Chapter Nineteen
Ava
The second Ron opens the door to his and Shelby’s brownstone, I fall apart.
I burst into tears before I can even form a word.
His eyes widen and he glances over my shoulder at Tony, some silent exchange passing between them that I can’t see.
Whatever it is, Ron decides fast, ushering me inside with his hand at my back.
“Shelby, get down here,” he yells, guiding me toward the living room.
Cillian and Rory are on the couch, staring at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. Ron waves them off with one hand. “Boys, go find something to do.”
Rory, the more sensitive of the two, looks at his brother and then back at me.
“Is Aunt Ava okay?” he asks, his voice small and worried.
The concern in it breaks whatever thin control I had left, and I start crying harder.
I want to tell him I’m fine, to apologize for showing up like this, but my brain feels completely short-circuited.
“She’s just sad,” Shelby says gently as she comes into the room, Aisling perched on her hip.
My goddaughter’s hair is still damp from a bath, dark curls clinging to her unicorn pajamas, like Shelby rushed straight down without drying her properly.
Shelby passes her to Ron without breaking stride.
“Take her upstairs, get her settled with Bun-Bun and her story, then start some tea.”
She turns her attention to the boys. “Upstairs. Showers and bed. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
“Aw, come on, Mom,” Cillian whines.
“Don’t sass your mother. I already told you to get out of here, so get to steppin’,” Ron says, dad-voice activated as he leads everyone from the room.
Shelby turns to me, opening her arms wide. I press myself between them, sobbing into her shoulder. She rubs long, slow, soothing circles on my back. “This feels like a full omega breakdown,” she says softly, her hand never slowing down, “and it has Mark Taylor written all over it, am I right?”
I nod, still unable to speak.
She doesn’t rush me, just lets me cry until it burns itself out, until the sobs turn into shaky breaths and sniffles. When I finally pull back, I swipe at my face and manage a weak laugh. “I got snot on your shirt.”
She snorts. “I have six kids. This is not the first time someone’s bodily fluids have ended up on me.” She guides me toward the couch and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Sit. Breathe. Now tell me what happened.”
I sink down into the couch and stare at my hands. “He sent this bogus plea deal for Katie, and I lost it. Went straight to his office to tell him exactly what I thought.”
“Right, right, as you do,” she says, settling beside me.
“At first, we were fighting,” I continue. “Like, real fighting.”
“Because of who you two fundamentally are as people,” she supplies.
I shoot her a look. “Anyway. We were fighting, and then he just stopped. He told me Harvey had someone in his office send the deal without his approval. That he’d been fighting with him about it for hours.”
Shelby’s expression softens, but she stays quiet, letting me keep going.
“And then he told me that he’s been thinking a lot about the omega laws, and he offered me a real plea deal. No jail time, community service with us. He’s going to go to battle with Harvey over it, and it sounds like he doesn’t care how it affects his campaign chances.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “So how does that land with you here, falling apart on my couch? That sounds like progress. You’ve been holding back because you didn’t trust where he stood.”
I swallow. “Well, then we—” I pause, looking to make sure there weren’t any small ears listening “—you know. After, he wanted to talk. About us. And he told me he loves me.”
Understanding crosses her face, and she gives me a sad, sad smile. “And you panicked.”
I nod, fresh tears sliding down my cheeks. “I panicked. And when I got to the door, he told me he couldn’t keep doing this. That if I walked out without talking to him, it was over.”
“Oh, Ava…” she says, voice thick with pity.
I cover my face with my hands. “I didn’t know what else to do! I’ve never done any of this before. I’ve never had a real relationship or actually said what I’m feeling out loud to a man.”
I blow out a breath, which turns into a shaky laugh.
“Plus, I think I’m about to have a breakthrough heat.
It felt… wrong to be like, ‘surprise! I’m actually an omega!
Also, I’m going to need you to ride out my heat with me, and I’ll probably get knocked up because there’s a decent chance my suppressants are failing. ’”
She winces and agrees, “I can see how that’s not exactly a low-pressure conversation starter.”
“Speaking as the only alpha that is aware of this mess, can I add my two cents?” Ron says from the doorway. He’s holding a tray with a steaming teapot and several mugs. He sets it down on the coffee table, then looks at me pointedly. “You’re being an idiot.”
“Ron!” Shelby snaps, slapping him on the arm.
“What?” he says, unfazed. “It’s true. I’ve thought it this whole time, and I’m tired of not saying it because I keep hoping you two will figure it out. You’re clearly mates.”
“We aren’t—” I start.
He cuts me off with a sharp look. “Ava. Yes, you are. It’s why you can’t stay away from each other, and it’s why you had the…
incident at the heat clinic.” His tone shifts then, less confrontational and more careful, like he knows he’s entering dangerous territory.
“I hate bringing that up, because I know it was terrible. But your omega rejected that guy because she’s already found her mate. That doesn’t just go away.”
I stare at him, chest tight.
“Look,” he says, gentler now, “you can’t opt out of your heats forever. And you clearly can’t be with other alphas anymore either. So tell him. Give him the chance to take care of you instead of deciding for him.”
We sit in silence for a minute. “Ya know,” Shelby says, breaking it, “we could write up one hell of an NDA. Maybe combine it with some sort of pre-bonding prenup situation.”
Ron blinks at her. “You’re joking.”
