I wasn’t the problem.
I’m not broken.
Cole squeezes me tighter. “We’ll take care of you. You’re safe with us.”
There aren’t words to explain how I’m feeling right now, so instead I just hold him tightly and let his scent soothe me along with his promises.
I’m safe, and that’s all I ever wanted.
After the shower that somehow turned into a revelation for myself, Cole dressed me in one of his shirts, dried my hair, and brought me to the living room. Jonah is still passed out in the bedroom I’m staying in, and we let him rest, he’s been awake for God knows how long.
“Do you want me to bring you anything for your room? Are you hungry?” Cole asks, after propping up my leg and handing me the remote to the TV.
The living room is tastefully decorated, and I like that it isn’t ultra modern, it has personality. Whose personality, I’m not sure? But I enjoy all the plants, art, and soft textures around the room.
“Could you grab my phone and iPad, and something small to eat would be great,” I reply, feeling how uneven my voice is.
Cole doesn’t question it, but I swear a look passes over his face when I mention my phone. I ignore it, and turn on the TV watching The Real Omegas of Beverly Hills, easily the best franchise, and an episode I’ve already seen, so it’s just background noise.
When Cole comes back into the room, he kisses the top of my head and leaves my devices next to me.
“Thank you,” I say, picking up my phone with dread.
The amount of notifications is concerning to me, and when I open my texts, I see why.
Ryan, Danny, and Nick have been texting me non-stop. There must be around two hundred messages, which is actually pretty crazy the more I think about it.
The messages are mixed, some of them are sweet, asking me to come back, saying how much they miss me. While others are downright threatening, telling me I’ll never find another pack of their caliber and that if I don’t respond soon, there will be consequences. Most of those messages are from Nick, who constantly showed me the least amount of affection. He was usually the one to leave during my heats as well.
Danny’s messages are down right pleading, but most of them center around himself. How he feels sick without me around, how my scent is no longer lingering around the house and how he needs it. None of it is really about me, all his messages are about him. It truly never was about me, and it never would be when it comes to them.
A desperate part of me feels like I need to respond, that I’m in the wrong if I don’t. But then I think back to Cole’s words and what he said makes so much sense. I don’t owe them anything.
I’m not their Omega anymore. Now that I got a little taste of what it feels like to be treated like arealpack Omega, there’s no way I’m going back.
My hands tremble as I do it, but I scroll to each of their contacts and hit the block button. It feels freeing in a way I didn’t expect. It’s short-lived as I move to my different social accounts, filled with even more messages. The same good cop, bad cop bullshit, but I block them all on every platform I can think of.
I take a deep breath and look through the rest of my messages. It’s not surprising that there aren’t many besides my Gran, asking me to call her as soon as I’m up for it. I didn’t make many friends in LA and I cut off a lot of my friends I had here in Philly as soon as I moved.
I feel lost, but as Cole brings us both sandwiches, water, and chips on the couch, I don’t feel so alone.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“More than okay. Do you think I could have my Gran come over soon, when she’s free?” I ask.
His face gives him away. That he’s confused by my question, but it quickly fades away.
“You’re staying here. This is your house, too. You don’t need to ask for permission for someone to come over. I do ask if you want to go somewhere you ask one of us, but only because I don’t like the idea of you going out alone. It’s dangerous.”
“Trust me, I’m not running off anywhere, anytime soon,” I say, pointing to my ankle.
“We want you to be comfortable here. Anything you need, you’ll tell us?” he asks.
“I’ll try,” I reply.
I’m happy that Cole doesn’t push it, that he doesn’t bring up what he asked in the shower, or even ask me about what was on my phone. He seems pretty straightforward and open about wanting me here. Even so, I don’t ask him what all of this means. I don’t ask if this is temporary, or if I’m some sort of charity project.
Cole clears his throat, and I look at his handsome face. How did I get so lucky that he was the pilot on my flight, that he took care of me?
