Her eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in anger. “This isn’t about the business. It’s about respect…”
“Respect for a woman who…?” I immediately shut my mouth about to say ‘murdered people’, but I hold myself back. They don’t know what kind of monster she is.
“Who what?” Carmen demands.
“Nothing,” I say, deciding it’s a good time as any to leave the funeral. My heels sink into the soft cemetery ground as I stride toward the parking lot.
Behind me, I hear the confused murmurs of my family. Let them wonder. Let them think I’m overreacting. It’s better than them knowing the horrible real truth about our mother.
I don’t look back as I reach my car, fumbling with the keys. I can’t tell them. What would be the point? Mother is dead. Nothing can bring our fathers back.
Tears blur the road ahead as I grip the steering wheel of my old Honda, knuckles white against the cracked leather.
The windshield wipers screech against dry glass, matching the ragged sound of my breathing. I need to pull over. Now. Before I crash this piece of shit car and give my sisters one more thing to deal with today. My tires crunch against gravel as Iveer onto the shoulder, the car shuddering to a stop like it’s as exhausted as I am.
For a moment, I just sit there, engine idling, staring blankly at the gray stretch of highway ahead. Then the first sob rips through me, violent and unexpected. I cover my mouth, trying to hold it back, but it’s like trying to stop a dam with my bare hands. Everything breaks at once.
“Fuck,” I gasp, slamming my palm against the steering wheel. “Why? Why? Why?”
She wanted forgiveness before dying. I was the only one she trusted.
I curl in on myself, arms wrapped around my middle as if I might physically fall apart without the pressure holding me together.
The tears come hot and fast now, soaking into the collar of my black dress.
Carmen was right. I was the closest to Mother. Always had been. When our fathers disappeared, no, when she murdered them, I was the one who crawled into her bed at night, seeking comfort from the very person who’d caused our pain. I was the one who made her tea when migraines left her bedridden. The one who stayed in her house the longest, living with her until she ended up in the hospital.
But her deathbed confession confused every memory I had of her.
“Why, Mother?” I whisper in the empty car, my voice cracking.
There’s no answer except the steady patter of rain that has begun to fall, tapping on the roof of the car. I wipe my face with the back of my hand, smearing mascara across my cheeks.
I can’t forgive her, but the memory of her asking me will always hurt.
I take a deep, shuddering breath and put the car in drive. I need scent blockers. My supply is running low, and with my babysitting jobs, I need it when I’m around alphas.
At least that’s something concrete I can focus on instead of the swirling mess of grief and anger inside of me.
The nearest pharmacy is fifteen minutes away, one of those big box stores with harsh fluorescent lighting that makes everyone look like they’re at death’s door. Appropriate, considering where I just came from.
I park in the nearly empty lot, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror.Ugh. I look even worse than I thought.
My eyes are swollen and bloodshot, black streaks of mascara trailing down my cheeks like war paint. My lipstick is gone, bitten away during the funeral. My hair has mostly escaped its bun, red curls tangling around my face in the wind and rain.
I look feral. Unhinged. Maybe people will leave me the fuck alone.
I grab my purse and step out into the rain, not bothering with an umbrella. The cold droplets feel cleansing on my hot skin. By the time I reach the automatic doors, my dress is soaked through in patches, clinging uncomfortably to my skin.
The store is nearly empty, just a few bored employees and the occasional customer meandering through the aisles. I head straight for the omega care section, my heels clicking loudly against the linoleum.
I need to focus on something mundane, something normal.
The scent blocker aisle is a familiar comfort, with its rows of neatly arranged bottles promising safety and anonymity. I grab a basket from the stack at the end of the aisle and begin loading up. Scent-neutralizing body wash. Clinical-strength lotion. Unscented deodorant. Into the basket they go, one after another.
This has been my routine since I started working for Tiny Paws three years ago. The training for omega nannies is strict:always wear scent blockers when working in a home with alphas.
It’s a liability issue, Carmen explained when she hired me. An unmated alpha catching the scent of an unmated omega can lead to all sorts of complications.
