Trash Panda (Shift Work #3)

8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Rollie

The morning after Kyrie’s party, I wake up with a dull throbbing in my temples and lower belly. I want to chalk that up to hunger and sleeping poorly after our fight. More of the vivid nightmares I’ve been having—the ones where Seb never makes it home—kept me tossing and turning. It was almost a relief when Seb woke me from a particularly realistic iteration of that same dream when he slipped into our bed around dawn. Regardless, I sleep like crap and barely make it to work on time and I don’t even have a chance to confront Seb about anything from last night.

When I get to the store, Harvey is already there, emptying out the refrigeration unit that’s been on the fritz. Looks like he tracked down a replacement on short notice after all. The damn thing giving up the ghost finally feels like a pretty good summation of how today has gone so far, and I’ve barely been out of bed for an hour.

I clock in and open my register to help with the line piling up for the single open cashier at this hour. At least when we’re busy, I don’t have time to dwell on how off I’ve felt all day. Like I’m coming down with a cold. Ugh, I don’t have time to be sick.

There is so much Seb and I need to discuss after work. I just hope he’s in a better headspace for a conversation after being out all night. Maybe we can have an early night, since neither of us got enough sleep after he kissed me and ran away from his emotions about it.

Everything seems to be going wrong lately, but I’m clinging to the hope that Seb will meet me halfway if I tell him what I need. If not…well, I can’t bring myself to picture that outcome, but my stomach is in knots over the possibility.

The day seems to pass in a rush of demands from grumpy inconvenienced customers even as every hour drags. I’m on the verge of panicky tears over minor setbacks that I normally take in stride. It’s got to be because I’m sick. Or tired. Or maybe because things with Seb and me feel so shaky. I wish I could take an extra break to call him to talk, but I don’t think I can stop until I say everything that needs to be said once I start. It’s not an option. Even if I wasn’t extra busy with the fridge repair ongoing and workers tromping through the store to handle that.

It’s not even lunch and it’s already been a long day running to the backup refrigeration unit in the back storage area to get milk and butter for our regulars. Then again, maybe being busier than usual is just what I need to take my mind off the conversation I need to have with Seb.

As much as I long for his comfort, I can’t get past the sense of betrayal over him withholding something so important. He lied to me. Sure, he did it to help me, but it reminds me of my family holding back the facts of my beta status from me for most of my life. They obfuscated key facets of who I am until they couldn’t anymore. I don’t know if they ever would have told me everything about my genetics and the experimental therapies they tried to make me ‘normal’ as a kit.

I only found out because a new endocrinologist who wasn’t aware of how little I knew mentioned it while asking me questions. So my parents had no choice about coming clean. I’d already been confused about why my scent still hadn’t changed the way it should have long past the age when my lack of development set me apart from my shifter peers. My little brother had smelled like an omega for years and I still smelled like a kit.

Whenever I asked what was wrong, they deflected. My parents knew I’d never develop on my own, so they tried to convince me to accept that I’d never be quite welcome amongst the alphas or the other omegas. Far from giving me the answers about myself that I’d craved and needed, my parents did their best to hide that they’d known what was wrong with me all along. When I did find out, it was easy to figure out why. They were ashamed I’d never fit neatly into a secondary gender they understood.

And much as I didn’t want to, some part of me had internalized their shame and fear over what my lack of a clear role among other shifters would mean for me. Seb was the first shifter I let close enough to see those hurts. He was the first one to tell me—ever so matter-of-factly denying his own feelings about his creep—that there was never anything wrong with me and that I am exactly who I am meant to be, beta or omega.

So it hurts even more for him to hide something like this. The omission rubs against all those raw spots inside of me at not being trusted to know what’s best for me or make my own choices with all the information at my disposal. I love my best friend more than any other shifter in the world, but it’s going to be hard to get past this. To push back the worry about what else he might be hiding if he could hide this for so long. What other choices he might make for me, for my own good.

Ugh. I know that’s my trauma talking, but I can’t let it go.

Maybe I do need to mull things over more before we talk. Work doesn’t require my full attention most days, and even running around more than usual, I still have room for my thoughts.

It helps that the most important part of my day-to-day duties is being friendly to the customers. That’s a task made easier by knowing all of our regulars. Four Corners is a tight-knit community of shifters. Not that it’s perfect, but it’s mostly lived up to what I needed when I left home. The shifters here have accepted me for who I am since I first moved here and got friendly with Seb and his rave and Harvey adopted me into his pack and mentored me.

