Because, right in this moment, we feel like a pack.
EIGHTEEN
I finally feel like things are back to normal.
Of course, living with your scent matches that aren’t aware they’re your scent matches is definitelynotnormal. But it’s as normal as my life can be at the moment, considering all the variables that seem to be piling up around me.
Being in my own bed without the fear of someone messing with me in my sleep is well worth the issue at hand. I wake up practically smiling, ready to go about my day. Which is always the same now that I’ve gotten into a solid routine.
I find it easier to be around them, or perhaps my omega is just satisfied to be in their vicinity more often. Regardless, I am much more relaxed than I was living at Cindy’s place, and I’m grateful for it.
Every morning, I cook breakfast while I wait for Sam. We coexist harmoniously as we sit and eat. Most of the time, we sit in comfortable silence, but sometimes we exchange polite words. He always uses my lychee mug for his coffee, which always causes me to blush, even though thereason is unbeknownst to him. Our mornings together have become my favorite part of the day.
My teaching assignment is still going splendidly, and Miss Blue continues to let me take more responsibilities and teach the children more often. She gives me tips behind the scenes and lets me know what works and what doesn’t. The immersive experience has been way more than I ever dreamed it could be.
By the time I get home, Kit is normally there with a snack already prepared, and it melts my heart each time. The more he does it, the more my resolve starts to break down, especially since he’s learning my preferences more and more. He knows my favorite brand of peanut butter pretzels, and he always has cut apple slices waiting for me with caramel or Nutella. It hasn’t escaped my notice that he leaves a lot of the apples for me despite it being the source of his alpha’s scent. But I’m trying not to read into it too much.
Sometimes Thatcher joins us as we play video games or they watch a documentary while I crochet something mindlessly, and it feels like I’m bridging the gap between us more and more each day. I feel melded into their lives, like there was always a space for me here, and that thought alone makes me want things that I know I shouldn’t.
Things are going so smoothly that I don’t expect the storm until it’s right above me. I feel my head and am instantly confused by the sweltering heat that I find there. Water pools on my skin, so I swat at the cloud above my head because it must be raining in my room, right? I don’t remember the roof disappearing.
My skull splits with pain, and it takes everything in me to open my eyes. The window is void of all light, making me more confused than ever as I glance at my alarm clock that’s glowing with the late hour. The last thing I remember is leaving schooland heading home. Maybe I remember sitting with Kit for an afternoon snack?
Then a moment springs into my memory. My omega’s arms holding me close as he moves me to my room so I could nap in peace. His lips barely graze my forehead in a caress of a kiss before leaving me to my nap. But this doesn’t feel like a normal nap. No, this feels heated, like my body is going into hyperdrive.
Like I’m having a flare-up.
My head pounds behind my eyes, the migraine already present despite the long rest that took over my body. I crawl over just enough to reach my pill caddy. My heart practically stops when I see the capsule is still lying in its respective day, untouched and forgotten. I apparently took my blocker but didn’t take my medication, which is the only one of the two that actually matters when it comes to regulating my very dysregulated hormones.
The medication is the only thing that helps, and I can’t take it again until the morning, or my schedule will be out of whack. I groan, folding myself into a ball as I let a few tears fall. Frustration and shame swirl inside as I think about the long night ahead.
I can’t let my roommates see me like this or they’ll have questions. I have to send the school an emergency email. I have to do several things to make sure everything is wrapped up so I can sit in bed and suffer through this flare-up, since there’s no telling how long it will last. It could be an hour, twenty-four hours, or three days. It’s so unpredictable, and I am so angry with myself for making this mistake.
The migraine sends a sharp pain through me, and the idea of doing anything to prepare for my hiatus is tossed to the back of my mind. I scrunch up underneath the covers, trying to block as much light from my eyes as I can, and draw in a shuddering breath.
NINETEEN
I’m grumpier than usual as I pull into the parking lot.
It’s funny how much a person can affect another in such a short amount of time. Before Opal moved in, I was content to spend my mornings alone. Just myself and a steaming cup of coffee before a long day of dealing with groups of people and doing work around them. But now, I look forward to seeing her when I walk into the kitchen. She always has a plate already made for me, and as an alpha who is always taking care of someone, it makes me feel good to be the one whose needs are anticipated. Sometimes we sit in silence, and sometimes she asks about my plans for the day. I always ask her about Miss Blue’s first-grade class and how she’s handling the assignment. And then she doesn’t let me do the dishes and tells me to get to class before I flunk out.
It’s now something I look forward to, something that keeps me grounded, and I think it’s become the same for her.
Which is why when I found the kitchen empty this morning—and void of that cheerfulness that I’ve come to enjoy—I was surprised.
I assume she just wanted a late morning, to have some extra time to sleep, but the moment hit me all the same. I’ve gotten used to seeing her, and her absence upset me more than I care to admit.
Now I feel grumpier than Thatcher on his worst days. Which is proving even worse when I park my car and my phone starts to ring, the caller ID showing the last possible person I want to speak with.
“Sam!” His buoyant greeting rings through my ears as I pick up. “Where are you, kid? I thought you were supposed to be at the office today.”
I grit my teeth. “No, it’s my day off. I’m at the local foodbank today.”
He makes a weird sound. “Really? I thought only criminals volunteer there. And high school kids who need something on their college applications.”
Despite what I let Kit believe, I am not Gregory McMillan’s biggest fan, nor am I naive when it comes to his faults. Every time he calls me kid or bud, I sink a little bit further into hatred rather than surface annoyance. But, unfortunately, his firm was the only one willing to take me on without a diploma. Considering I’d like to start an actual job with a salary upon graduation, it was this or the possibility of interning without pay for at least six months after I complete my schooling next year.
Expediting the process by working for this asshole seems like a worthy sacrifice for my pack.
