11. Aria

11

ARIA

The bell above the door jingles like a hyperactive fairy as I burst into the Juice Joint, my heart doing the cha-cha in my chest. The trendy smoothie bar is an oasis of chill in the early evening chaos of Puritan City. A few patrons are scattered around, lost in their laptops or phones, oblivious to my mini meltdown.

The scent of fresh fruit and herbs hits me like a slap from Mother Nature herself, momentarily drowning out the stench of stress sweat clinging to me like a clingy ex. Ginger glances up from behind the counter, her bright smile fading faster than my resolve in a cupcake shop.

“Holy shit, Aria,” she says, already reaching for a glass with the speed of a bartender at last call. “You look like you need a Calm-o-mile Cooler with a shot of forget your troubles. What happened? Did you accidentally like your ex’s Instagram post from 2015?”

I make one mistake…

I collapse onto a stool, the cool metal shocking my overheated skin. “Make it a double,” I rasp, sounding like I’ve been gargling gravel. “And maybe add whatever makes people forget the last hour of their lives. Is amnesia on the secret menu?”

I’ve survived worse than this, and I’ve faced down alphas with egos bigger than their knots and come out swinging, but right now, I feel like I’m starring in my own personal soap opera— The Young and the Restless Omega: Puritan City Edition .

Ginger’s eyes narrow, a familiar spark of protective fury igniting in their depths. It’s the look that says she’s ready to throw hands with fate on my behalf. “Okay, now I’m officially worried. What happened? Did some knot-head alpha try something? Because I swear to God, I will end them. I have at least three plans for hiding a body, and I’m not afraid to use them.”

I shake my head, a laugh escaping me that sounds more like a wheeze. “No, nothing like that. It’s just… God, Ging, why is my life always such a clusterfuck? Did I piss off a witch in a past life or something?”

Ginger’s hands are a blur as she crafts the smoothie, her ginger hair bouncing like it’s at its own private rave. “Spill,” she demands, sliding the pale green concoction toward me. “What has you looking like you saw a ghost? Or worse, your ex?”

I take a long sip, letting the cool, herbal flavor wash over my tongue. It’s a soothing balm for my frazzled nerves, taking the edge off. “Funny you should mention exes,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Ginger’s eyebrows shoot up so fast I’m worried they might achieve orbit. “No fucking way. You ran into Noah? Here? I swear to God, Aria, if that piece of shit is in Puritan City, I will personally?—”

“No, no,” I interrupt, touched by her instant rage on my behalf. It’s one of the many reasons I love having my besties in Puritan City. They are like my own personal army of righteous fury, armed with sarcasm and a concerning knowledge of how to dispose of bodies. “Not Noah. It was… Dash.”

Ginger’s mouth forms a perfect O of surprise. “Dash? As in Pack Clarke Dash? Mr. I Can-Drink Everyone Under The Table alpha? The walking, talking don’t date musicians PSA? Honestly, I can’t wait to meet him.”

I nod, wincing at her colorful description. I recount the encounter, the memory still fresh and jagged in my mind. “He had this easy smile,” I add, remembering the moment, “like running into me was the best surprise he had all day. It was… unsettling, like seeing a shark suddenly sprout legs and offer to walk you home.”

As I speak, a memory surfaces, unbidden. It’s from before everything went south, a rare moment of peace with Pack Clarke. I find myself smiling as I remember game night.

Dash sprawls on the floor, his citrus and ocean breeze scent teasing my nose as he grins. “Your move, Red. Unless you’re too scared to build on Park Place?”

I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “In your dreams, rock star.”

Malachi chuckles from his armchair, his cedarwood and amber scent deepening. “Don’t let him goad you, Aria.”

Quinn leans in, his lavender and bergamot scent tickling my senses. “Psst, want to team up? I have my eye on Boardwalk.”

Before I can answer, Zane’s deep voice cuts in. “No alliances. House rules.” His leather and sandalwood scent, usually so intimidating, seems softer tonight.

I’m surprised to find myself relaxing. This isn’t what I expected from game night. Instead of tension, there’s laughter and gentle teasing. As I reach for the dice, my fingers brush Quinn’s, sending a small jolt through me. I meet his eyes and see the warmth there, and for a moment, I let myself imagine this being my normal.

Dash’s voice breaks the moment. “Well? Are you going to roll, or should we start a new game? Maybe one where you actually stand a chance?”

I narrow my eyes, a spark of competitiveness igniting within me. “Oh, it’s on, pretty boy.” As I shake the dice, I’m acutely aware of their eyes on me and their scents surrounding me. I think that maybe, just maybe, I could get used to this.

I shake off the memory, focusing back on Ginger. “I don’t know what to think, Ging. He seemed so… different. Like, pod people different. Half of me was looking for the zipper on his human suit.”

Ginger’s quiet for a moment, her brow furrowed in that way that means she’s piecing together a particularly tricky puzzle. “You know,” she says slowly, “this might actually be a good sign. I have an idea. Let me make some calls. I might be able to get us backstage access to that fundraiser. We can scope out the situation up close and personal, like undercover spies, but with better outfits.”