If it was anyone else who hid something this huge, it would have obliterated any traces of trust I had in them. But this is Seb. His word was enough to get me the job here at the market when I first got to town. Technically, I think he had his cousin Lydia talk to Harvey for me, since she’s on better terms with the local pack than Seb is. We’d gone out a few times when I had the cash from picking up odd jobs and driving statics around for a rideshare service. So he knew I had cashier experience from back home and that the market was hiring.

Thanks to Seb and his flock, Harvey gave me a chance at a steady job in town. I started out bagging groceries a few hours a week purely as a favor to the rave and now I’ve worked my way up to full time and a title as store manager. Harvey lets me prove myself, and I work hard to earn his trust, but I know I’d never have gotten the chance without Seb.

Seb welcomed me into his community as a beta. He has earned my trust entirely. I have him to thank for helping me secure a rent to own contract on the modest little bungalow we share now because it had belonged to an elder in from his flock who preferred not to live in their rave housing. Her family needed to sell when she passed, and Seb knew I was looking for something affordable and close to the rave complex when my original lease ran out across town.

He’s the only person I want in my heart and my home and my bed. He’s the first shifter with whom I shared my first tentative wonderings about being an omega. He listened and encouraged me to explore what it might mean to embrace that part of me.

I need to confront Seb about the meds, but I can’t quite reconcile this situation. The best friend who would literally sacrifice his own health to help me to feel comfortable in my skin, but who did so with all the little lies of omission that came along with that choice. Not to mention the way he pushed me away after what we shared last night. Coming with him in our driveway. Kissing like lovers.

How can I love someone with all my heart, and still be so unspeakably hurt and angry with him? It’s exhausting, all my thoughts chasing each other in circles while I make small talk and answer questions about how long the repairs will take or making assumptions about the workers being here for the rumored frozen food aisle renovation.

We have our usual surge of shoppers after the knitting group that meets once a week at the yarn and bookshop on the corner finishes their meeting, so that keeps me busier for a while. Several of them show off their progress on projects and a bat shifter who is new to the area asks about special ordering specialty brands of nectar for an upcoming holiday. Harvey fields that request.

Mrs. Leopald, one of our regulars, comes in a little later than usual with her youngest grandson. The kid looks a little older than Seb’s niblings in his stroller, between two and three years old. He spends most of the outing napping, his face cherubic under a fall of glossy dark curls. I can’t help my mind’s wistful wondering about an alternate universe where I might have a kit of my own to shop for, maybe even with Seb. I usually try not to consider that. It makes my chest feel too tight, like it’s physically squeezing that hollow pit of a longing I’ve never really even dared to speak aloud.

Mrs. Leopald takes her time picking up kid-friendly snacks in brightly colored packages. Several other shifters she is friendly rivals with are shopping around midmorning too. They all coo over how adorable and sweet her grandbaby is and how lucky she is to spend time with the grandkids. She laps it all up as if it’s the finest cream. She preens over having both her grandkits visiting for a week as the toddler dozes, a fuzzy rainbow spotted leopard something clutched in his pudgy fist.

He’s less angelic when he startles awake, shifting into his fur and yowling at the strange surroundings. Mrs. Leopald hastily grabs a few final items and plops them into his seat as she scoops the upset kit into her arms, shushing him softly.

“Sorry, he’s teething a bit, I don’t suppose you have any more of the all natural real fruit low sugar popsicles in the back?” she asks.

“I’m afraid we don’t,” I say.

“Ah, well, I have a few at home and we can make more, I better grab another bottle of juice to make them. That new expanded freezer section can’t get here fast enough, hmm?” Mrs. Leopald chuckles, inviting me to be amused at her exasperation. I flash a half-smile, but before I can correct her assumptions about the renovations, she starts unloading her groceries from the stroller onto the conveyor and bulldozes on with the conversation. “Would you be a dear and grab a second bottle of this?”

The question is worded like a polite request, but I know from helping her in the past that it is a demand and she won’t appreciate me foisting the task off on anyone else. Scanning the other registers, I notice Lou, one of the more experienced cashiers, is working next to me. I catch their eyes and gesture for them to keep an eye on my till. Lou nods to me. I recognize the same brand of guava nectar that Bram’s kids love, so I know exactly where to grab a second one for her. It’s just easier than fighting.

