I set the fork down. This is a talk I thought a lot about having with him, especially when I first reached out to him and asked for his help. I played this conversation over and over in my head, all the different ways it could go—but not once did I ever think I’d feel like I do now. Again, things are different.
“No,” I say softly, “we couldn’t have.”
The expression he wears right then is pained and sorrowful.
“I lost everything. I lost my family and what future I had. When I came back, I wasn’t the same girl you used to know. I was…” I shrug. “I was a zombie, a skeleton of who I used to be. We couldn’t have gone back to the way things were because I was different, and so were you.”
“Still,” Asher whispers, “I should’ve tried. I was a dumb kid, but that’s no excuse.”
“Yeah,” I admit, “you should’ve tried, but I probably wouldn’t have let you in. We both came out that year different. I resented you and everyone else for a long time because of it. The resentment made me feel better at the time, but now that I’m looking back… nothing really made me feel better. I was broken, depressed. I probably still am, to a point.”
“Still am what?”
I look at him like he’s crazy. Isn’t it obvious what I meant? “Broken and depressed, obviously. It’s why I get along with your brother so much. I think he’s depressed too, not that he’d ever admit it to you or your parents.”
That causes him to crease his brows and sit a bit straighter. “You really think he’s…” When I nod, he sighs. “Crap. I didn’t know.” He’s quiet for a while, probably wondering why he didn’t pick up on the signs of his brother’s not so good mental health, but after a bit, he turns the conversation back to me. “You’re not broken. You might be depressed, but you’re not broken. We can get you help, you and Mason. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
Based on the fervor, on the way he says it, I know he means it, and I know he believes there’s absolutely no shame in feeling the way Mason and I feel—but he still doesn’t have the full picture, at least not when it comes to me.
“I don’t think antidepressants are going to fix me,” I whisper.
“You don’t need to be fixed. You just… need some help, that’s all. We’ll figure it out—”
“No, I mean, literally, there’s no pill out there that can fix me. No therapy, no surgery. I met with so many doctors, and though they all tried, none of them could fix me and put me back together the way I was before the accident.”
His concern is palpable. It’s the only reason I feel comfortable saying what I say next.
I suck in a hard breath, figuring I might as well just get it out there. No use in beating around the bush, not anymore. Not with the state of things. Having a broken omega isn’t fair to any of them. Not Asher, not Mason, and definitely not Rourke.
“I can’t smell anything,” I say. “I can’t smell when you or Mason or even Rourke walk into a room. I can’t smell cookies fresh out of the oven. Can’t smell body odor or farts either—those ones I don’t miss, but I do miss everything else.” And I have caught myself wondering more and more lately what the three alphas in this house smell like.
It’s really not fair. I wish I could breathe them in like they can breathe me in.
“My aunt took me to doctor after doctor, specialist after specialist,” I say. “It’s where I spent most of my time outside of school after the accident, up until recently, and I think it only stopped because we ran through all of the nearby options. The sad thing is, she never wanted to fix me to help me. Anytime she brought it up, it was always for my future pack’s benefit.”
I roll my eyes and mutter, “Because who would want a damaged, broken omega? No one. Even an omega with my last name, the last Dryers, I’d still be an outcast. Unwanted. Unchosen. I’m surprised she never sent me off to one of those auction houses.” Omegas who aren’t from founding families often end up there if their families can’t secure a match for them. It’s sad.
Asher reaches for me, and I let him take one of my hands in his. He scoots closer to me, holding my stare with a seriousnesshe has no reason to command when he tells me, “Listen to me, Jess: you are not broken. You’re not damaged. You’re you, and you’re amazing. If I wouldn’t have been such a little dick back then, I would’ve told you that every single day.”
The way he holds onto my hand, how his thumb runs along my knuckles; it’s a strangely comforting thing. And what’s even stranger is that I believe him. I believe everything he says.
“I guess we have a lot of time to make up for, then,” I whisper. “You can start telling me I’m amazing now.”
The grin that spreads on his face is one of pure joy and warmth, and the words that follow are dripping with that same joy and warmth: “You’re amazing. You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I hate that I spent the last ten years being a stranger to you.”
I smile at him. “That’s nice. A girl could get used to compliments like that every day.”
“I could give them to you every hour, if you want.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. That might be overkill.”
He laughs softly, and he pulls his hand off mine. “I guess I should let you eat in peace.”
“Yeah, I bet your dinner’s getting cold down there.”
He stands, but something still weighs on him. He looks back at me. “What you said about not being able to smell… is that something you want me to keep from the others? Rourke might suspect something, but—”
I think about it. At this point, I don’t know what I’d stand to gain by keeping the others in the dark. Besides, if Rourke suspects something, it’s only a matter of time until he finds it out for himself. I suppose it’s better for everyone if we just get it out in the open now rather than wait until God knows when.
