The night is cold, and I’m shivering as I sit in the middle of an empty cemetery, wondering why I brought myself here. He’s dead; there’s nothing that can be changed, he can’t answer my questions. But maybe I can get some sort of closure.
“I’m mad at you for lying to me. I’m furious with you for signing a pack contract on my behalf. But most of all, I’m so fucking pissed you aren’t here for me to tell you this in person.”
I wipe a tear off my cold cheek as I remember my dad’s face, his scent, and the way he brought comfort to me when I needed it. What’s the use of being mad at a dead man, why am I hurting myself by harboring so much anger?
“Despite all that, I still love you, and I forgive you. I still don’t know why you chose them? Was it because you wanted to work with the Irish? Then why did you wait? I wish I just knew why,” I sigh, talking to his grave.
“Did you know they were my scent matches? Did you know I’d be difficult? I just need you to tell me what to do.”
Of course, I get no response. My mind is working overtime as I think over everything and realize I didn’t take my suppressants today. It’s probably why Finn’s fight affected me so much and why I’m suddenly ready to sob all over the place.
I just want my head to be clear. I want to think logically, but it’s like my anger keeps taking the forefront.
I don’t want to be angry anymore. I don’t want to hurt anymore. Fuck, maybe it’s the Omega in me, but god, I just want to be taken care of. I lie on the ground, looking upwards at the sky. There’s still too much light pollution to see the night skyclearly, even though I’m outside of the city, but I can still see some stars.
All I ever wanted was a choice and someone who loved me fiercely and would protect me no matter what. That’s what they were doing at that house, wasn’t it? In their own way, in the ways they thought I would be safe, they were taking care of me.
I think over how I feel about each of them, past and present. There was always an attraction and a dependence on Lorcán, and now I can choose to actually act on it. He’s taken every second of vitriol I’ve thrown his way on the chin and has asked me for nothing in return; he just wants me.
Declan makes me laugh, talking to him was easier than it’s ever been with anyone and the way he told me his deepest secret? I feel like a traitor for letting him confide in me and then running away. Life with Declan would be a fun and easy one. Isn’t that what I always wanted?
I feel like I was pathetically halfway in love with Cillian while working at the High Roller. Our sexual chemistry was off the charts, and I felt safe with him. My brother shot him, his brother kidnapped me, it’s a whole fucking mess. I don’t know his reasoning for why he did what he did at the High Roller, but don’t I owe him the chance to explain?
Then there’s Finn. I saw a different side to him tonight, a man that’s clearly broken and hurt. It doesn’t excuse what he did to me, and I don’t know if I could ever see anything romantic with him. But Finn and Cillian are my scent matches. Can I truly walk away from the men who are literally destined to be mine?
It’s simple, I can’t.
Going back is a choice. It’s my choice and no one else's. If I get off this cold ground and drive back to that house—if I can find my way back—then it’s me actively choosing them to be my pack and my attempt to let this anger go.
It’s exhausting being so angry when all I ever wanted was happiness.
I wipe my eyes and look down at my father’s grave, wondering if, in some cosmic afterlife way, he helped me work through my emotions.
I never claimed not to be dramatic or difficult, and my pápa knows that better than anyone. I touch his gravestone one more time and sigh at the cool texture against my hand.
“Even dead, you know me better than myself. I’ll be back soon. Tell Mama I miss her and love her too,” I say, leaving out any mention of the legacy my greedy brother is destroying in his wake.
Thinking about Anthony is only going to make me angry again, and I already have to swallow my pride to drive back to this house. It’s going to be embarrassing to explain my failed escape, but I just needed a minute. I needed a minute of not being in that house surrounded by their scents and demands. I needed this clarity, a moment to collect my thoughts without my pheromones getting in the way, to make sense of what it isIreally want.
It’s not a white picket fence in the heart of America. The pack I’m meant to be with is a few miles away in a big-ass house with a pool and likely a torture dungeon in the basement. I was born into this life, which wasn’t a choice. Maybe I’m delusional, thinking going back is a choice and not a necessity. But I can’t deny the way my chest aches over the thought of never seeing them again.
Maybe it’s Stockholm syndrome. Maybe it’s my stupid fucking Omega hormones, either way, I’m headed back to my Irishmen, ready to face the music and try to let some of this resentment go. I won’t forgive them for everything, at least not right now. But I owe it to all of us to actually try and make this work.
I dust off my butt as I walk back toward the car, only now realizing that I’m only wearing one of Lorcán’s shirts and a pair of panties. As I grow closer to the entrance, bright red and blue lights flash just beyond the gates behind Finn’s fancy sports car.
I sigh. As I’m walking, a bright white light nearly blinds me, making me hold my hands up.
As soon as I’m close enough to the two cops, they realize I’m an Omega and their energy quickly changes.
“Do you need help over the gate, sweetheart?”
“No, I got it,” I reply before climbing the fence and landing a little in a way that I hope is badass, but more than likely, they think I’m on drugs and breaking into a Catholic cemetery.
“What are you doing out so late by yourself?” the other cop asks, this one immediately putting me on edge.
If there’s one thing you learn early on by being a don’s daughter, it’s that you don’t fucking talk to the cops.Don’t be a fucking rat, and don’t trust pigs, is what my dad always used to say. Especially not the ones that were taking payment from the mob, trust those the least.
“Do you mind taking out your ID and registration?” he asks, not even giving me a chance to answer the question.
