Chapter 17 #2
"It's a real epidemic among gym bros. All those dudes who skip leg day and end up looking like a bowling pin with toothpicks for support.
Tank was very concerned about avoiding it.
" He grins. "He's got a whole speech about balanced muscle development.
Julian times how long he can go before mentioning it. Current record is forty-five minutes."
These men are ridiculous. Absolutely, wonderfully ridiculous.
Elias stands, gathering the completed paperwork into a neat stack. "Come on. Let's get these submitted so you're officially under our pack's protection."
Officially under their protection. Temporarily their Omega. It still doesn't feel real.
I follow him to the main desk at the front of the office, where a middle-aged Beta woman sits behind a computer that looks like it might have been cutting-edge in 2005.
She has reading glasses perched on the end of her nose and a cup of tea steaming beside her keyboard—chamomile, from the smell of it.
"Oh, perfect," she says as Elias hands over the envelope containing our paperwork.
Her voice is warm and efficient—the kind of person who's been doing this job for decades and has seen every type of pack registration there is.
"I'll get these submitted and sent into the system.
Should be processed within forty-eight hours. "
"Thank you," Elias says politely.
The secretary glances at me, then at the clothes I'm swimming in, then back at Elias. A knowing smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but she says nothing. Just stamps the envelope and slides it into a filing tray.
She probably sees this kind of thing all the time. New Omegas showing up in borrowed clothes with hastily signed paperwork. Not exactly the picture of a traditional pack bonding.
Then again, nothing about this situation is traditional. And maybe that's okay.
I'm about to ask how long it will take for the protection status to become active when the door behind us chimes open.
The click of heels against linoleum. A wave of perfume so strong it makes my eyes water—something floral and cloying, layered over an Omega scent that's almost buried beneath the artificial fragrance. The rustle of expensive fabric. The unmistakable energy of someone who expects to be noticed.
And then a voice, high and breathy:
"Oh wow, if it isn't Elias James Hartley!"
I turn to see a woman sauntering toward us like she owns the place.
She's beautiful in an obvious way—platinum blonde hair that's been styled into perfect waves, makeup applied with the precision of a professional artist, a dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
Her nails are long and perfectly manicured, painted a shade of red that matches her lipstick exactly.
Everything about her screams high maintenance.
Her scent, beneath all that perfume, carries the telltale sweetness of an Omega, though it's almost impossible to distinguish her natural notes from the chemical cocktail she's doused herself in. I catch hints of something floral—maybe jasmine?—but it's drowned out by the artificial fragrance.
Why would anyone cover their natural scent like that? It's like wearing a mask over your entire identity. Like being ashamed of what you actually smell like.
Beside me, Elias's entire demeanor changes. His shoulders stiffen. His jaw tightens. The easy warmth that's been radiating from him since we left Tank's house vanishes, replaced by something guarded and uncomfortable.
"Afternoon, Destiny," he says, his voice polite but distant. Cold in a way I haven't heard from him before.
Destiny. That's... certainly a name. The kind of name that parents give their child when they want them to grow up thinking they're special.
The woman—Destiny—doesn't seem to notice his discomfort.
Or maybe she notices and doesn't care. She closes the distance between them in three confident strides, her heels clicking with each step, and suddenly she's far too close to him.
Close enough that her perfume must be overwhelming his senses.
Close enough that any passerby would assume they're intimate.
"I heard you got promoted!" she gushes, batting eyelashes that are definitely extensions. "Chief of the fire department! That's so impressive, Elias. I always knew you'd do big things."
"Thanks." The word is clipped. Forced.
"You must be so busy now. Saving lives. Being heroic." She puts her hand on his arm—actually puts her perfectly manicured hand on his bicep like she has every right to touch him—and squeezes. "We should catch up sometime. I'd love to hear all about it."
Oh, hell no.
I watch Elias's body language carefully.
He's leaning away from her even though she's pressed against his side.
His smile is frozen, the kind of expression people wear when they're trying to be polite but are screaming internally.
