Chapter 17 #2
Jay must’ve heard it whatever leaked into that single syllable, because he set the spoon down gently and met my gaze. Calm. Direct. Unyielding.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “He’s coming back.”
I looked away, but only briefly. His voice didn’t leave me room to argue.
“You’re not alone, Wren. None of us are leaving you. We just need things like medical supplies, more water, food. He’s handling it.”
I nodded slowly. I believed him. Mostly. But the ache didn’t leave. Not entirely.
Jay didn’t press.
When I finally gave a low exhale and mumbled, “I’m full,” he nodded and set the container aside. Then, predictably, he held the bottle of water up again.
“More.”
I gave him a weak look. “My bladder already hates me.”
A faint grin tugged at his mouth. “You’ll live.”
“As long as Roan’s got me hostage in this blanket trap, I’d rather not test the limits.”
Chuckling under his breath, Jay recapped the bottle and nodded. “Fair enough.”
The warmth from the food curled low in my belly, not in the same place as the heat, but adjacent to it, like a reminder that I was a body and a mind. Still whole. Still me.
Jay didn’t move right away. Just sat with me. Watched me. That patient silence of his returned—but now, it felt heavier. Like it was no longer waiting for my needs, but for something else.
Finally, he asked, “Will you tell me?” His voice didn’t change. Still soft. Still even. “Why the suppressants? The secrets? All of it?”
I blinked.
Slowly, I turned toward him again.
He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t pushing. But the focus in his eyes sharpened like a blade slipping free of its sheath—so quiet I almost didn’t feel it until it was already there. Laid bare between us.
“You don’t have to lie,” he added. “You don’t even have to explain everything right now. But I want to know. I need to know.”
Gods, there was nowhere to hide from that. He didn’t flinch or look away. He just waited.
The longer I stared back, the more impossible it became to pretend I wasn’t already unraveling. I couldn’t answer him immediately, even if I’d wanted to just confess it all. The words, the experience, my life all backed up inside of me.
The question hung in the air between us all soft and almost ephemeral, yet heavy like a shackle. Jay didn’t move, didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. His stillness was the question’s echo, waiting for me to fill it.
My tongue felt thick, my throat tight. The warmth of the food in my stomach soured with nerves.
“Why the suppressants,” I repeated softly, mostly to buy myself time.
He didn’t nod, didn’t press.
I looked down or tried to. The blanket held me too tightly, so all I could do was lower my eyes, staring at the faint pattern in the fabric near my chin.
The first words came out before I could stop them.
“Because I couldn’t afford to be an omega.”
While Jay didn’t react, something in his breathing changed. A fraction deeper. Listening harder. I let out a shaky exhale, staring past him now, at nothing.
“I was twenty when it started to… manifest.” My voice was barely audible.
I’d been such a late bloomer. Most omega and alpha tendencies showed up during puberty.
Only betas tended to find their niche a little later.
“I’d spent my whole life thinking I was a beta.
Hell, so did everyone else. My tests always came back inconclusive.
Then one day, it wasn’t inconclusive anymore. ”
I swallowed hard. “I was working for a company that didn’t tolerate… complications. Female employees were fine. Betas, even better. But omegas? Liability. Distraction. Weak link. There wasn’t a place for one on a security team, and I’d just fought my way into mine.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened.
“So, I made it go away.” I laughed a little—bitter, small. “Found a man who knew a man who knew a chemist. Paid too much. Didn’t care. The first batch burned like acid, but it worked. I passed for beta again.”
The memory made my throat ache. “After—I just… kept doing it. Year after year. I told myself it was safer. Smarter. That I was protecting my job. Protecting them.”
I risked a glance at Roan—still sleeping, still steady, oblivious to the storm breaking in whispers beside him.
“I didn’t want anyone to see me differently,” I said. “Least of all him.”
Thankfully, Jay didn’t do the one thing that would have broken me. He didn’t offer comfort or understanding, only patience as he listened.
“Eventually, I started to believe the lie. That I was just a slightly off-kilter beta who got headaches and insomnia sometimes.” I gave a hollow smile. “It was easier than admitting I’d spent ten years poisoning myself to keep a secret no one had asked me to keep.”
His gaze sharpened to the point I could almost feel the way it sliced into me, seeking. “You say it like it was past tense,” he murmured.
My chest constricted. “Because it is,” I whispered. “I stopped this week.”
That silence came again, deep and long. I couldn’t tell if the look in Jay’s eyes was sorrow or respect—or both.
“You knew what it would do,” he said finally.
I nodded once. “Yeah.”
“You did it anyway.”
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t defiance. It wasn’t shame. It was just… truth.
A muscle in his jaw flexed, but Jay’s voice remained calm. “Then you knew this was coming.”
“I didn’t know it would be this,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d—” My voice caught, and I bit down on the rest. I didn’t think I’d drag all of you into it.
Jay reached out then, not to touch, just to rest a hand near the edge of the blanket. A quiet gesture. Solidarity without intrusion.
“Alright,” he said softly. “That’s enough for now.”
But I could still see the questions behind his eyes, the rest of what he wanted to ask, what he probably needed to. Like, why this week? Why now?
I wasn’t ready to answer that. Not yet.
More, I wasn’t ready to answer what happened after.
So I closed my eyes and leaned back against the steady weight of Roan’s chest, letting the slow rise and fall of his breathing anchor me.
For the first time in years, I’d told someone the truth.
At least the first piece of it.
Despite the exhaustion and the heat still clawing at me, that admission gave me my first real breath in years. “Jay…”
“I’m here,” he said as if he needed to reassure me. Maybe he did.
“I really don’t know how to do this.”
“This?” At his prompting, I opened my eyes to look at him again.
“This.” I nodded to him, then looked up at Roan and found his eyes open and focused on me. The realization struck all the air from my lungs in a visceral blow as the bloom of heat inside me expanded to a torrent of fire.
Fuck… How am I going to deal with this?
With them.