I’m so focused on retrieving the juice that I don’t notice the wolf alpha standing in the beverage aisle until I bump right into his chest. Colliding with a solid wall of muscles knocks the wind out of me and I inhale sharply.

Alpha musk fills my nostrils. For some unfathomable reason, it smells so much stronger than usual. Strong and off-putting. Weird. I exhale in a huff, catching a hint of a familiar omega’s scent on him—Rose is a regular here. Ah, this must be the out of town alpha she’s been talking about dating.

“Sorry! I didn’t see you there,” I apologize as I stumble back a step even as he reaches out to steady me.

The box of tampons under the alpha’s arm bounces on the linoleum between us. It’s not the most romantic gesture, but it shows a level of caring that makes me happy for the other omega. It’s one of those little ways Seb and I care for each other, the kind gestures of support that make life easier.

“It’s fine,” he says. We both bend to retrieve the box. I get to it first and hand it to him with a smile.

“You’re Kenton, right? From up near Bucksport? Rose has been telling me all about her new boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah, nice to meet you,” he glances at my name badge, “Rollie.”

“Likewise,” I say.

Kenton is still watching me, and I realize he’s waiting for me to hand back the box. “Oh! Here. Uh, good choice, we carry the generic stuff, but I always hated the crappy cardboard applicators,” I say before thinking it through.

TMI. And it’s not like that was even a thing I dealt with for long. Being both a beta and intersex meant that I had about a year of irregular periods before my body’s doomed attempt at puberty fizzled out and I was given the choice of which primary gender to present as so I could blend in with the static humans around us.

For all their strict views on alphas and omegas roles in a family, my parents gave me free reign to decide whether to go on estrogen or testosterone to pair with the growth hormone injections the static doctors insisted that I needed without really explaining why or offering me a choice in the matter.

I turn away from Kenton self-consciously and reach for the guava juice I came here for. The motion hits me with a strong whiff of my own scent. Did I forget to use deodorant this morning? I must have skipped it in my rush to get out the door without waking Seb. If I didn’t know better, I’d think some of the sugary sweet juice had spilled across the floor from how strong my scent is. I glance surreptitiously at the strange alpha, gauging his reaction to see if he notices anything weird.

Kenton’s eyes dart over my body, nostrils flaring as he scents me, trying to make sense of how my words fit with my scent and appearance. “Um, good to know? Rose asked for this brand.” His cheeks darken with a flush and he whips around, going back to comparing cranberry juice cocktails like there might be a test. “And pure cranberry concentrate? Do you have that here?”

“We sure do.” I grab the little bottle of concentrate from the top shelf, half hidden between two larger juice cocktails. I point at the evenly spaced marks on the label marking out a serving. “Here, the instructions for how to dilute it are on the label.”

“Thanks.” Kenton takes the bottle with a tight smile, and another surreptitious huff of my scent into his lungs even as he shuffles further away from me in the narrow aisle. My heart sinks, he definitely noticed. At least he’s being polite. I should check to see if I have a spare deodorant tube in my work bag during my break later. “You know—” he starts, winces then shakes his head at himself. “Nevermind.”

“What?” I cock my head at him, hoping that I might have misread the reason for the sudden awkwardness. Maybe Rose said something about me? Well that’s a whole new anxiety to explore later.

“Nothing. Just. You smell—” His cheeks flush as he burts—“omegas in heat are entitled to paid work leave. Just. In case you didn’t know.”

“Okay?” I’m not sure why he felt the need to spout employment law at me, but duly noted. “Thanks, nice to meet you, Kenton, tell Rose I say hello.”

“I will.” The alpha clutches his two items to his chest, turns on his heel, and flees back up the aisle so he doesn’t have to brush past me. I shake my head at the weird encounter as I double check that I’ve got the correct bottle so I can get Mrs. Leopald sent on her way.

Kenton is standing in line at the furthest register from mine when I return to finish ringing up the order in my lane. I try to push the encounter with Kenton out of my head. I scan the juice and help arrange Mrs. Leopald’s purchases in her reusable satchels while she fills out a check to pay.

