“That must’ve hurt.” Anamaria keeps stroking my hand.
“I didn’t know you wanted a pack,” Caity says, then frowns. “Do you know what went wrong between them?”
“Only a guess.” Twisting my hand, I grasp Anamaria’s, the warmth grounding. “That was around when Max realized not liking sex was just who he was, not some passing trend.”
“He told me all about the ways people might react when I was figuring out I was asexual too.” Bebe rolls her eyes. “Said that people would try to blame me, or think I just needed one bout of good mattress pounding to see the light, but if they had a problem with my lack of desire, it was on them.”
“He talked to me too, particularly after I presented as an omega.” Anamaria smiles, something akin to Max’s glorious warmth and welcome beaming from her. “He wanted to make sure I knew all my options about heats and hormones and desire, what can be adjusted and what can’t—yet—and didn’t trust the school to do a good job, especially after Mom started ... you know.”
“I remember.”
They’d been so cute, Max snuggling with each of the girls at least once a week in the living room or back porch throughout their teenage years, regardless of when or how they presented. Though I’d found him especially appealing when he and Anamaria cuddled together, talking intensely despite the glares from Anamaria’s mother, who never managed to hide her envy or stop dropping sharp hints about how Anamaria fit any and every negative omega stereotype and needed to watch her language, clothes, makeup—anything she could pick at.
I hated Corin’s ex-wife for that more than I’d ever hated Dan. I’d walked around with a sore spot in my heart for a long time after the divorce, though Max did his best to keep me distracted.
“Dan didn’t say anything about why he took against Max back then, but he came from a mostly beta family. I don’t think he wanted to be tied to an omega who didn’t want him.” I lean back in my chair. “As for Max, he seemed to like Dan, or I wouldn’t have asked them to try, but as far as I know, I’m the only one Max ever wanted to court or be courted by.” A dry, crackling laugh escapes me. “He was too busy helping save omegas from their hormones.”
“You do yourself an injustice.” Corin rises, tapping his fingers against the back of his chair. “Max loved you, and that was enough for him.”
“And I loved him.” I stop there, though something about Corin’s expression brings to mind a conflicting statement: itwasn’t always enough for me. Max figured out ways to balance being an omega uninterested in sex, while I faced the puzzle of deciding what I was willing to do to adjust to that. I’d managed, but the process took longer than I liked to remember.
But that was a conversation I refused to have with the four of them all at once. Maybe if Anamaria or Bebe ever wanted to know more details, if it would help them deal with their lives and relationships, I might share—but one on one, at best.
As for confiding my coping strategies in Corin, that would lead us into uncharted waters. I’d helped the girls through the gaps in their sex ed classes, and he knew that, and he’d made arrangements to stay elsewhere whenever Max had a heat; otherwise, we’d never discussed intimate matters.
“I’ve barely seen Dan since then, but it’s water under the bridge.” Time to get the conversation back on track. “We’ll meet on Tuesday, as scheduled, and go from there.”
“The three of us are the only ones actually named in the trust documents.” Corin nods at me and Anamaria. “Max asked me, at the end, to include Dan, said his financial expertise might come in handy, and I honored that, but Max wouldn’t want you uncomfortable.”
“It’s not Dan that’s the problem.” I shake my head, wrapping my arms around my body. “I don’t even know him anymore.”
“Then why the shock?” Bebe gestures at the blanket.
I shake my head, shoulders hunching.
“Because Max didn’t tell her he was doing this,” Corin says, hand warm and comforting as he rubs my shoulder, his thumb brushing the side of my neck in a soft caress, “and now, she can’t ask why.”
Chapter 9
Different Kinds of Packs
JOHANNA
“Are you going back to the office tomorrow?”
Despite the airy whiff of lilac announcing Anamaria’s arrival, I jerk in surprise. A silky navy skirt drops through my fingers back onto the bed. It’s half-cleared, yet still covered in many tops, skirts, and dresses that I don’t remember having in my closet.
“Yes.” I pick the skirt up, fold it, and add it to the pile in need of ironing.
Anamaria drifts over to run her fingers across the clothes still hanging in the closet, all brighter shades than those I’ve been clearing off the bed. “Any worries that it will feel strange without Uncle Max?”
“I’ve been in the office this last month.” Not for a whole day at any time, but often enough to remain in the loop and ensure that necessary functions keep turning. Work stops for no one, especially since we have deadlines and staff to pay. New contracts to negotiate. Problems to iron out.
My hands tangle in a linen blouse before folding it and starting another to-be-ironed pile. “It’s strange, yes, but therewere days Max and I never crossed paths at the office. I’ll manage.”
“I’m sure you will.” Anamaria waits until my hands are free, then wraps me in a tight hug. Face too close for me to avoid her gaze, she offers, “If you need anyone to talk to, I’m here.”
“Is this one of your practicum hours?” I ask, careful to keep my voice light because she’s been good about not using her family as material for her psychology studies—though her face periodically scrunches up studiously as she watches one of her sisters, or Corin or me, and we can almost feel her analyzing us.
