Chapter 4 – Cove
Chapter Four
Cove
Five-and-a-Half Months Later
Imay have slightly overestimated how much I’d enjoy touring. It’s an embarrassing realization to come to after everything, and it feels like I can’t even admit the truth when I’m the one who pushed so hard to make my dreams a reality.
I’m exhausted, and nothing is quite like I thought it would be.
The bus stops, and I know what that means. Either it’s shift change for the drivers or we’ve reached our destination.
The subtle rocking motion and whooshing noise usually help me sleep.
My eyes pop open.
I groan, roll over, and pat around on the nightstand. Blinking rapidly does nothing, and my vision stays foggy. I yank open the drawer and dig around until I find the pack of suppressants.
My stomach rolls uncomfortably, and my eyes fly to the door. I might have to make a mad dash to the toilet.
I haven’t even taken the pills yet… Maybe it’s a mental thing, or maybe it’s my body trying to protect itself.
Hell if I know.
I groan, stretching to grab the bottle of water I keep at the ready.
The side effects from the suppressants are getting worse. My hands shake as I try to mentally prepare myself for the misery I know is coming my way.
Ultimately, I have no choice but to take the medication. Popping out today’s pill, I toss it back with a huge chug of water before dropping the packet in the drawer and placing the bottle on the nightstand.
I fall back against the pillows, and even that tiny movement causes a shooting pain to ricochet between my temples.
A whimper escapes my lips, and my forehead throbs with a sharp stabbing feeling that can’t be normal.
What kind of permanent damage am I doing to my body? How much longer can I really keep this up?
Being an omega is a giant pain in the ass.
I mean, it’s fine for some people.
The ones who are okay with staying at home and raising a family, but if someone has goals and dreams…
You’d better come to terms with how unlikely it is that you’ll be able to achieve those ambitions.
It’s frustrating, and I hate it. It’s so hard not to be bitter when everything could be different if I had been born a different designation.
Curling up in a ball, I pull my knees to my chest. The blanket isn’t even on me. I must have kicked it off while I slept. I’m burning up, but my skin prickles with a cool sweat.
It’s like having the flu every single morning, and it’s getting worse, not better.
My mom warned me. She’s always said how awful the suppressants made her feel. She thinks they’re toxic to an omega’s system. She took them something like twenty years ago.
Shouldn’t modern medicine have come up with a solution by now?
Yanking my pillow out, I fluff it. It doesn’t do much, but I snuggle in and pray it isn’t time for me to have to get up.
There’s no way to be sure how much time passes, but I jerk awake, feeling like I’m going to be sick.
The smell hits before my eyes are fully open, and it’s familiar. That salty, beachy scent belongs to Declan Clark.
Declan is older than me by a few too many years. He’s Dexter Clark’s little brother, but the two couldn’t be more different, at least personality-wise.
Declan looks a lot like Dexter, with dark blond hair and blue eyes.
But Declan is ripped from all the work he puts in at the gym.
His wavy hair is longer on top, and the sides are shorter, making them about the same length as his blond beard.
His dark blue eyes are narrowed at me in suspicion.
That ridiculously hot jaw of his flexes as he glares.
“Get out of the way,” I groan, pushing myself out of bed and aiming for the door.
He finally steps to the side, but it’s not enough in the narrow passage.
“Move, move,” I hiss, trying to get myself upright.
I’m still weirdly bent in half because holding my head up feels practically impossible.
“What is wrong with you?” Declan growls. “You look like shit.”
My hand flies to my mouth as I stagger toward the open door.
It’s only a few feet to the bathroom, and then I’m praying to the porcelain Gods.
Except, the toilet isn’t even a real one because I live on a freaking tour bus.
At least they’re terrible at putting the toilet seat down; otherwise, I might not have made it.
My foot flies to the pedal to flush, and once it’s done, I stumble over to the sink.
“Was it the twins?” Declan asks, shoving his way inside. “What did they give you?”
I glare at him in the mirror.
He’s just talking shit now.
I avoid everything that gets handed around backstage, and he knows it. I don’t even smoke with the guys because it makes me paranoid.
Taking the bottle of water he holds out, I finish rinsing my mouth. I vaguely wonder where he got it from, but I don’t actually care.
I’m splashing water on my face when Declan grips my shoulder, spinning me around.
His blue eyes stare into mine. “Are you hungover?”
“Get out,” I say, turning and grabbing my toothbrush.
I manage to get the toothpaste on it, but it doesn’t even make it inside my mouth before another strong wave of nausea hits.
Declan’s face is a mask of horror as I shove my toothbrush at him and twist just in time to puke again.