I always enjoy seeing her latest bags, she sews her own out of scraps bits from her locally famous quilts, so they’re always delightfully colorful and unique. While I finish bagging, she deftly maneuvers the wriggly ball of fur in her arms back into his stroller, he curls up in his own cozy wild cat themed quilt and she pulls down the firm but flexible mesh shade that will keep the curious kit securely in place for their walk home.

I hand over her bags, but her nose wrinkles when she leans closer to grab the second satchel and she tuts at me. “Are you quite alright dear?”

“Yeah, just tired. I was in a rush this morning.” I hunch in on myself, wishing I had a scent blocker to help with my pungency problem if everyone’s going to comment on it all of a sudden. It’s not that bad, is it?

When she leaves I try to sniff myself again, and yeah, I smell a bit ripe, but nothing that merits public shaming…is it? I glance around the store and consider. There are enough people browsing the aisles that I’m going to be busy for a while if I don’t act fast. Now or stinky.

With a sigh I dash out to the personal hygiene aisle and buy an emergency back up stick of deodorant, pay for it with my employee discount, and duck back behind a register to hastily swipe the vanilla and rose scented goop onto my pits. It’s not ideal, but at least it’s the shifter formulation that’s meant to partially neutralize alpha and omega pheromones.

There, all fixed just in time to work through the midmorning rush. Being too busy to worry about how I smell helps, and so does having more shifters’ scents mixed in with mine. I fall back into easy small talk with everyone. My work smile almost starts to feel real as I banter with the regulars.

I have to correct at least a dozen folks loudly speculating that the repairs on the busted refrigeration unit confirm the rumors we are expanding the frozen goods section for the summer months. For many of our regulars, those rumors have been the biggest news for weeks and no amount of ignoring it or rebutting it seems to stop it from spreading.

Now that the idea has really taken root among our regulars, I’m considering pitching the expansion to Harvey again. I have data on our frozen food sales to back me up and everything. Plus, he looks contemplative when he overhears the speculation lately. As if it might just happen, if not this summer, then soon. I’ve seen him noodling around with spreadsheets and doodling out expansion plans, but he hasn’t mentioned it at our weekly check ins. Unless paying more attention when I show him my analytics tracking just how fast our turnover is on various ice creams counts.

It’s starting to seem like even if we don’t do a full remodel, I might actually be able to get Harvey to take a chance on more dairy-free offerings for our non-mammalian shifter clients to enjoy, maybe by reorganizing our current shelf space or by adding a chest freezer near the registers.

Ever since promoting me as a manager last year, he’s been more open to a lot of my ideas to improve the store. It’s a novel feeling to know an elder I look up to is proud of me and trusts my judgment in such a tangible way. This must be what its like for Seb, knowing that his parents are in his corner no matter how badly he fucks up. Ugh. Why is it that every stray thought brings me full circle back to the infuriating raven?

Even with the expansion, if I’m entirely honest with myself, I want it so that we’ll be able to stock more options than the freeze pops the raven shifter kids can currently get locally. Because I want to see Seb’s eyes light up at getting to have a new treat.

I sigh at myself. I am so gone on a shifter who pushes all my buttons for better and worse, maybe it doesn’t even matter what I say to him about sharing his prescription without being upfront about where the meds came from. Maybe. Ugh. Seb has a knack for making everything seem so much more complicated.

The scent-dampening deodorant seems to do the trick for a while. At least until toward the end of my lunch break when Lou mentions that Trinity was asking about picking up more hours if I need to take some time off.

They give me a sympathetic look and keep their distance, but I can’t figure out why. It’s not the only weird comment I get either. The weird looks and people giving me a wide berth continue until Harvey approaches me a short while later and asks if I need to leave early. I shake my head.

“I’m fine, just tired. Sorry, I’ll do a better job focusing,” I say, finishing bagging a customer’s purchase.

Harvey doesn’t let up though. It takes a few more probing questions until the pieces start to click together into a horrifying picture.

“You spent a lot of time with Mel yesterday, Rollie, right?” Harvey asks.

“Um, I guess?” I shrug, looking for the next round of groceries to scan. But there is no one waiting in my line. The closed sign is perched on the edge of my conveyor. I’m vaguely annoyed at my boss hovering like I’m a clueless new hire or something. I don’t need a break, I just need to stop wool gathering so much.

