"I'll figure it out," I say. "But it'll be beautiful. The best thing I've ever made."
"That's my brother," Sergio says warmly. "Always leading with your heart."
"It's all I've got." I smile, and this time it reaches my eyes. "That and really good carpentry skills."
We finish dinner. Clean up together. Move through the packhouse with the ease of years of practice.
But everything feels different now. Sharper. More real.
Because she's back. And this time, we're not letting her go without a fight.
Even if that fight is just showing her, one careful day at a time, that she's safe with us.
That she's wanted.
That she's home.
8
JESSICA
There’s nothing more depressing than wearing your dad's old Guns N' Roses t-shirt and eating peanut butter straight from the jar with a spoon, propped against a mountain of pillows. The door is locked even though there's no one else in the house to walk in on me.
My newly awakened instincts don't like being alone. I pull Dad's shirt tighter around me, breathing in the faded scent that still clings to the fabric after all these years. Old Spice and motor oil and something distinctly him. It's comfort and grief wrapped together, and right now I need both.
My own scent is everywhere. It's too much. Too obvious. Too omega.
What if people can smell it on me? What if they know?
The thought makes my stomach cramp with anxiety.
I force my attention back to my phone. Back to the disaster that is my life in social media form.
#HeartbrokenGroom is still trending. Not nationally, thank God, but locally. Which in some ways is worse because it means everyone I've ever known is seeing this.
Callum's Instagram post has 847 likes and 203 comments. The photo shows him sitting on a bench outside the RiversideEstate, still in his tuxedo, head in his hands. The perfect picture of devastation. The caption reads:
Sometimes the people we love the most are the ones who hurt us the deepest. I don't know why she left. I may never know. But I want her to know that I forgive her, and my door is always open. Love isn't something you give up on. #HeartbrokenGroom #WeddingDay #LoveWins #StayStrong
My omega recoils from the words. Something about the tone, the manipulation wrapped in sympathy, makes my skin crawl. The part of me that's changing, becoming, knows on an instinctive level that this man is dangerous.
I want to throw my phone across the room.
LOVE WINS? The man who controlled what I ate, what I wore, what I said at my own wedding is posting about how love wins?
The comments are a masterclass in delusion, and reading them makes nausea rise in my throat. My omega is more sensitive to rejection, to judgment, to the pack—the town—turning against me.
Oh Callum, you deserve so much better!She'll regret this.You're a catch!Some people don't know a good thing when they have it.Sending prayers.You'll find your true omega someday.
That last one makes my stomach twist. What if they knew I was omega? What if this became about that instead of about me leaving? The thought makes me physically ill.
And my personal favorite, from someone named BeckyLovesWine2003:
I always thought she seemed stuck up. You dodged a bullet, king!
I've never met BeckyLovesWine2003 in my life. But apparently she's an expert on my character, and my omega's heightened emotions make the comment cut deeper than it should.
I scroll down to see who liked the post. Callum's parents, obviously. His college roommate. His manager. Half the guest list from our wedding.
