I can't go back out there, and face Carlos again. I find a plastic chair in the corner, away from the windows where I can't see the street. The good news is that I can't see if he's still standing there.
The pharmacy is warm. Too warm after the cold outside. I pull off Mom's sweater, and the air conditioning hits my overheated skin. I'm wearing one of Dad's old t-shirts underneath. Faded blue with "Largo Waters Little League" printed across the chest. It's too big, hanging off one shoulder, but it's soft and it smells like home and right now I need that.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out without thinking.
A text from a number I don't recognize.
This isn't over. You owe me an explanation. I'm coming to Largo Waters.
My blood runs cold.
Callum.
He must have gotten a new phone. Or borrowed someone else's. He must have found a way around the block I put on his number.
Another buzz.
You can't hide from me, Jessica. You're mine. You've always been mine.
The words make my stomach turn. Make anger rise up, hot and sharp.
I'm not his. I was never his. Not really. He had my time and my attention and my body when I let him, but he never had me. Not the real me. Not the parts that matter.
And if he thinks he can show up in Largo Waters and drag me back to the life I escaped, he has no idea what's coming.
My fingers move before I can think about it. Delete the texts. Block the new number. Shove the phone back in my pocket like it burned me.
"Jessica?" The pharmacist's voice cuts through my spiral. "Your prescription is ready, dear."
I stand on shaky legs and cross to the counter. She's put the pills in a small white bag, stapled it closed with the instructions attached.
"Take one twice a day with food," she says, her eyes kind. Knowing. "It'll help with the symptoms. But if things get worse, if you need anything else..." She slides a business card across the counter. "This is a heat support line. They have counselors. Resources. They can help."
I stare at the card. At the phone number printed in neat black letters. At the tagline: "You're not alone."
Except I am alone. Mom's in Mexico. Sharon's hours away with her own life. And the four alphas I can't stop thinking about are the last people I should be leaning on right now.
"Thank you," I manage, taking the card and tucking it into the bag with the medication.
I pay with the emergency cash Mom pressed into my hand this morning. Brenda gives me change and that same understanding look, and I flee before she can say anything else kind. Before I start crying in the middle of Walgreens on a Sunday afternoon.
The bell jingles again when I push back outside.
Carlos's truck is gone.
The street is empty except for a few people doing their afternoon shopping. An elderly couple walking arm in arm. A mother with two small children. Normal people living normal lives while mine implodes.
I should feel relieved that he left. That I don't have to face him again. That I can walk home without his eyes on me and his scent in my lungs and the memory of his hand on my elbow making my skin tingle.
Instead I feel bereft. Like I missed something important. Like I ran away from something I should have faced.
Story of my life, apparently.
I start walking. Not toward Mom's house. Not yet. I need to move to let my omega settle down before I'm trapped alone in that empty house with nothing but my thoughts and the ghosts of what might have been.
Lanzarote Street unfolds around me. The same brick storefronts. The same Christmas decorations going up in shop windows, twinkling lights and garland and wreaths with big red bows. The same faces that watch me pass with barely concealed curiosity.