Both of us turn to look at him, dead serious.
He studies our faces for a second, then exhales and shakes his head.
“Okay, clearly you’re not.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck.
“Whatever it takes for you to feel safe enough to do this, but it needs to happen.” He reaches out and takes my hand, looking deep into my eyes.
“I promise you, that man wants to be with you in your heat. And I’d bet good money he won’t care one bit about a possible pregnancy. My alpha side never did.”
Shelby snorts. “Obviously,” she says. “We have six kids.”
Ron gives her a look. “You act like that wasn’t a group decision. Plus, if you have any more heats, I’d have another baby with you in a heartbeat.”
“Don’t you place that kind of dark magic on me, Ronan McGregory.”
I can’t help but laugh at them. The knot in my chest is starting to loosen and unravel. Am I seriously considering this?
Shelby looks back at me, all business. “How close do you think you are to a heat?”
I frown. “I’m supposed to get more suppressants on Friday; I’m almost out. But I don’t think they’re going to be enough to stop it, and I don’t even know if I’ll make it that long.”
“So,” she says, straightening, “we clear your calendar, and you talk to Mark. Tonight.”
I shake my head. “Not tonight.”
Ron throws his hands up, already gearing up for an argument, but I lift one of mine to stop him. “Let me finish.”
He exhales sharply, but stays quiet.
“I need to call my therapist first,” I say, forcing myself to stay calm. “And I do want to draft that NDA and the prenup. If this somehow goes south, I want my trust fund and my house protected.”
Shelby nods like this is exactly the answer she expected.
“So,” I continue, “I’ll text him tonight. I’ll apologize for walking out, and I’ll ask if we can talk tomorrow. When I’m not spiraling and my heat hormones aren’t driving the bus.”
Ron studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “I don’t love the delay,” he says finally, “but I’ll accept it.”
I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks, Dad, I’m glad I have your approval.”
Shelby lifts her mug in a small toast. “Look at that,” she says. “Boundaries, plans, and legal documents. I’m very proud of you.”
Luckily, I’ve been with my therapist long enough that when I send a message to her answering service that I’m in a bit of a crisis, she calls me immediately.
We talk on the phone for over an hour, going through everything that happened tonight and all of my feelings about it, as well as the plan I put in place with Shelby.
By the time I hang up, I’m feeling considerably better and more like myself.
I lift Valentino off my lap, and she gives me a very annoyed meow but settles when I successfully transfer her onto the perch in her cat tree.
“Mommy is going to take a bath, drink a big glass of wine, and try to find the courage to text Mark,” I croon to her, scratching beneath her chin.
In my bathroom, I flick the lights down to their lowest setting.
The marble floor is cool under my feet, the space quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside the windows.
I light a few candles along the edge of the tub and the vanity, their reflections bouncing softly off the gilt mirrors and old brass fixtures.
Then I turn the taps on the large antique clawfoot tub, the pipes groaning faintly as hot water rushes through them.
It takes a minute to find the right temperature. I test it with my wrist, frowning when I realize it’s cooler than I normally like. Not by much, but enough that I notice. Another small warning that my body is already ahead of me.
As the tub fills, I open a drawer in the vanity, pushing past cotton pads and half-used bottles until I find my thermometer. I sit on the edge of the counter and wait for it to beep.
100.7.
I close my eyes briefly. Shit. That’s low for an omega fever, but it’s climbing,
I open the medicine cabinet and take down the bottle of suppressants, tipping it to count what’s left.
Not many. If I don’t meet Vinny on Friday, I’m going to be out entirely, heat or not.
I sigh and shake two pills into my palm, then cup water from the sink to swallow them.
When I lift my head, I catch my reflection in the mirror.
My skin is flushed, my eyes swollen and red from crying, hair pulled back in a way that says I gave up hours ago.
“Yes,” I murmur dryly to myself. “Beautiful. Exactly how one wants to look when telling their mate they love them for the first time.”
I pad into the kitchen long enough to pour myself a glass of wine, then return to the bathroom just as the tub reaches the right depth. I turn the taps off and set the glass on the edge of the counter, and I lower myself into the water.
The heat seeps into my muscles immediately, and I sigh deeply.
I sink down until the water reaches my shoulders and let my head rest against the curved porcelain.
I stay there for a while, letting the warmth and the wine take the edge off the tension still lodged in my body, but finally I can no longer put off the inevitable.
I dry my hands on the towel next to my wine glass and pick up my phone.
I open Mark’s text thread and chew on my lip as I think of exactly what to say. Being at a loss for words is not something that I experience very often. An apology seems like a good place to start.
“I’m sorry. I panicked. I want to continue our conversation tomorrow. There are things I need to tell you.”
I stare at it for a while, gathering my courage, but finally I hit send.
The response back is instant, but not at all what I expected.
Message unable to be delivered
Hurt and betrayal flood my chest, and I sit up so violently that water splashes out onto the floor. He blocked me? Another wave of tears threatens to overwhelm me, and I can feel a panic attack building on the edges of my senses.
I breathe in through my nose and blow it out slowly from my mouth until I feel a modicum of control returning.
Okay. This isn’t ideal, but it’s not the end of the world. It isn’t like I don’t see him almost daily. I know where he will be tomorrow night—the mayor’s dinner. I’d been invited but hadn’t planned on attending.
Looks like my plans just changed.