Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
The morning after the incident now being deemed “RosewoodGate,” I get a call from my mother.
It’s not unexpected. Whenever anything controversial happens with the band, or specifically with me, she calls to remind me of how precarious my father’s position is and how my actions reflect poorly on not just me, but both of them as well.
It always makes me want to punch a wall.
She’s bought into countless rumors over the years, not understanding that everything she reads isn’t necessarily true, which is something she should know because politicians are ruthless and definitely not averse to lying to get ahead (I mean, come on).
“Mother,” I say in a greeting as I finish tying my shoes.
“Josephine, you sound chipper this morning,” she retorts sarcastically.
“We have an emergency meeting today, so I’m really not in the mood.”
Things exploded overnight. Our team seems to be flailing to get things under control. I knew the guys performing this song would be news, but I didn’t think it would literally break the internet.
I should be angry at them for this stunt, but I’m not.
My omega is soaring on cloud nine from this new development.
It is the most public and confident way to say “she is ours” that I have ever seen, and I loved every minute of it.
Despite the drama, despite the fear, despite the scrutiny of public opinion, my omega and I are the happiest we have ever been, and I want to keep riding this high for the rest of my life.
I’m ready for our relationship to be public, even if I have to deal with the repercussions of it. Even if I have to lose my best friend.
“Yes, we’ve heard,” she responds, the mood ominous as she pauses. “That’s actually why I’m calling. We’ve heard the good news about you and that boy you’ve been seeing. The alpha that sang that song last night.”
My brows raise into my hairline. “What?”
“Well, at first we were furious. I mean, why did our daughter go after her friend’s ex, and why did said ex make a claim so publicly?
I mean, you guys have to be media-trained better than that.
” She pauses to laugh but it sounds more like a scoff.
“Anyway, then your father and I did the research and learned about his heritage… and we’re pleasantly surprised. Good job, sweetheart.”
My confusion by her statement only lasts a moment before it’s overtaken by another much stronger feeling: disappointment.
How many times had I wished she would call me and apologize for the years of abuse I endured?
How many times did I wish and pray that she would come to her senses and finally start being the mother that I deserved?
To congratulate me for what I’ve accomplished in life and say that she’s proud of me for a job well done?
This isn’t exactly what I had in mind. This praise of hers hits me like a stone in the gut, reminding me once again what will always be important to her: status, money, and power.
“Josie? You there?”
My body pulses with anger before I can stop it.
My silence a protest of the audacity that just spewed from her mouth.
Because seriously? Out of everything to be proud of me for, this is what she chooses?
To praise me over the person I’m romantically connected to rather than any of my own merit is a slap to the fucking face. And I’m fucking tired of it.
“Excuse me?”
She continues like she doesn’t hear my tone. “The Darlingtons are a very influential family in England. I’m really impressed. How did you manage that one?”
Steam comes out of my ears. “Manage it? Mother, you make it sound like I’m a clueless, hopeless omega. Fucking manage it?”
“Language,” she reprimands me.
“No, I will cuss all I want,” I tell her, fuming from the inside out.
“I cannot believe this is why you called me. I thought you’d ream me out for being involved in controversy, or go on and on about dad’s political connections, but I had no idea you would praise me for having a well-known boyfriend. Oh my fucking god.”
“Josephine, please—”
“You don’t have anything to be proud of.
Did you not read further into your so-called ‘research?’ Cyrus isn’t a part of his family’s legacy anymore.
Just like me, he set all of that aside so he could pursue the thing he loves most in the world, and that is music.
He isn’t the prize you think he is, and you know what?
That’s what I love about him. He is real.
He doesn’t take shit from anyone, especially his family. It’s something we have in common.”
“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but you don’t speak to me like that, young lady.”
The laugh I let out is condescending and I don’t even try to hide it.
“He’s not a part of their lives anymore, just like I’m not a part of yours. Tell the press whatever you have to, but I am done being an accessory that you can belittle. Don’t fucking call me again.”
I hang up and the change is immediate. A heavy weight is lifted as I work to catch my breath, the conversation done and over. My skin prickles with sweat, but I feel weightless. The feeling is even more solidified as I block both of my parents’ numbers and toss my phone aside.