“I’m not sure if your doctor warned you, but sometimes when you’re um, close to your own season, being around another omega in heat can, uh, accelerate things?” Harvey stumbles over trying to phrase the suggestion delicately and I don’t understand the implication at first.

When I realize he thinks Mel’s pheromones triggered a heat for me I laugh. That’s preposterous.

Harvey isn’t laughing, he’s watching me with a worried frown and sad eyes. He pats my shoulder gingerly, keeping his distance. “Why don’t you take a break, son? Is there someone I can call for you?”

“Um, I guess? I want Seb.” I can’t smell him as he guides me toward the breakroom, which means he took scent blockers before approaching me. So he really does think I’m in heat.

Seb. If I’m really going into heat then something is really wrong. It shouldn’t be possible and it can’t mean anything good. I need my best friend.

Fear clarifies things for me. Seb offered to get the hormones for me, and I accepted even though I knew there was no way he could get a legit prescription on my behalf because it seemed like the only option for me to feel like the omega I am. It’s the same reason that for all it presses on old wounds in the worst way, I know in my heart I will never hold Seb obfuscating the details against him. Seb is the only reason I’ve been able to transition toward presenting as an omega at all.

Shit. This whole situation might be my own damn fault. Or at least, we share the blame. And it should have been so obvious as soon as I learned Seb was sharing his meds with me, but it’s only now hitting me, like a sudden downpour, that I’m probably on an avian formulation of omega hormones. The realization hits me hard. Avian omegas with creep require aggressive hormone therapy. Way beyond what most trans omegas would take.

What we’ve been doing has worked well enough for years, but we changed brands recently and something is apparently going very, very wrong with me. With both of us. Fuck. So much for being angry, I’m mostly just scared and I really need to talk to Seb so we can figure out what to do. My thoughts are muddled and fuzzy. Like when we took that artificial heat inducer after Elric’s fledging party.

If I’m going into heat, I need Seb. My only regret about sharing that first one with him is that it would have been better without the alpha in the picture. Just Seb, thrusting a knotting plug into my hole until I begged him for his load and oh, fuck, I am ridiculously horny. But there’s no way I’m actually in heat, right? Is this some weird form of creep for omegas with already broken ovaries?

I don’t have answers. Or a way to get them. I don’t want to call my stern-faced static endocrinologist and get lectured about all the ways getting illegal prescription drugs is a terrible idea and read the riot act about how the consequences of that choice are my own fault. I just want…I want Seb.

I want him to bury his nose in my neck even as he sinks his cock inside the tight little hole that I only trust him to fill. Alphas like that sometimes, watching him fuck me in the cunt. It’s too atrophied for an alpha to give me anything but pain with it, but Seb fits just right. And sometimes I like to pretend like I’m a normal omega and he can breed me for real; he can’t though.

Even if he wasn’t a fellow omega, incapable of knocking me up, the doctor who put me on my synthetic puberty cocktail made it very clear that my static human reproductive parts were vestigial and couldn’t actually produce a kit. My folks seemed almost relieved by that. I didn’t notice it in the exam room when the future I’d imagined for myself with a mate and children came crashing down around me.

It seemed obvious that they were happy at the news in hindsight, when I overheard Mom on the phone telling her sister that it was just as well that I wouldn’t pass along whatever is wrong with me to a kit. Tears burn my eyes and I don’t want to think about that. How the parents who I had to rely on to make my medical choices for me called it a relief when it was a loss I was struggling to cope with, even then. I didn’t consent to surgery to remove anything, even though they pushed for it for a while. That turned ugly until my grandparents intervened and I threatened to go live with them.

Just remembering all that drama has me even more on edge. Jittery, nerves jangling. Or it might just be another sign of whatever is going on with my hormones. It takes all my self- control to keep my breathing steady and normal. I press a fist over my heart to calm its racing.

A familiar rush of anxiety sweeps through me. My ears ring with barbs from my past. Never going to find a mate. Who would want you? Defective. Not really one of us.

A flush of heat suffuses my skin from my scalp down to my toes, too hot until sweat beads up and I’m so itchy in my skin, the intense need to shift and find a safe dark den is overpowering. I breathe and try to ground myself. I’m at work. Safe. Harvey trusts and respects me. My regulars like me. Seb wants me to be his best friend and his roommate. His family loves me. Lots of people want me and care about me just the way I am.

