What if he matched with someone else, someone who isn’t sick and blends with whoever else is part of his nameless pack? Sorrow rips through me again, and I have to swallow around the lump in my throat.
Stop it, I chastise myself. It’s been a week since the Council’s notification. A week of knowing I didn’t do it the right way… again. Apparently anything related to being an Omega, I can’t quite manage to navigate the proper way.
Bonding. The Matching Gala. Omega-specific Bond Sickness. Hell, even designating itself. All of them a simulacrum of the experiences they should be. Or something altogether undesired, like the OBS. Not a single person alive wants or desires the neurological disease that happens about half the time when an Omega is removed from the Alpha that’s bonded them for a considerable amount of time. So, naturally, I’ve managed to develop it—and an aggressive form of it, at that.
I shake the thought away before it can make me any more morose.
Dad’s eyes are tired as he walks down the long hall that leads toward his private office, his hair a mess from where he’s probably been running his hands through it. It’s a nervous gesture I have, too. He smiles at Shelly and says something, but my headache is bad enough I don’t manage to understand it. I ease to my feet, doing my best to keep from stumbling as the room spins. Fuck, this new drug addition is really throwing me off. Hopefully everything settles in another week or so.
“Cole? You all right?” Dad’s by my side, a hand gently grabbing my elbow, before the room resettles and I can focus on anything specific.
“Fine,” I tell him, though I know he doesn’t believe me. The corners of his mouth tighten, and a ghost of a growl echoes up his throat, but he doesn’t say anything. I change the subject. “Ready?”
He steps away from me without comment, waving at Shelly as we head toward the elevator bank.
“This weekend will probably be a mess,” Dad says just as we’re walking into the elevator. He pushes the button for themain floor before leaning against the bar on the side, crossing his arms. “Final hearing is Friday.”
For their dissolution, the official breaking apart of Pack Fallon. I imagine dissolving any pack that’s been together for 25 years is messy. But add to it Dad’s wealth and Sienna’s absolutely cruel scheming? It’s been awful. This hearing will probably be the worst as the asset division gets finalized by the Council so all of it can then head to the courts to process.
My stomach clenches. “All right.”
Please don’t make me see her, I beg soundlessly.
“You don’t need to be there,” he assures me, reading the panic in my body. “And there’s no reason for her to end up anywhere near the house. But…”
I offer a half-laugh that’s devoid of humor. “Yeah, the press will be a circus, I’m sure.”
His smile is mirthless as the elevator opens. He waits for me to get off first, keeping a step behind, unobtrusively making sure he’s within reach in case I sway or have another round of vertigo. Part of me resents it, but the larger portion has gotten used to my dads hovering. I can’t really blame them when the dizzy spells have gotten more frequent over the last six months despite my doctors doing their best to keep the sickness under control.
“Mr. Fallon?”
I freeze. I can’t help it.
Dad doesn’t have the same reaction, of course. He’s always been in control, has always known he can handle whatever the person asking the verification question might demand. He’s never taken a punch because of his asshole of a mother immediately after being asked who he is.
“Yes?” Dad asks in lieu of a more formal greeting.
Breathing carefully through my nose and counting to ten, I manage to unstick my feet and follow my dad, noticing at last who asked for him.
And that’s when I realize it’s the same man who delivered the notice from the Unified Council last week, an identical pin holding a solid green tie in place. It might even be the same one he wore before. His gray shirt is pressed, offsetting the deep blue of his slacks.
He offers a small smile as he holds out a large, unmarked envelope.
“My contact information is on the second page, Mr. Fallon,” he says, bypassing niceties. “If everything is to your liking, and you approve the match, there’s a video call scheduled for Wednesday night.”
I stare at him, unable to form a single coherent thought.
Video call? Approve the match?
What match? It was just last week they informed me I wouldn’t be matching at all due to bureaucracy.
His eyebrow rises at my silence, but after another extended, awkward moment, he nods and leaves out the main lobby doors, turning toward the parking garage nestled against the side of the building.
“You want Papa and Father?” Dad asks the moment the Council staff is out of view.
“Um…” I force a swallow and try to figure out what the ever-loving hell is actually going on right now. “Y-yeah, I’d like them with me when I open it.” And then I take in my dad. “Did you do something?”
“No. I have no idea what all of this is about.” He pulls his phone out and sends a text to my other dads without missing a beat. “Last I knew, they were making you go to October’s event.”
