Page 57 of The Omega’s Nest

“He’s got nothing to be ashamed of,” Leo is saying firmly. “It’s done. Now he’s out. And if any fucking assholes around here have got anything to say about it, they can come to me.” There’s no mistaking the threat in his voice.

Bruiser lifts his hands. “Dude! No fucking judgement. I’m just, I’m just …” And his scent drops out. It’s not judgement, he’s telling the truth. There’s pity, but more than that, he smells of regret. “I’m just so fucking sorry, Adrian.”

I look at my friends and see, collectively, they are. I drop my gaze and rub the tattoo on the back of my hand. I’ll always wear this mark, but I can feel, really feel how much they don’t care about it the way I do. And why should I be ashamed anyway? I didn’t do anything wrong.

“It’s okay,” I say and mean it. “I should’ve called.”

“You should have,” Carly says. “Wait until everyone finds out. My God, Adrian, they’re gonna be so pissed.”

And I’m surprised when I only feel a flicker of dread at “everyone.”

We leave them with promises to meet up, to surf, to visit, and another round of hugs. I missed their smells, their faces. Faces I’ve known through the soft chubbiness of pre-primary to the spots of high school. I was so fucking stupid—any one of them would’ve hidden me.

“You okay?” Leo asks when we sit down in a booth, the ocean an unbroken stretch of blue to the horizon out the window beside us. It’s calm now, just a light ripple tapering to the shore. Hollow Point is a break I’d spent my whole surfing life studying, and yet it could still surprise me. It’s a rocky point break, where the winter swells hit the pronounced headland, refracting them out and producing the powerful, hollow waves the town is known for.

The best way to enter the break is at the peak. Fuck it up and you’ll find yourself getting smashed against the rocks—you get one shot at it. Under the water, in the bay, there are more rocks, sharp edges, and the potential for serious injury if you wipe out. It’s no place for beginners. The wave is indifferent to us, but it will kill you.

But get it right? It’s the longest, best tube ride in the world. I could ride that wave forever and not get bored with it. That’s my wave.

“Yeah,” I tell Leo and look back at him. He’s studying me with concern. He smells it too. But there’s not an ounce of regret in him, no hidden shame to have me as his mate, no discernible judgement for where I’ve been or what I’ve done. It’s seems unfathomable—an alpha mated to an omega with my history and he’s still looking at me like he always has. It’ll take a while, but having Leo’s conviction inside me, his certainty that I am still worth loving even after all that, well, it’s kind of hard not to feel like I’m going to be okay.

When the waitress comes over, I don’t hide the tattoo.

After Leo makes me eat my body weight in burgers, fries, two milkshakes, and an ice-cream, I think I’m going to throw up, so I doze in the car while he goes into his house to, “Pack my shit.”

His dad’s at work and I said I’d help, but Leo wanted me to stay here.

“My alpha side, umm, it doesn’t want you anywhere near my dad’s … space,” he told me. He smelled angry, and a little bit nervous. I left him to it.

Then I remember I’ve got a new phone. Sitting up, feeling a lot more awake, I open the box and get it set up.

Punching in my old details, I watch it load. As it comes online, my mouth drops open at the message icon. I have two thousand and ninety three messages. My voicemail is full. My social media icons show similarly ridiculous high numbers.

I open the messages. One thousand nine hundred and sixty-three messages are from Leo. My other friends are there, though those are older. Leo’s last message was from the day he came to the brothel. I open it, heart racing.

The last message was sent at 8:23 p.m.

How could you do this?

I suck in a sharp breath, scroll up, and read the thread from that night.

6:07 p.m. My dad said you bonded. I just…

6:15 p.m. I want to hate you, but I can’t.

7:00 p.m. I know I should say congratulations.

7:03 p.m. I hope you’re happy, I guess.

8:15 p.m. I love you so fucking much, you know that?

8:23 p.m. How could you do this?

Tears well in my eyes. He thought I’d bonded someone else. I imagine if that was me—Leo bonding someone else—and I can’t catch my breath.

“Addie?” Leo says. Bags and gear clatter on the pavement outside the open car door. “Addie? What is it?”

He’s patting me down, his concern in his scent, in his scowl.