No amount of reminding myself of those facts helps. My raccoon is right there, just beneath the surface, demanding to come out and protect us both from foolish static human rules. Humans shouldn’t run out of their workplace in the middle of the shift.

My inner raccoon shoves at me, and I can feel my fur starting to prickle over my skin even as the first wave of crampy aches rips through my focus and sends me to a more primal place. A place where getting away from pain and danger and fear is my top priority. Where logic doesn’t matter nearly as much as my safety.

The raccoon part of me recognizes the reason my scent is so weird today. Why I feel just like I did during that artificial heat. I can’t be in heat. I can’t.

When a heavy hand lands on my shoulder I whip around to face the threat, cringing away from whoever it is even as I’m unable to control the partial shift that overtakes me. Harvey. I recognize his scent before the sight of his concerned face as he looks at me really registers. He immediately puts space between us when he sees my reaction.

“I’m sorry to startle you Rollie. Think you can keep your fur to yourself until we get to the breakroom?” he asks, voice gentle. He maneuvers me down an empty aisle and shields me from the view of any gawking shoppers with his body.

I nod stiffly and let him lead me into the employee only area.

“Lou is trying to call Seb to take you home, but if we can’t reach him, who else should we call?”

I take a deep breath, which is a mistake because he’s an alpha and my instincts should be telling me that he smells good and I want a big fat knot. Except the tiny trace of his alpha musk still present after he took his scent blockers is rank in my nose. Like Kenton earlier. Fuck. I breathe more shallowly, force my way back into my fully human form so I can talk to him.

“Hm?” I ask.

“You aren’t working while you’re in heat, Rollie. Is this your first—you know what? Forget I asked that. You are entitled to heat leave, the only question that matters is how we are going to get you home safely,” Harvey says.

“Okay?” I’m not sure how that has anything to do with me. I can’t be in heat. Can I? Something is wrong with me though.

“Rollie?” Harvey calls me back to the moment. “Is there someone else I can call for you?”

“Seb?” I hand Harvey my phone. I want Seb. So much. Need him. Want to feel his lips on my skin. Feel every inch of him pressed against me. Inside me. Making me…I moan at the mental slide show of all the times we’ve shared alphas. And last night, just the two of us making out together. I want him. Just him. No one between us. No lying or pretending. I want him as my mate. Seb will take me home and make me feel better.

“Do you have any blockers to take the edge off, Rollie?” Harvey asks, he still has my phone to his ear, but he snorts and takes a step further away from me. Like my scent upsets him. Or he’s afraid I might trigger a rut if he inhales too deeply near me right now. Fuck, that’s embarrassing.

Heats and ruts aren’t like the statics portray them in static-made shifter porn. We can control ourselves when we’re in season. Harvey won’t hurt me if he does go into a rut. But he’ll be horny for a while and it’s inconvenient when it happens unplanned. Hence generous leave policies to prevent unintentionally triggering other shifters with our pheromones.

“Um, no. Sorry.” I don’t tell him that this shouldn’t be possible. If I wasn’t high on heat hormones I’d be more scared of what it could possibly mean. “Is Seb coming?” I bite my lip, picturing how pretty his is when he comes, fuck I want to make him come. I want to make him come forever.

“Alrighty then. Let’s go to the break room to wait for Seb, Rollie.” Harvey says in his most alpha-hole ‘I mean business’ type voice. I follow him obediently to the break room. “Wait here, Seb or someone from the rave will be here to collect you soon, alright? Any preferences?”

“Winny. Or Bram… maybe Ty?”

“Alright, hang in there, son, you’re going to be fine.” Harvey leaves with my phone still to his ear. I guess that will make it easier for him to call my mate. Good. I can’t focus enough to use it anyway.

“Yeah. Thanks.” I force a tight smile and pace the room.

Now that it’s silent and we’re away from all the staring customers and my coworkers it hits me that there was a reason for all the weird looks and whispered comments. Oops. I might have made a scene. My raccoon doesn’t care, and I’m inclined not to either.

After a few circuits of the room, I try to sit, but the anxious itchy need drives me back to my feet and I’m pacing again before long. This isn’t my den and my mate isn’t here.

I wait for what feels like an eternity before the door creaks open. The noise catches my attention and has my raccoon ready to bolt again. “Where’s Seb?” I demand, whirling to face Harvey.

