52. Aria

52

ARIA

As I step off the plane and into the California sunshine, warmth immediately seeps into my skin. The familiar scent of salt and eucalyptus hits me like a punch to the gut, mingling with the acrid smell of jet fuel and the bustling airport. My pack surrounds me, their protective presence a constant comfort even as it feels overwhelming in this moment.

Memories flood back with each breath. Part of me wants to run and hide from the pain of the past, but a stronger part, the part Aunt Sara nurtured and my pack has strengthened, stands firm. I’m not just here to say goodbye. I’m here to reclaim a piece of myself.

My scent of orange creamsicle mingles with their unique fragrances, and it creates a bubble of familiarity in a place that now feels foreign and distant.

The cacophony of the airport assaults my ears—announcements blaring over loudspeakers, the rumble of luggage carts, and the constant chatter of travelers. It’s all so familiar yet strangely alien now.

“How are you holding up, sparkles?” Dash asks, his hand resting gently on my lower back. The warmth of his touch seeps through my thin shirt, grounding me. “Need me to juggle some oranges to lighten the mood? I’ve been practicing.”

Despite everything, I feel a small smile tugging at my lips. “Maybe later, Dash. Let’s just… get through this first.”

As we make our way through the airport, I spot a mural I used to love as a child. The vibrant colors seem to leap off the wall, and suddenly, I’m transported back in time. Memories rush back—Aunt Sara pointing out the intricate details, the smell of her familiar lavender perfume, and me begging to stay and look “just five more minutes” every time we flew.

“Did you know that the scent of eucalyptus actually has stress reducing properties?” Quinn chimes in, his eyes bright with that spark he gets when sharing interesting facts. “Nature’s own antianxiety medication, right here in the air.”

“Aria?” Malachi’s deep voice pulls me back to the present, his hand on my shoulder a comforting weight. “The car’s here.”

As we drive to the funeral home, the leather seats of the rental car cool against my skin, I find myself sharing snippets of my past, pointing out landmarks, and recounting memories. The pack listens attentively, their quiet comments and questions showing how deeply they want to understand this part of me. The familiar sights, sounds, and smells of my childhood home blur past the window, each one triggering a cascade of memories.

“Aunt Sara used to take me to that park every Sunday,” I say, gesturing to a green space we pass. The scent of freshly cut grass drifts through the open window. “She’d pack these elaborate picnics, even though she couldn’t cook to save her life. I can still taste those oddly flavored sandwiches she’d make.”

Quinn chuckles softly, the sound warm and comforting. “Sounds like she really loved you.”

“She did,” I reply, my voice stronger now, filled with a mix of grief and gratitude. “She sacrificed everything for me, and I’m going to make sure that sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”

Zane’s hand finds mine, his calloused palm rough against my skin as he squeezes gently. The contrast between his strength and gentleness sends a shiver down my spine. “This weight you’re carrying? It’s ours now too. We have the strength to bear it, all of it.”

At the funeral home, the smells of disinfectant and artificial floral scents assault my nose. We’re immediately met with unexpected complications. There’s missing paperwork and legal hoops we need to jump through. I start to unravel, the stress and emotion of the day becoming too much. My breath quickens, and I feel the walls closing in, the fluorescent lights suddenly too bright.

Then, though, I feel my pack rallying around me. Malachi takes charge, his calm authority cutting through the red tape. The sound of his steady voice anchors me. Quinn’s quick thinking resolves the paperwork issues, navigating the bureaucracy with a finesse I’ve only ever seen him use with tricky clients at the salon. His fingers fly over the forms, the soft scratching of pen on paper oddly soothing. Zane and Dash create a protective barrier, their bodies warm and solid on either side of me, shielding me from the prying eyes and unnecessary questions of the funeral home staff.

Finally, we’re led to where Aunt Sara’s body is being kept. I hesitate at the door, the cool metal of the handle beneath my palm suddenly feeling like an insurmountable barrier. My breath catches, and I feel my heart thud in my chest, the sound loud in my ears.