I give her a look that I hope conveys just how batshit crazy that statement is. “How is running into my ex-whatever-he-was, who’s part of a pack that treated me like yesterday’s garbage, a good sign? Did you spike your own smoothie?”

Ginger rolls her eyes so hard I’m worried she might strain something. “Because, you adorable disaster,” she says, her tone equal parts exasperated and loving, “it shows they might actually be trying to change. AA isn’t exactly a walk in the park, Aria. It’s more like a trek through the nine circles of Hell, except instead of fire and brimstone, it’s all your worst mistakes played on a loop while you’re sober enough to actually remember them.”

I chew on my lower lip, her words sinking in despite the wall of skepticism I’ve built higher than the Great Wall of China. “But what if it’s all an act? What if they are just trying to lure me back in like some kind of omega-nip?”

Ginger snorts. “By pretending to be recovering alcoholics? That’s one hell of a long con, even for alphas. What’s next, faking a personality transplant? Zane suddenly becoming a ray of sunshine? Malachi taking up stand-up comedy? Quinn giving up hacking?” She rolls her eyes at the last one.

Despite myself, I crack a smile. It’s small and fragile, like the first shoot of a plant breaking through concrete, but it’s there. “I guess you’re right,” I concede, feeling a bit of the tension ease from my shoulders. “It’s just… hard to trust them, you know? After everything that happened. It’s like trying to pet a dog that’s bitten you before, while it’s wearing a free hugs sign.”

Ginger nods, her expression softening into that look that says she really gets it. It’s a look I’ve come to treasure over our friendship, a silent I’ve got you that means more than words ever could. “Oh, I get it, believe me. I mean, you know me—I steer clear of alphas and omega men for a reason, but sometimes… sometimes people can surprise you. Like finding out that the dog that bit you was actually just scared and in pain. Or realizing the asshole alpha might just be a decent guy wrapped in a layer of douchebaggery.”

I raise an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. “That’s awfully optimistic coming from Ms. All Men Are Trash, and Alphas Are the Dumpster Fire They are Burning In. ”

She laughs, the sound bright and contagious. “Hey, I still mostly stand by that, but I’ve seen people change, Aria. Hell, look at us. We’re like the before and after pictures of a really intense makeover show, except instead of contouring, we got character development.”

I raise a brow at that.

“I’m not saying you should trust them right off the bat,” Ginger continues, her voice gentle but firm, like a mom telling you it’s okay to be scared of the dark but also that monsters aren’t real. “But maybe… just keep an open mind. See if their actions match their words before you write them off completely. It’s like dating, but instead of swiping left or right, you’re deciding whether to give someone a second chance at not being a total douche nozzle.”

I nod slowly, turning her advice over in my mind like a smooth stone, examining it from all angles. “You’re right. I don’t have to decide anything today. I can just… watch and see what they do, like a nature documentary, but with fewer lions and more emotional baggage.”

Ginger’s face lights up with a proud smile that makes me feel like I just aced a test I didn’t know I was taking. “That’s my girl. And speaking of watching…” She leans in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that makes me feel like we’re planning a heist instead of discussing my love life. “There’s this event next week, a fundraiser for omega rights. Word on the street is that some of Pack Clarke might be there. Could be a good chance to see how they behave in public. You know, see if they’ve evolved past the grunt and scratch stage of alpha development.”

A flutter of anxiety stirs in my stomach, like a flock of butterflies decided to throw a rave, but there’s something else mixed in—a spark of curiosity that refuses to be snuffed out. “I’ll think about it,” I say, and to my surprise, I actually mean it.

Damn it, she is the second person to tell me about this event. The universe is either trying to tell me something or it’s developed a really twisted sense of humor.

As I finish my smoothie, the mix of herbal flavors grounding me like roots in the earth, Ginger reaches across the counter and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you, Aria. Me, Cayenne, Willow—we’ve got your back. We’re like the Avengers, but with better hair and more emotional stability. Most of the time, anyway.”

I squeeze her hand in return, warmth spreading through my chest like I just chugged a mug of hot chocolate. “Thanks, Ging. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Probably make even worse life decisions and have a much less interesting Instagram feed and no puns.”

She gasps. “No puns?” She pretends to stab her heart. “How would I ever live?”

Rolling my eyes at her antics, I slide off my stool. “I’ll see you later.”

When I step out of the Juice Joint, the sky has darkened to the deep blue of a bruise, and the city lights flicker to life against the twilight like a thousand fireflies. My mind is still a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but there’s a new thread weaving through them—an ember of hope, tentative and fragile, like the first match struck in a dark room.

Maybe, just maybe, people can change, and maybe it’s time I allowed myself to change too. After all, if I can learn to appreciate kale smoothies, then anything is possible.

As I walk away from the Juice Joint, a part of me wonders if am I ready to face the pack again, or if I am walking straight into the lion’s den.