Except it’s not Harvey at the door. Lou waves sheepishly through a narrow gap, the door is still mostly closed. I scent the air. Nothing. They took a scent blocker too, and they rattle a little pill in a paper cup as they hold it out to me.

“Hey, Rollie. I had an extra heat suppressor and a couple of doses of scent blockers in my bag, if you need them to take the edge off while you get a plan sorted out,” they offer, letting the door open a bit more.

“What?” I sidle close enough to stare suspiciously down at the pills.

“Harvey says you didn’t realize you were going into heat in time to take precautions?” Lou sounds sympathetic and they hold out the meds again. As casually as if they were offering me a tampon for an unexpected period.

I swallow down my suspicion and irrational irritability. This is almost exactly like sharing period products. And the meds will help. Probably. I sigh. What’s one more dose of a medication that might not be what I’m told it is and might not affect me the same way it does normal people?

Ugh. Seb would be pissed if he heard me calling myself abnormal. That’s my parents talking. I don’t feel normal right now though. Which is laughable considering that heats are entirely normal for most omegas my age.

A giggle bubbles up my throat and I can’t stop laughing as I reach from the little cup of medicine. I glance at the pills, the scent blocker looks like the ones I’ve used before when I don’t feel like dealing with scents in an overwhelming situation. I wouldn’t recognize a heat suppressor regardless. I swallow both pills dry and grimace at the way they drag down my throat. Lou hands me a bottle of water.

“Thanks.” I grimace, but I offer the water back.

“Drink it, hydration is important during a heat.” Lou nods at the bottle and stares until I chug half of it in front of them. You alright in here?”

“I will be. Did Harvey get a hold of Seb?”

Lou’s face falls and they hesitate before shaking their head. “He left a voicemail. But he said to tell you that he called Bram and he’s sending Winny to bring you home. Uh, here’s your phone back, if you want to try calling Seb again once the suppressor kicks in.”

“Yeah. Uh. Okay. Thanks.” I take the phone and retreat out of their reach. Out of politeness, heat pheromones are intense. No wonder everyone was acting so weird about my scent all day. I take a deep steadying breath, and force my thoughts away from how stupid I was not to realize what was going on sooner.

Winny will be here soon. That shouldn’t be such a disappointment. I love Seb’s clutchmates. You can’t love one of them without caring about all three of them. But I don’t want Winny. I want Seb. At least I won’t have to see Bram right now when I’m feeling so vulnerable. He’s the living embodiment of everything I want in the world and will never have.

Guilt swamps over me for even thinking ill of Bram. That’s probably part of why he is sending Winny instead of bringing the kids with him to drive me home or getting someone from the rave to watch them. He knows Seb and I want kids. Not together. That’s an even more impossible dream than either of us having children with someone else. But…if I really am in heat and he’s been smelling so much like an alpha maybe…no. I shake the ridiculously wild thought right out of my head.

The odds against Seb and I conceiving, even with whatever weird screw up happened with our medication have to be astronomically low. So low a doctor would tell us they’re zero. Even if this really is a heat. It shouldn’t be possible. And hoping it might lead to something even more impossible is asking to have my hopes crushed to dust all over again.

“You want company while you wait?” Lou offers.

“Not really, might want to shift. Tell Winny I’m alright with her picking me up in my fur?”

“Sure.” Lou flashes me a wan smile. “Hang in there, it’ll be much better once you’re home and your inner animal feels safe with your mate.”

“My mate?” I repeat, startled at the assumption from someone who knows me and Seb.

“Seb?” Lou gives me a look like I’m the one who is being weird.

“Oh. Yeah.” I don’t correct the assumption that he’s my mate. I don’t have the energy, and I know they’re right on the outcome, if not on the details. Having him close will help with the anxiety and the cramps and just…everything. Seb will find me as long as I’m in our den, and then I’ll be fine. Seb makes everything better.

“You’ll be home before you know it and then I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

“Home?” I repeat.

“Yep, you’re going to spend some time home in bed until you’re back to yourself, Rollie.” Lou agrees

Oh. Yes. Home is good. My inner raccoon approves of that plan. Home with Seb. I pull out my phone, unlock it with my face and then stare at the background image of Seb cuddled up in a puppy pile with his niblings. He’s so pretty and nurturing and he’d be such a good dad. I stroke his face, wishing he was here so I could touch him for real.