Pack Education, Part Two (The Rockview Omegaverse: City #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

H arper

Tears swim through my eyes and race down my cheeks, blurring the road and the traffic in front of me. Twice drivers lean on their horns and once I swerve away from a tree that pops out of nowhere.

I sniff, wipe at my face, and try to focus on the road. Instead, the faces of the men I love spin around in my head. Faces full of heartbreak.

I did the right thing. The only thing I could do.

Didn’t I?

Then why does it hurt so badly? Why didn’t they accept that this is for the best like I thought they would?

At last, I reach home, swinging in through the gate and cutting the engine dead.

I pull down the mirror and wince at my reflection. My mascara is all over my face and my eyes are red and puffy.

My mom is going to have questions.

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving. It’s the only thing I can do. It’s for the best.

I use my sleeve to scrub as much of the mess from my face as I can, then, taking a deep inhale, dash inside. If I’m quick enough, maybe I can avoid my mom.

I’m not that lucky. She hears the front door open and is calling out to me.

“Harper? Is that you? Are you okay? Where have you been?”

I don’t answer her, instead rushing right up the stairs and into my room, slamming the door behind me.

I can’t be dealing with my mom right now, not on top of everything else.

I also can’t be in this house. I can’t be in this city either! Too many memories. Too many truly painful memories – ones that will tear my heart out and rip it to shreds.

I need to get away. From the memories, from the pack, from all of it. New York City seems like the most logical place to go and flying out there tonight is entirely sensible. Which is why, in the next moment, I have my suitcase open on my bed and I’m throwing clothes in there like a woman possessed.

There’s a knock on my door and then it cracks open and my mom creeps inside.

“Harper, didn’t you hear … what’s going on?”

“I’m moving to New York,” I declare. There’s no use beating about the bush. “It’s hopeless trying to find a job out here. In New York, there’ll be tons of jobs. And the artistic scene is one of the best in the world.”

“You’re leaving?” she says in confusion. “And … and you’re packing now?”

“Yep, I got a flight for tonight.”

“Tonight!!”

“My old college roommate – Janis – you remember Janis? She’s going to let me stay for a bit.”

My mom hovers three paces away from me, wringing her hands with distress.

I don’t care. I really can’t. The pain radiating through me is like a thousand knives slicing at my skin and I can’t take anymore.

“It’s because of those rumors, isn’t it? I should never have told you about them,” my mom says, shaking her head. “I know they’ve upset you – they’ve upset me too. But you shouldn’t be running away because of them. It’s not right, Snuffles.”

“I’m not leaving because of those rumors,” I say, tipping my makeup bag into the suitcase.

“Then why are you going? Why are you going so soon?”

“We’ve been over this, Mom. The job options in Rockview are lousy. I don’t want to be working for a slimeball who has no real interest in art.”

“But you had two more interviews in the pipeline. Those might be better.”

“They’re not New York.”

“No,” my mom concedes, “but do you have to go right now ? You only just got back home. I missed you so much and it’s been so lovely having you around again.”

“Yes, I have to go now.”

“Harper!” my mom snaps, slamming closed the suitcase and narrowly missing my fingers. “Will you please tell me what’s wrong? Are you sure those rumors haven’t upset you?” She examines my face, probably seeing how puffy my eyes are, and I avoid her gaze. “Or did something else happen?”

“Mom, not everything is about drama. You know what I’m like. Once I’ve made up my mind, I want to get moving. There’s no use in hanging around. Remember, I decided to move to Paris and was there one week later.”

Another time I’d fled the country just to avoid my step-brother. The thought of moving back home after college and constantly bumping into him was unbearable.

“Yes, yes,” she mutters, “I know what you’re like. I also know you bottle things up.” She sits down on the edge of my bed.

“What, Mom? I don’t bottle things up.”

“Hmmm, remember that time you spent two days walking around with a fractured wrist before you confessed to me you’d hurt it? And that time Liana Prima was picking on you and I only found out second hand from one of the other moms.”

“That was when I was little. I’ve had therapy since then.” Some anyway. The therapist turned out to be another slimeball, not much different from Derrick. I’d had to cut the sessions short.

“It’s my fault you bottle things up,” she says dramatically, clearly not listening to me. “I think I’m to blame for that.”

“No!”

“I think I am. I think you worry about me more than a daughter should, and I think you always have.”

“That’s what families do. We worry about each other.”

“No, it’s my job to worry about you, Harper. You don’t get to worry about me. Not until I’m old and senile, anyway. Which I hope won’t be for several more years yet.”

“You’re going to live to one hundred, Mom, and keep all your marbles.”

“Hmmm,” she says, “what I’m trying to say is, you can tell me if you have a problem. No matter what that problem is, I will always help you. You don’t need to worry about upsetting me, or stressing me out.” I give her a look. “Okay, I know I’m a stress-head. That’s my problem. Not yours. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I slump down on the bed next to her. “I do understand, Mom.”

“So, do you want to tell me something? Anything?”

I hesitate, then I shake my head. I’d like to tell her. I’d like to tell her everything. However, there are some things you can’t tell your mom – no matter how understanding they might promise to be.

“I tell you what then. Why don’t you delay your trip to New York for just a little bit?” I groan, but my mom is undeterred. “A few days won’t hurt, Harper. And it would put my mind at rest. I’d know you weren’t fleeing some problem you’re not prepared to tell me about.”

“My ticket is non-refundable and can’t be changed.”

“Your step-father is worth millions, Harper,” she says, just a tad frustrated. “He will pay for another flight. In fact, if you want, he’ll hire you a private jet.”

“Really?”

Ethan has enough money for that kind of thing, but he’s never been flashy with his money. His garage isn’t full of the latest supercars and his house isn’t full of priceless artifacts. He’s more down to earth than that. I’ve never known him to hire a private jet.

“If that’s what it’ll take to get you to stay for a couple more weeks, then yes, he will.”

I flop backwards onto the bed. “Fine. You win. I’ll stay.” My mom jumps to her feet, a smile now back on her face. “But just for two weeks.”

Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing, anyway. It gives me more time to prepare my move there, start applying for jobs in NYC.

And two weeks isn’t a humongous amount of time. I’m sure I can avoid Pack Stanton for two weeks. I’ll just have to think very carefully about where I go and what I do. There’s a rumor there’s an old 50s nuclear bunker somewhere in the neighborhood. Maybe I’ll be able to find it, lock myself inside, and stay hidden for the next fourteen days. If it’s radiation proof, it’s bound to be alpha proof too.

“Thanks, Snuffles,” my mom says from the doorway, knocking me out of my thoughts.

Once my mom is out of the room, I push my suitcase off my bed, letting the contents tumble all over the floor and flop down on the mattress.

How did everything get so messed up? How did I let it get so messed up? I’ve gone from over-the-moon, so happy I could burst, to down in the very depths of misery, my heart so broken I have to prod at my sternum to check it’s still in there doing its job.

I don’t want to feel this way. I made the right decision. I did what was right for the men I care most about in the world. I’ve ensured I’m not responsible for ruining more lives.

My mom.

I won’t add Daxton, Owen and Wyatt to the list.

So why, if I’m doing what’s right, do I feel so utterly miserable?

An uncontrollable sob bubbles up in my throat, making my body shake with grief, grief for everything I’ve lost, grief for everything I wanted, grief for everything we could have had. I roll onto my side, burying my face in the pillow and cry, the tears flowing down my face freely.

I haven’t cried like this in a long, long time. Not even when things between me and Laurent were over. Not even when I discovered all his infidelities. Not even when I had to leave Paris.

No, I haven’t cried like this since the last time things ended between us.