“Jesus Christ, Cove,” he growls. One huge hand pats my back while the other wraps my hair up, keeping it out of the way. “What is going on?”
Seriously?
Could my life get any more embarrassing? At this point, it seems unlikely.
My head pounds, and my vision is spotty. My throat and mouth burn from the stomach acid combined with the aftertaste of the pill.
“Please go.” I gasp, trying to catch my breath.
“Fuck no,” Declan says, rubbing circles over my back. “Did you catch a bug? Is that what this is?”
I flush the toilet and head back to the sink. I repeat the earlier process and hold my hand out for my toothbrush.
“Brushing right after being sick is terrible for the enamel of your teeth,” Declan says, handing me the toothbrush.
I flip him off as I shove the toothbrush into my mouth and get to work.
Declan and I aren’t friends. He doesn’t even like me. He’s made that clear over the last few months.
He’s here as our security, not to be our friend, and certainly not to hang out.
He’s said it over and over.
I used to have the biggest crush on him when I was growing up. The man is gorgeous, but he’s also a jerk, so that immediately negates the hotness factor.
“Get out,” I grumble around my toothbrush, pointing at the door like I do for my younger brothers when they aren’t getting the idea.
“We’re not done talking about this,” he growls. “I mean it. This shit is happening way too often to ignore. I’m here to keep an eye on everybody, but my boss made it clear, I’m here to protect you.”
The disdain he conveys in the one word proves that he’s not very fond of his job. He shakes his head, staring at the ceiling. The huge silver watch he always wears glints in the bathroom lighting as he swipes a hand through his messy dark blond hair.
He grumbles a variety of colorful curses and finally heads out.
“You’re not feeling so good?” Damian asks, climbing into bed at my side. His long blond hair is down, falling around us as he lies facing me.
His tattooed hand stretches out, and he barely runs his fingers over my cheek. I get the slightest hint of his tart blueberry scent, but the suppressants deaden my sense of smell to almost nothing.
“No,” I whisper.
My face feels hot as my eyes squeeze shut.
It’s getting worse.
I’m sick all the time lately.
If I didn’t know what was causing the symptoms, I’d be afraid I have a serious medical condition.
“We can cancel the show tonight,” Damian offers.
My eyes pop open, and he blinks as he studies my face for any indication that I might agree. He looks so hopeful, and it makes my chest tight.
“No way. I’m okay. We can’t disappoint the fans.”
He sighs.
We’ve had this same conversation at least a handful of times over the last few weeks…but he still tries.
Am I an awful person?
He’s worried.
It’s plain to see.
Both he and Ravvi have tried to talk to me about what’s happening, but if I mention the suppressants, they’ll have a shit fit.
It’s not like they don’t know what’s causing my symptoms.
Someone wouldn’t have to be a genius to figure out that I haven’t had a heat during this entire tour. Add in the fact that Ravvi always seems to know everything, and I don’t even want to think about it.
“I’m really starting to worry about you, Cove,” Damian says, shaking his head. “If you destroy your health, you might not be able to come back from it. Is fame this important to you?”
I frown.
It’s not just fame.
It’s a chance to support myself.
It’s an opportunity to honor my uncle’s memory.
The ability to prove that I can make something of myself, despite my designation.
Why is that so hard for people to understand?
Alphas and betas can do anything they want. They pick a career goal, and if they put in enough hard work, they can make it a reality.
Why isn’t that true for omegas?
I must take too long to answer because Damian sighs again.
“Okay, I’ll let them know that we’re still on for tonight.” He pushes himself up and leaves the room without another word.
I bury my head in my pillow and fight back the tears.
Maybe I’m a terrible person.
This isn’t the life he wants.
Ravvi doesn’t either.
Am I using them to make sure I succeed at my dream?
Fat tears spill from my eyes as I struggle through the wave of nausea.
Suppressants really are awful, but I know what happens when an omega bonds. They want to nest at home with their alphas. They lose all drive to have a life outside of making little baby alphas and omegas. Their entire purpose becomes caring for their pack.
Being an omega is part of who I am, but I didn’t choose this. The universe made a mistake when it selected my designation. I don’t want to be coddled and protected. I’m not sweet and tender like every other omega I’ve met. I’m not satisfied with the life my designation seems to guarantee me.
I cry into my pillow until I fall asleep.
It doesn’t last long, though.
I’m woken up sometime later when Creed pops his head in the door to let me know it’s time to practice.
My whole body aches, and I have to remind myself that this is what I want out of life.
Because sometimes?
It’s hard to remember that I chose this.