His scent has shifted too—that warm campfire smell now carries an undertone of something sharper. Discomfort. Anxiety.
He doesn't want her touching him. He doesn't want her anywhere near him. And she either can't read the signals or is deliberately ignoring them.
"Are you still working over at the West Station?" Destiny continues, still clutching his arm. "I could drop by sometime. Bring you boys some home-cooked meals. I've gotten really good at cooking lately."
"I'm actually at Central now—"
"Oh, even better! That's closer to my apartment!" She beams like this is the best news she's heard all week. "We should exchange numbers. I know we lost touch after... well." She waves her free hand dismissively. "Ancient history. But I've really missed you, Elias."
Okay, that's enough.
I don't think about it. I don't plan it. I just... move.
"Thanks for waiting, Elias," I say brightly, stepping up beside him and slipping my hand into his. My voice is sweet—syrup-sweet, the kind of sweetness that has teeth hidden underneath. "These clothes are just such a pain to keep from falling off. Everything's so big on me."
I feel Elias startle slightly, but to his credit, he recovers almost instantly. His fingers close around mine, warm and solid, and some of the tension drains from his shoulders.
Destiny's gaze snaps to me. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows draw together as she takes me in—really looks at me for the first time. The oversized hoodie. The sweatpants that are literally being held up by sheer willpower and a drawstring. The fact that I smell like three different Alphas.
"Those are clearly men's clothes," she says, her voice dripping with disdain.
I smile—my best innocent, butter-wouldn't-melt smile—and squeeze Elias's hand a little tighter.
"Well, yes," I say, letting just a hint of purr slip into my voice. I wink at her. "They are."
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. I can practically see the gears turning behind her eyes as she processes what I'm implying.
"Can we go shopping now?" I ask Elias, tilting my head up to look at him with an expression that I hope reads as adoring. "I really do need something that actually fits."
"Yeah," Elias says, and I can hear the relief flooding his voice even though he's trying to play it cool. "Let's go."
We turn toward the door, our hands still linked. I can feel Destiny's stare boring into my back—can practically feel the outrage radiating off her in waves. But before she can say anything, before she can try to stop us or demand an explanation, we're already pushing through the exit.
The door swings shut behind us, and I catch the tail end of her voice, shrill with indignation:
"Who is that?"
And then the secretary's response, calm and matter-of-fact:
"Ah, that's that gentleman's new Omega."
The doors close before I can hear any more, cutting off whatever reaction Destiny might have had. The January air hits my face—cold and crisp and infinitely better than the stale atmosphere of the registration office. Or the suffocating cloud of Destiny's perfume.
Elias and I walk in silence for a moment, still holding hands, putting distance between us and the office. It's not until we're halfway down the block that he finally speaks.
"Holy shit." He's laughing, but there's an edge of disbelief to it. "That was—you just—"
"She was making you uncomfortable," I say simply. "It seemed like the easiest solution."
"The easiest—" He stops walking, turning to face me with an expression that's somewhere between amazed and amused. "You just claimed me in front of the nosiest gossip in Oakridge Hollow."
Oh. Oh no.
I didn't think this through. I didn't think at all. I just saw her hands on him and his discomfort and I acted on pure instinct.
"Is that... bad?"
"Bad?" Elias laughs again, running his free hand through his hair. "Rosemarie, by sundown, everyone in this town is going to know that the Late Alphas pack has a new Omega. And they're going to think we're already..." He gestures between us vaguely.
Already together. Already bonded. Already a real pack instead of a temporary arrangement built on paperwork and mutual desperation.
I wince. "I didn't think—I'm sorry, I just saw her touching you and you clearly didn't want her to, and I just... reacted."
"Don't apologize." His voice is firm, and when I look up, there's genuine warmth in his hazel-green eyes.
"Destiny is... a lot. We dated briefly, years ago.
It was a disaster from start to finish. She only wanted me because being with a firefighter seemed romantic, not because she actually cared about me as a person.
