Thorne slides a pancake onto Noa’s plate first, then gives us each one. Stacking them high, and I laugh.
“How much do you think we need?” I ask after he sets the third pancake on our plates.
“Heats require a lot of energy,” he says, not explaining any further as he adds a fourth.
Our first heat together as a Pack lasted 4 days, and it was more strenuous than any hockey game I’ve ever played. No amount of stamina preparation could have prepared me for that.
I laugh a bit to myself as the conversations in the room flow. Everything is so natural with us, almost like we’d always been a part of each other’s lives. I couldn’t have asked for anything more perfect than this.
“Breaking news: a Pack suicide has been reported in Ohio. Three alphas, also known as the Fallon Pack, were found dead at 2pm today when the eldest’s mother couldn’t reach him-” The new anchor’s voice catches all of our attention. The chances of them finding the Fallon Pack so quickly is chilling.
My eyes jump to Noa, who remains frozen in her chair, her curly hair up in a bun and her brown eyes attached to the tablet.
Her head slowly moves to Havoc, who looks worried, but the slight scrunch in his eyebrow is barely noticeable. It’s as if they have some sort of silentcommunication. Something reassuring, powerful, and after a moment, Noa nods.
Cutting a piece of her pancake, she lifts her fork, not to her lips but his. Havoc smiles a bit, leaning down to accept the pancake from his omega, and she giggles as her fork gets caught in his lips, but she pulls it back. Grabbing another pancake slice, she turns towards me.
She raises her eyebrows, and I smile, much broader than the other two could probably pull off. My omega wants to feed me?
I open my mouth, awaiting the pancake, and she giggles as she brings it to my lips. The soft pancake tasted much better coming from her fork, and I lean back in my chair, satisfied with how this had turned out.
The Fallons won’t be an issue ever again. My Pack is here, safe and bonded. There isn’t anything in the world I could ask for more.
She does the same for Thorne, and then she eats her own pancakes, each of us cutting a slice and feeding her as well.
The Gray Pack is gonna be okay, that I know for sure.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THORNE
After breakfast with my Pack, I know there’s one last thing I need to handle. The Fallon’s were Havoc’s wheelhouse, but Noa’s parents are mine.
I see them, but they don't see me. I see the two people who made my omega's life worse. I see a version of people I hope I never see again.
A couple with brown skin, dressed in riches most wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Both done up in real pearls and gold watches. Live in big houses, with butlers and maids, surrounded by people that they never please.
Rich people don’t bother me. I’m considered richer than most. What I hate is unsatisfied rich people. Rich people who take and take and take, from everyone, but most especially the vulnerable. The poor, the weak,their children, no one is ever safe. Not until you become the bigger, nastier dog.
I see Noa's parents but I also see mine. Like a hallucination next to her parents, I see their white skin, dark hair and green eyes. My dad's brown hair and the snarl that never seemed to leave his lips. My mother, with her bright green eyes and her dyed blonde hair that got caught in her fingers, no matter how disconnected from the world she became, the stress it gave her was obvious.
I see the kind of people I hope never to see again, the kind of people I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy.
These are the people who raised us, Noa and I. Cut from the same cloth of privilege that comes with threads loosened. These are the people who trapped us. These are the people we had to escape from the root of our problem, the cause of our own insecurities and hardships.
I made sure my parents never set foot in my life again, and it is nothing for me to do the same for my omega.
Noa’s parents are brunch people. I know that because Noa is a brunch kind of girl, despite what she may think. She waits to eat until 11 am on the days she’s away from her business. She wiggles her shoulders in a little dance as she eats her pancakes with syrup and butter, decoratively dripping from the sides.
Mr. and Mrs. Odette sit outside, their coats hanging off their chairs and their chins held high, shoulders back and wide. They don't talk; they never do. They stare at the menu, then once, when they're done choosing their meal, her dad picks up his phone, and her mother stares off into nowhere. Women in this life never aspired to more than being a wife, and never aspired to being a person, a mother, their own being.
Green sad eyes flash in my mind as I catch Mrs. Odette’s dazed look. The women in this life are always and forever the wife and that is their crime. There are moments I feel an inkling of guilt, but this is the life that they chose. Noa didn't choose this. I didn't choose this.
I take a deep breath before making my move. I stand out in these kinds of establishments with my tattoos, dark hair, and rugged clothes. Nothing mattered more to me than my Pack and hockey, and that remains true. I don't care to wear the most expensive suits, fitted dress shirts, or slacks. Whatever, it's not my style.
Everyone stares, hoping I’m not here for them. But I’m here for one couple, and their eyes go wide when they notice I'm coming closer. Swinging a chair from another table, I straddle it and plop down. Crossing my arms in front of me, leaning my elbows on the table. I’m being incredibly impolite, and that's the point.
“Mister and Mrs Odette, what a pleasure to meetagain,” I say, even though I know they don't remember me, and that's the thing about these kinds of people. So much yet so little is on their mind at all times, people like me don’t register as important to them. Good thing that I don't care.