Sometimes, you have to let go of stuff in your life for something amazing to step forward. Without the burden of my parents, there’s a giant space of my heart ready for something better. Something sustainable.
My pack flashes in my mind and I grin. I think I made a good trade.
When I get to the meeting, everyone is already there. Tom, Ruby, the girls. Donna and a few other executives from Silver Records are on a joint video call. Besides Ruby and Tom making light conversation, the room is quiet and full of tension.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, feeling guilty. This meeting is because of “Rosewood” after all.
“Better late than never,” Donna says, but it’s pointed. Nervousness suddenly courses through me while I take a seat.
“My mother called unexpectedly,” I tell them. “As you all know, my father is in Congress and has a lot of political influence, so I feel like I should inform you that I just cut my family off. If there’s anything you need to do with that to help when the press catches onto that fact, be my guest.”
Cleo’s eyes widen as she sits up in her seat. “You cut them off?”
I look at her and nod.
“That’s fantastic!” she says, sincerely. “Good job, Josie.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t appreciate the pride I see in her eyes right now because everything else comes running to the forefront. This is the most excited and happy that I’ve seen her in weeks, and that should make me happy or stir some hope in me, but it doesn’t.
Lark claps me on the shoulder, which is a statement all in itself.
“I’ll let PR know,” Donna says from the screen, her patience already wearing thin. “Now, let’s get started.”
I’m half listening as they go into damage control.
They all talk too quickly, and the light in the room is too bright.
Concerns are expressed over what this could mean for Cleo’s and my friendship in the media, and Donna brings up the idea that this was done as a marketing ploy from The Rogues’ team to get rid of the existing narrative.
I’m tired. I’m so freaking tired.
“What do you think, Josephine?” Donna asks me through the screen.
Everyone looks at me again, and my skin breaks out in a sweat. I can’t do this anymore. The guys have been so brave, proving to me time and time again that they want me, that they’re serious about me.
It’s time. I have to be brave back.
I swallow roughly, and finally tell them the truth. “They’re my scent matches.”
“They’re what?!” Cleo screeches, her hands going to the table as she stands. “What the fuck? When did you figure that out?”
I keep my eyes on the table. “During that first meeting.”
There’s silence, the only energy coming from Cleo fuming on the other side of the table. Lark scoots her chair closer to mine, offering silent solidarity.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Cleo asks, but I know what she’s really asking. Why didn’t I tell her. She’s my best friend, and the first person I’ve always run to in the past.
Before the past couple of years, at least.
“You know why,” I say, tired.
She blanches. “But… I just don’t understand. How could this happen? I mean, I know people say it’s a small world but that fucking small?!”
Ruby interrupts us. “First off, congratulations, Josie, for finding your scent matches,” she says, trying to break the tension.
She looks back at Donna on the screen. “This must make things easier. You can tell the press that they are scent matches. Pretend she never met them when Cleo and Cyrus were dating.”
“It wouldn’t be pretending,” Nicola says. “None of us met them. It has to be easy to come up with a reason why. I mean, they only dated for six months. That’s not really a long relationship at all.”
Donna seems to be pondering the idea. “That might work.”
We all sit in that for a moment, and my heart blooms with hope. Maybe this can work out. Maybe things won’t be as messed up as I originally thought.
Cleo is still looking at me from across the table, trying to catch my eye, but I can’t seem to look back at her. I know what I’ll see there. Hurt, betrayal. All the conversations we had about the guys and how much she hated them. I can’t face that right now. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to.
Before things can get any more convoluted, there’s a knock at the door.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the stagehand says, their shoulders slouching inwards. “One of the guys in The Rogues collapsed and I was told to come inform everyone.”
I’m out of my seat before anyone else can react. “Who? Was it Lennon?”
My mind immediately goes a million miles an hour. I followed up with some research on lupus recently and realized that it was not smart to search things without direction, because there’s a lot of scary worst-case scenarios on the internet.
“Yes, they rushed him to the nearest hospital.”