" He pauses, something darker flickering across his features.
"She didn't take the breakup well. She's been trying to get back in my good graces ever since, showing up at the station, sending gifts, that kind of thing.
" He shudders visibly. "You saved me from at least twenty minutes of awkward deflection. "
"You're welcome?"
He grins—that easy, sunshine smile that seems to be his default.
"I'm just saying, you should probably prepare yourself.
Small towns talk. And 'the Late Alphas' new Omega showing up in Alpha clothes and holding hands with one of them' is exactly the kind of story that spreads like wildfire. No pun intended."
Great. Just what I needed. More attention. More people knowing my business. More ways for my family to potentially track me down.
But even as the thought crosses my mind, I realize I'm not actually upset. If anything, I feel... proud? Satisfied? Like I've staked a claim on something, even if that something is just Elias's comfort and peace of mind.
And maybe that's the point. Maybe being their Omega—even temporarily—means protecting them too. Looking out for them the way they're looking out for me.
"Let the town talk," I say finally, squeezing his hand before releasing it. "At least the gossip will work in our favor. Makes the whole 'pending Omega status' thing more believable. And honestly? I'd rather be known as the Late Alphas' Omega than as... whatever my family is telling people I am."
Elias studies me for a moment, something thoughtful in his expression. "You're really something, you know that?"
"So I've been told." I start walking again, heading in the direction of what I assume is the main shopping area. "Now. You mentioned something about getting me clothes that actually fit?"
He falls into step beside me, still grinning. "Tank gave me his card. Said to get you whatever you need."
"He did?"
"And Julian added that if you're going to be photographed with us at any point—which, given the nature of his career, is likely—you need to 'look presentable.' His words, not mine. He also muttered something about color coordination and seasonal palettes, but I stopped listening at that point."
I snort. "Sounds like Julian."
"He means well. He just expresses it through designer fabric recommendations instead of, you know, normal human emotions." Elias pauses. "Actually, that might be the most accurate description of Julian I've ever given. I should write that down."
We're both laughing as we walk down Main Street, the cold January air sharp against my cheeks but not unpleasant.
The sun is out today, weak but present, casting long shadows across the cobblestoned sidewalk.
The quaint shops of Oakridge Hollow line the street in a postcard-perfect row—a bookshop with hand-lettered signs in the window, a florist with buckets of winter roses displayed on the curb, a vintage clothing store that looks promising for my wardrobe situation.
This is nice, I realize. Walking with Elias. Joking about his packmates. Feeling like I belong somewhere, even if it's only temporary. Even if it's built on paperwork and mutual necessity.
I could get used to this.
And that thought terrifies me almost as much as it thrills me.
Because what happens when Valentine's Day comes? What happens when the six weeks are up and I'm no longer useful to them? Will I go back to running? Will I go back to being alone?
Behind us, back at the registration office, I know Destiny is probably still seething. Still demanding answers from the secretary. Still trying to figure out who I am and where I came from and how I managed to slip into the pack that's been unattainable for years.
And ahead of us, somewhere in Oakridge Hollow, Tank is hunting down information about my past. Julian is fighting a trade war to save his career. And in less than six weeks, this whole arrangement could end as quickly as it began.
But for right now, in this moment, I'm walking down a sunlit street with a handsome firefighter, wearing borrowed clothes and carrying paperwork that says I belong.
For right now, I have a place at someone's table.
A roof over my head. Alphas who look at me like I'm worth something more than my breeding potential.
For right now, that's enough. That's more than enough.
I glance back toward the office one last time.
I can just make out Destiny through the window, gesturing wildly as she talks to the secretary.
Her body language screams indignation—arms waving, head tossing, probably demanding to know every detail about the Late Alphas' mysterious new Omega.
The secretary looks supremely unimpressed, which makes me smile.
She has a strong feeling the gossip is gonna get hot around town. By dinner, everyone will know. By tomorrow, she'll be the topic of conversation at every coffee shop and salon in Oakridge Hollow.