13. Aria

13

ARIA

I burst into the Omega Guardians lounge like a tornado, my heart doing the cha-cha in my chest. The usually cozy space, with its warm amber lighting and plush, cream-colored sofas, suddenly feels as confining as a sports bra. The scent of lavender and vanilla hangs in the air, trying and failing to calm the storm of my emotions. A gentle jazz tune plays softly in the background, its mellow tones completely at odds with my frantic state.

Ginger, Cayenne, and Willow are already there, their chatter cutting off abruptly as they take in my frazzled state. I must look like a mess, because even the potted ficus in the corner seems to lean away from me.

“Holy shit, Aria.” Cayenne is the first to speak, her brow furrowing with concern as she makes room for me. Her fiery red hair seems to crackle with electricity, matching her intense gaze. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or worse, your ex. Wait, did you?—”

I collapse onto the sofa. Running a shaky hand through my hair, I manage to croak out, “Zane. He… He apologized.”

Their reactions are instant and varied, like I just announced I’m joining a circus as a fire-breathing mermaid. Ginger’s eyes narrow, suspicion radiating off her in waves, and Cayenne leans forward, curiosity and worry battling for dominance on her face, while Willow’s expression shifts to something thoughtful and unreadable, like a poker player with a royal flush.

For a moment, I’m transported back to a happier time with Pack Clarke. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and we were all sprawled in the living room. Malachi was reading, his cedarwood and amber scent a comforting presence. Quinn was tinkering with some gadget, his lavender and bergamot aroma mixing with the fragrance of coffee. Dash was strumming his guitar, citrus and ocean breeze wafting through the air. Zane… Zane was actually smiling, his leather and sandalwood scent wrapping around me like a warm blanket. It was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

“Spill,” Ginger demands, snapping me back to the present as she slides a glass of wine into my hand with the precision of a seasoned bartender. “Every. Single. Detail. Don’t you dare leave out the juicy bits either.”

I take a fortifying sip, the rich merlot coating my tongue. As I recount the encounter, I don’t leave anything out—the shock of seeing him, the rush of old fears, the way he stood there, awkward and vulnerable, trying to apologize.

When I finish, my friends are quiet as they process what I shared, and the tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a spoon.

“Well,” Cayenne says after a beat, a hint of a smile playing on her lips like she’s savoring a secret, “it’s about damn time he owned up to his shit. I was starting to think we’d see pigs fly first, or Ginger willingly eat kale.”

Ginger snorts, crossing her arms. “Oh, sure, one sorry and we’re supposed to forget everything? I’ve had hangovers last longer than his apologies.” She pauses, then adds, “And hey, I’ll have you know I ate kale once. Accidentally. It was hiding in a smoothie like a vegetable ninja.”

Willow, ever the peacemaker, nods thoughtfully, her voice soft but firm like a velvet-covered steel beam. “No, it doesn’t fix anything on its own, but it’s a start. The question is, Aria, what do you want to do about it? Remember, growth isn’t just about them changing, it’s also about you evolving. You’re not the same omega you were when this all started.”

I take another sip of wine, buying myself time. “I… I don’t know,” I admit, staring into the deep red liquid as if it might suddenly spell out the answers. “Part of me wants to believe he changed, but…”

“But you’re scared,” Cayenne finishes, her expression softening. “And that’s completely understandable. If you weren’t at least a little freaked out, I’d be worried you’d been body snatched by pod people.”

“Look,” Ginger says, her voice a mix of irritation and reluctant hope, “I know I’m usually the last person to advocate for giving alphas a chance, but… well, I have some news that might change things.”

We all turn to look at her, our curiosity piqued like cats who just heard a can opener.

“I got a job,” Ginger announces, a grin spreading across her face. “Here, at Omega Guardians, and… well, part of why I took it is because of the changes I’ve been seeing. The collaboration with Pack Clarke and the new programs they are implementing… It’s actually making a difference, and it’s better than making smoothies.”

I blink at her, stunned. If my jaw dropped any lower, it’d be having a chat with my kneecaps. “Wait, you’re working here now? With Pack Clarke?” A surge of irritation sweeps up my spine that my friend would work with my scent matches.

Ginger nods, looking both excited and sheepish. “I know it sounds crazy, especially coming from me, but Aria, the work they are doing is real. They aren’t just talking about change—they are making it happen.”

“And,” Cayenne adds, her eyes sparkling with something like hope, “I’m thinking of transferring here too. The opportunities for betas are incredible. I’ve already started mapping out the Omega Guardians’ systems. Give me a week, and I’ll know this place better than my own apartment.”

I lean back, stunned, the soft leather of the sofa squeaking slightly under my weight. My friends—my fiercely independent, alpha wary friends—are now willingly aligning themselves with Pack Clarke? It feels like the ground beneath my feet has shifted, leaving me off balance.

“I don’t understand,” I say, my voice small and uncertain. “How can you trust them after everything?”

Willow reaches over, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. Her touch is grounding, her skin cool against my feverish palm. “It’s not about blind trust, Aria. It’s about seeing actions that match words, and from what I’ve observed, Pack Clarke is really trying to make amends. They aren’t perfect, but they are trying. Sometimes, that’s all we can ask for.”

A heated discussion follows, each of my friends offering their perspective. I find myself thinking about each member of Pack Clarke.

“Guys,” I say, my voice cutting through their debate. “I think I need to take this one day at a time. I’m not ready to forgive and forget, but… maybe I’m ready to observe and see if their actions really do match their words.”

My friends fall silent, their faces a mix of pride and concern. Cayenne reaches over, her smile warm and reassuring. “Whether you’re kicking alpha ass or making nice, we’re your personal cheerleading squad—pom-poms are optional, but the snarky comments are mandatory.”

Ginger nods firmly, clinking her glass against mine with enough force to slosh wine onto the coffee table. “Always. We’re like a vodka, tonic, and lime. Separately, we’re good, but together, we’re a knockout that’ll leave you with a hangover and no regrets.”

Willow, a glint of mischief in her eyes, adds, “And speaking of observing, there’s an Omega Guardians event coming up. Pack Clarke will be there. It could be a good chance to see how they behave in a public setting. No pressure, just… something to think about. Plus, there’s an open bar. You know, in case you need liquid courage or a place to hide.”

I feel a flutter of anxiety mixed with something lighter, something almost like excitement. The thought of seeing Pack Clarke in a controlled environment, surrounded by the safety of Omega Guardians, is tempting. It’s a chance to observe, to assess, and to start figuring out what I want from this mess.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, surprised by how much I mean it, “but if I go, you’re all coming with me. I’m going to need backup and possibly a cattle prod… or at least some really pointy shoes.”

We spend the rest of the evening catching up, the heavy conversation giving way to lighter topics and shared laughter that echoes off the walls. As we toast to new beginnings—Ginger’s job, Cayenne’s potential transfer, and my uncertain but hopeful outlook—I feel a warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the wine.

Later, as I head up to my apartment, the idea of seeing Pack Clarke at the event both terrifies and intrigues me, but I push those thoughts aside for now.

Baby steps, Aria. You’re not running a marathon, you’re tiptoeing through an alpha minefield in stilettos.

I take a deep breath and open a window, feeling the crisp night air fill my lungs. The future is still a question mark, but for the first time in a long while, it doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels like an opportunity.

I’m not going to let Zane or anyone else dictate my life. I’ll face this on my own terms, even if those terms include hiding behind a potted plant at a fancy event. This omega has backup, and we’re ready for whatever comes next.