Jessica Delacroix is an omega, and is going into heat.
Jessica Delacroix looked at me with trust in her eyes and asked me what to do, and every fiber of my being wanted to tell her the truth: Come home. Come to us. Let us take care of you the way we should have six years ago.
But I didn't. Because I'm a professional. Because she's vulnerable. Because wanting someone this badly when they're in crisis makes me exactly the kind of alpha I've always hated.
My phone buzzes. Another text from the group chat.
Nacho: We'll be there.
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes.
Tonight I'll tell my brothers. Tomorrow I'll see her again for her follow-up. And in two weeks or less, she'll go into heat.
And I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do about any of it.
But I know one thing for certain: watching Jessica Delacroix walk out of my clinic awas the hardest thing I've done in years.
And I'm not sure I can do it again.
6
JESSICA
The cold air hits me like a slap when I step out of the clinic, sharp and bracing after the stuffy warmth inside. I suck in a breath. Then another. Trying to clear my head of Pedro's sage and honey scent, and ignoring what he said.
Heat.
Two weeks. Maybe less.
What am I going to do?
The pharmacy is next door, its green cross blinking in the afternoon light. I should go. Fill the prescription Pedro gave me. Start being a responsible adult who handles her problems instead of running from them.
But my feet freeze on the sidewalk as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see a message from Mom.
Mom: Jessica. The Mexican men out here are Picante! Look I'm speaking Spanish already.
Well. Maybe me worrying about Mom holding on to Dad's clothes was an issue for me and not her. Mom is doing just fine. Better than fine. She's learning Spanish and apparently rating the local male population on the spice scale.
Me: Yes, you are. Proud of you.
What else could I say? Please stop objectifying the locals, Mother?
Mom: We've decided there's no rush. You're a big girl now. We're going to stay here for two more weeks.
They've only been out there two days and already they're extending their trip. The men must be really hot.
Me: Ok.
Mom: Unless I come vuelto.
Oh Lord, is she really speaking Spanish already? Or is she just making up words?
Me: No Mom. You enjoy yourself. You deserve it. I want to hear all the details.
I don't really. I can't think of anything worse than Mom's vacation romance play-by-play.
Mom: Don't worry we'll tell you all the salsa when we get back.
