especially considering they told us Loz's heat broke this morning.
Zeke's out on the patio, talking with his sister.
I can see his grin in the dim porch light, and feel a warmth in his bond that's overshadowing the flicks of discomfort that normally hide in there.
Allen's face is dimly lit from the light filtering in from the porch, his olive skin dark in the gloaming. Something is uncomfortable in his bond. His face is implacable, but his usual hint of curiosity from his bond is well and truly lined with worry.
"Allen? What aren't you saying?" I keep my voice low, my hand in motion.
He exhales slowly. "I'm still getting used to that," he murmurs quietly, letting out a soft chuckle.
I blanch. "Sorry. Didn't mean to spy," I mutter.
"No!" he hisses. "No, it's fine. More than fine. I'm just…" he sighs.
"Not used to other people noticing?" I ask. He sharply nods.
I shrug. "Kinda my job to notice that kind of thing—well, for Loz, anyway. Plus, the bond pretty much puts it up in neon lights, so…"
He sighs. "I'm just… It's always been my job to work out what to do next, you know? We've got enough savings for at least a year, even if we have to fly back and forth between here and New York, so it's not like it's a complete catastrophe, but… I've always had to have the answers."
I hold him close, nuzzling his broad chest. He isn't blaming me, I know intellectually that they all made an informed choice, but guilt is still nibbling at the edge of my mind for putting them in this position.
He strokes my hair. "I feel that. Stop it," he mutters. "Bad omega. No guilt spirals, please." I look up at him and grin, then muffle my laughter in his chest.
"Hypocrite," I murmur, kissing his cheek. Some of his worry is easing. Maybe just a little. It's hard to tell. But at least there's some humour mixed in there as well.
He wraps his arm around my head, pulling it back down to his chest, as his purr rumbles to life. I yawn.
"How have you found this week?" I can barely hear his voice over his purr.
"Honestly? Near nervous breakdown aside, it's been the best week of my life." My voice is starting to grow thicker with fatigue. I stifle another yawn. "How have you found it?"
He angles my head so he can see my eyes. "You sure? Your omega isn't bothered by us ducking out to help Lauren's heat support pack?"
"No more so than if you were leaving to go to the shops or go to any other job.
I don't love you leaving, but I like what happens when you come back.
As long as your pants stay on when you're away, and you shower after and I get to rub myself all over you when you're done, I'm pretty good.
It's been surprisingly fun, actually, getting to be all growly and claimy.
But—only because I know you guys actually, like, want that. "
He chuckles softly again. "Frankly, I think you came along at just the right time. I think Zeke was about two heats away from breaking, and I don't think Seb was too far behind. Anyway, we've cancelled all our heat support bookings, of course. Except…"
I lift my head off his chest. "Except?"
He sighs again. "I wanted to clear it with you first, before I talk to the others.
There's one booking request… there's this pack back in New York.
They're complete. They can do all the actual heat support themselves, but they need…
other support. Practical, logistical support—one of the alphas has a bad back, one has PTSD and one has ADHD.
And I'm pretty sure the poor beta has some trauma from their last attempt at a heat.
What we're doing for Lauren… would you be okay if we did it for other packs? "
There's an uncomfortable silence as I bite my lip and pull myself up. "Okay. Firstly," I murmur, "thank you for talking to me about this. Secondly, I think this is something we should probably discuss together, all six of us, not just you and me, yeah?"
Allen looks away. I gently turn his face towards me. "I'm not pissed. Just… let's all talk together next time?"
He nods, quietly.
"And, for the record, I think it's a great idea," I mutter, snuggling back down in his chest. "So long as I get to rub myself all over you when you come back home.
Do a proper reclaiming, if necessary. Uh…
and money wise—um, I don't expect you to support me, or anything, and I have a really decent salary, and I've got a bit saved up, but it just isn't the same as what you're used to earning, and I know you're worried—"
He taps a finger on my lips, breaking my increasingly panicking ramble.
Allen smiles at me, then sighs again. "It's not what we used to charge, obviously, but…
look. One of the first things you asked me was 'who supports us?
' and I couldn't answer it. I hate not being able to answer questions.
And it got me thinking… it kind of applies to all heat support packs, doesn't it?
It's been… honestly, kind of healing, to see another pack getting the support they need while they do what everyone needs them to do?
I know that the warm fuzzies won't pay the bills, not if there's no real market for it, but… "
There's a… I don't quite know how to describe it. It's a longing and a regret and a yearning and a hope, all mixed in one. His bond is lit up with it.
A little sigh slips out as I snuggle into him.
"They always warn us about how to spot dodgy heat support packs.
I don't think anyone's really talked about how the good heat support packs are being set up to be taken advantage of or getting burned out.
" I scratch my head. "I wonder how many heat support packs have gone through the … same… thing…"
A shiver courses over me. I sit up, my mind running on overdrive.
"Are you okay, little star?" I can feel his concern in the bond.
I leap out of the nest and rush to the kitchen bench, grabbing my phone, my fingers moving at warp speed.
"Allen," I mutter, my fingers flashing wildly around the phone as I continue to type, "what if… what if there was something that we could do about it?"
It's Saturday, three days since my late-night flash of inspiration.
Three days of squatting in Loz's Annex while she, as she calls it "gets the fuck pampered out of her"—or what anyone else would call the bare minimum of aftercare.
Three days of Ralph telling me about what it was like getting kicked out of nests, while helping me with business plans and helping work out funding options.
James talking me through practicalities and helping me understand sex-related injury patterns.
Seb explaining weird medical terms I've never heard of.
Zeke sharing his stories of what it was like trying to help through a heat while he was injured himself.
Allen helping me understand the realities of heat support and the psychological risks that come with it, while pacing around like someone both terrified and exhilarated by what he sees around the corner.
I even managed to squeeze in a phone call to Trix; and my big sister, for once, has agreed to put her money where her mouth is and help.
And Trix does what she does best—she digs.
She finds the horror stories about dodgy support packs, not the kind you find on Heatseekers, but the kind of packs omegas use because they can't afford to get on the app, packs who treat omegas in heat like sex isn't only something that they need, but something that they owe.
There are too many stories of it being… taken, when it isn't offered freely.
Too many stories of omegas disappearing with the pack they called in to support their heat.
My stomach clenches with fear every time I think about them.
How close I might have come to becoming someone else's cautionary tale.
And for the good packs, the ones who keep reliably supporting omegas through their heats—for what is supposed to be an elite career, the conditions seem…
frankly, pretty ordinary. While the packs who make it onto Heatseekers do okay, for those who haven't made it there yet, it seems pretty frigging rough.
A lot of new packs are treated like glorified knot delivery systems or pheromones on tap.
Burnout seems to be a real thing. There are no real off-ramps out of the career.
No workers' compensation. The constant risk of STIs and accidental bonding.
There aren't even any standards to protect workers or omegas outside of the clinic environment.
And if you're not the best… the going rates make it technically liveable, but there is no downtime.
No respite. No chance for them to be anything but a carer.
These people are university educated. The best in their field. They actually care. And they seem to be getting chewed up and spat out for wanting to help omegas.
Who supports the supporters?
… nobody does. Not really. At least, not yet. But someone needs to. More than just one pack at a time.
And maybe, just maybe, someone can. Someone might be able to make things less crappy for the heat supporters, the omegas they support, and the people who don't know any better who idolize them. And nobody has the right answers yet—but someone needs to start asking the difficult questions.
Even if those questions aren't perfectly worded.