Page 89 of Now Their Starlet

My lower lip wobbles and I fight the urge to hide my face again.

“You—you’re really wise, you know that?”

Edison lets out a soft huff of laughter, shrugging his shoulders. “You live as much life as I have and you learn a thing or two. Now, let’s get you fed.”

“Okay,” I say past the lump in my throat, reluctantly stepping back from the embrace and wiping at my cheeks.

Beck steps up behind me, pressing soft kisses along my shoulder and the column of my neck from behind.

I’m grateful for his grounding, physical presence. Seems his omega senses must be tingling. He must know how close to falling apart I feel.

They all must know, based on the way they’re all so attentive to me throughout dinner.

I somehow end up sandwiched between Everett and Eli on the bench seat along the length of the dining table. They keep a steady supply of food on my plate without me ever having to ask for more.

It’s like their natural alpha instincts are screaming at them to make sure I’m taken care of.

Who am I to complain about being pampered? Sure, it feels a little strange, like I should be doing more to earn this affection, but I think that’s just my brain being stupid.

Chinese takeout and Italian food seem like a terribly strange combination, but I love both enough that I don’t mind it. Plus, shrimp scampi with honey walnut shrimp? A wonderful combination that I think I’ll unironically get moving forward.

I’m not able to eat nearly as much as I’d like to because I get full really quickly, but it’s still the best meal I think I’ve had in my entire life.

“I’ve called an omega specialist to the house,” Edison says, leaning back in his seat and glancing at his phone. “I meant to tell you earlier, but we got a little distracted.”

“Oh,” I say, my knuckles going white around my fork.

Why am I so nervous?

Maybe it’s because I’m terrified they’re going to tell me something is permanently wrong with me. I haven’t felt like myself ever since Gina locked me away. Will I ever feel like the real me again?

“They’re only here to help,” Everett murmurs, leaning his shoulder against mine gently.

“They’re not—they’re not going to be like ‘Oh, you’re all fucked up and should be moved to a facility,’ or something, right?” I ask, the copious amounts of shrimp sitting like lead in my stomach.

“Fuck no,” Eli snarls from beside me.

My lips quirk up in the barest hint of a smile, but I don’t let my hopes up and still direct my attention back towards my dad.

Even though he seems to be perfect and everything I’ve ever wanted in a parent, he still has a ridiculous level of control over me right now. He technically has the final say over everything.

“I wasn’t going to word it that way, but that’s the exact sentiment I have,” Edison says, obviously trying to reassure me.

Some of the tension in my shoulders releases ever so slightly with my next exhale, and I offer a shaky nod.

“Okay,” I rasp.

“It would be counterproductive to take you away from somewhere you feel safe and comfortable,” Leo offers softly. “No good omega specialist would make a recommendation like that in good conscience, especially after what you’ve been through.”

“Plus, even if whisking omegas away to facilities were common protocol, none of us here would let that happen,” Beck comments, waving his fork around passionately.

The doorbell chimes, making me jump in my seat.

“I’ll go get that,” Edison says, standing from the table.

All the guys, other than Everett, who remains a steady presence at my side, move to clear the table and put away the leftovers—as if they’re already familiar with each other and the space.

Hell, I think they know Edison’s kitchen better than I do, considering this is only the second time I’ve been here.