“We can wait outside if you want privacy,” Malachi offers, his hand warm on my shoulder.

I shake my head, swallowing hard. “No, I need you with me. All of you.”

We enter together, and I see her. Aunt Sara looks peaceful, almost like she’s sleeping, but the stillness and absence of her vibrant energy feel like a punch to the gut. The room is cold, the scent of preservation chemicals sharp in my nose. A sob escapes me, and instantly, I’m surrounded by my pack, their arms wrapping around me. Their combined warmth and scents envelop me like a protective cocoon.

Through my tears, I find myself sharing a memory, my voice thick with emotion. “She used to sing to me when I had nightmares. It was this silly little song about brave little omegas facing their fears. I can still hear her voice, slightly off-key but so full of love. I never understood why it made her cry until… until I presented, and she told me about my parents, about the danger we were in.”

They listen, not interrupting, their company a silent balm to my raw emotions. When I finish, they each offer comfort in their own ways—Malachi’s steady hand on my shoulder, Zane’s gaze full of understanding, Quinn’s soft words of encouragement, and Dash’s attempt to lighten the mood with a quiet joke about Aunt Sara’s cooking.

As we finalize the arrangements to transport Aunt Sara’s body home, I feel a storm of emotions inside me—grief for the aunt who was more like a mother, guilt for the years we lost, gratitude for the sacrifices she made, and a deep, profound love for the pack who stands by me now.

“We need to make one more stop before we leave,” I say, my voice steady despite the emotions churning inside me. “There’s a place I need to visit to say goodbye properly.”

The pack agrees without hesitation. As we drive, I find myself lost in thought, staring out the window at the familiar landscape that feels so changed. The sun is starting to set, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and pinks. I catch my reflection in the glass, and for a fleeting moment, I see the scared little girl Aunt Sara protected, overlaid with the woman I’ve become, surrounded by the strength and love of my pack.

“We’ll have a proper memorial service when we get home,” Malachi says, his voice gentle but firm, “to honor Aunt Sara and everything she did for you.”

I nod, feeling a sense of peace begin to settle over me. This trip, painful as it is, is helping me bridge my past and my present. It’s allowing me to move forward without losing sight of where I came from.

Our car pulls up to a familiar beach—the one Aunt Sara used to take me to when we needed a break from the world. The waves crash against the shore, the rhythmic sound soothing my frayed nerves. The scent of salt mingles with my pack’s comforting scents, creating a unique blend of past and present.

As I stand here, the sand cool beneath my feet, I feel the pieces of my life coming together. The scared little girl Aunt Sara protected, the survivor who escaped Noah, and the omega who found her pack are all part of me, and for the first time, I feel whole.

As the sun sets over the ocean, I take a deep breath of the salty air and let it out slowly, feeling lighter than I have in a long time. The future stretches out before us, full of challenges and possibilities, but now, with the sand between my toes and the warmth of my pack surrounding me, I’m grateful for the chance to honor my past while embracing my present.

We stand here until the light fades and the temperature drops, bringing goosebumps to my skin. As we turn to leave, I take one last look at the horizon, the stars just beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky. I feel a quiet resolve settle in my bones, as solid and unchanging as the rhythm of the waves.

“Aunt Sara’s legacy won’t end here,” I say, my voice clear and strong. “It lives on in every choice I make, in the life we build together, and in the fight we take on to make the world better for every omega.”

My pack nods, their eyes shining with pride and love. We are Pack Clarke, and together, we can overcome anything. The soft sand shifts beneath our feet as we make our way back to the car, the night air cool against our skin, but I’ve never felt warmer or more secure, surrounded by the love of my chosen family.

As we drive away, I feel a sense of closure, but also of new beginnings. We’re heading home, but home isn’t a place anymore. It’s wherever we are together, and that thought is more comforting than any familiar landscape could ever be.