No one cares about veterans unless you're old and disabled. That's the truth no one wants to say out loud. Theo looks fine—strong, capable, the kind of Alpha who can handle anything you throw at him. So everyone assumes he has a promising future, that he can do whatever he wishes, that the world is wide open for him.
They don't know what he deals with.
Aren’t present to see him at 3 AM when the nightmares hit, and he's doing push-ups in the dark just to ground himself back in reality.
They don't notice how he flinches at loud noises or how he always positions himself with his back to the wall.
And the holidays? The holidays are worse.
Everyone returns to their families—warm houses full of people who love them, traditions passed down through generations, the comfort of knowing you belong somewhere.
Theo has none of that.
His parents are gone. No siblings.
No extended family that gives a damn.
Just us—me and Nash—and we're barely holding ourselves together most days.
So no, I can't burden them with this. We all have our issues.
We're a pack of broken pieces trying to fit together into something that looks whole from the outside.
I sigh, running my hand through my hair, and reach for another book on the shelf. Maybe losing myself in someone else's story will help. Or?—
"—It's sweet, it's spicy, there's a scene with mistletoe that made me need to take a cold shower, and the found family vibes are immaculate."
The voice cuts through my thoughts, bright and enthusiastic and so full of life it almost hurts to hear.
I pause, my hand still on the book spine, and listen.
"Oh, I love all your questions! Yes, I have some amazing sapphic omegaverse recs—I'll do a whole video on those because they deserve their own spotlight."
Someone's doing a live stream. In a bookshop. That's... actually kind of endearing.
I find myself drifting toward the sound, curious despite myself. The voice is feminine, warm, with this infectious energy that makes you want to smile even when you're not sure why. I move quietly through the stacks, trying to catch a glimpse without being obvious about it.
"But here's the thing that really gets me excited. These stories? They're inspiring. They remind me that Omegas can be the heroes of their own stories. We can have dreams and ambitions and messy, complicated feelings. We can fall in love on our own terms. We can?—"
The voice cuts off abruptly, and I hear someone—an older woman—speaking quietly. Something about a shift being done and sugar cookies in the break room.
There's a squeal. An actual, genuine squeal of delight that makes me smile despite the heaviness I've been carrying all day.
Whoever she is, she really loves sugar cookies.
I peek around the corner of the bookshelf just in time to see a flash of movement—honey-gold hair with bright orange tips, a swirl of fabric as someone turns. Then she's gone, disappeared deeper into the shop, and I'm left standing there feeling oddly disappointed that I didn't get a better look.
But her voice carries, drifting through the stacks as she talks to what must be her coworkers.
"Okay, but real talk? This series is incredible. Like, genuinely life-changing. The author just gets it, you know?"
A pause, then: "I sense a 'but' coming."
"BUT—why isn't there an Omega version? Like, I don't know,The Omega Nest Cafe!"
The Omega Nest Cafe? That's... actually not a bad title.
I lean against the bookshelf, pretending to browse while I listen.
