1. Meggie

1

Meggie

Vicksters: YOU GOT THIS! OLYMPICS BABYYY!!!!

Momma: I'm so proud of you. We're cheering for you sweetie!

Lily Billy: Swim so super duper fucking fast!

Momma: Lily!

Lily Billy: I'm almost 12 mom, I can curse now

Momma: Like hell you can young lady

I appreciate my family's encouragement, but it doesn't stop the rolling in my stomach. It just reminds how much is at stake. All of my dreams ride on this one race. And even my family doesn't know the rules I'm breaking to be here.

My hand shakes as I set my phone down on the bleachers next to my best friend, Emily. Her short hair is still dripping wet from her high dive competition earlier today, and she's still beaming from making the cut for the Olympics.

She gives me a tight hug. "You've got this, Meggie. You're gonna do great."

I wish I was as certain as her. It's not that I doubt my abilities. I'm a good swimmer. But so is everyone else here.

The announcer calls the next race, and I adjust my swim cap, tucking up the strands of hair that threaten to come loose, before stepping up to the edge of the diving block.

This is it. The last race of the day. My last chance to shave seconds off my time and prove myself worthy of the Olympic team.

"You know, if you don't make the cut, I'll still take you to Paris." Daniel Teague, my ex-boyfriend, and the last person I want to see right now, stretches his arms up over his head from the lane right next to mine. "Give me another shot. It's not like you're dating anyone else."

It's been over two years, but he still pesters me about getting back together. It's not that he really cares about me, or even misses me. I hurt his ego. And as an alpha, that's an insult he can't tolerate. He just can't believe that anyone wouldn't want to be with him.

I ignore him, focusing my attention on the other side of the pool. I can do this.

"Come on, don't be like that," he says. "We both know you're not gonna win. You're a beta."

I'm not. But he doesn't know that. He can never know that.

I take deep breaths, tuning Daniel out, trying to still the shaking in my gut.

Crouching into position, I stare down and ahead, through the still water to the black line of my lane.

Thankfully, Daniel shuts up so that he can get himself in position, too.

The buzzer sounds. I dive.

The water is cool against my skin and flows over my curves as I propel myself forward. Kick. Stroke. Kick. Stroke. Faster. Faster. The salty chlorine on my lips tastes familiar, like home. It's muscle memory at this point. My body knows what to do and my mind pushes my muscles to dig deeper.

I reach the end of my lane, somersault in the water, and kick off the wall. Racing toward the finish, back at the other end of the pool. Kick. Stroke. Kick. Stroke. Faster. Faster. My thighs are burning and my shoulders are screaming, but I won't slow down. I can't.

Pushing everything into my final stroke, I reach for the wall of the pool and push my hand into the hard tile. I'm done.

Breaking through the surface of the water, I immediately snap my head to the scoreboard.

I lost.

I can't believe it. Two hundredths of a second behind Daniel. A hair's breadth away from making the Olympic team.

Daniel turns and smiles like a crocodile snapping his teeth. I sink under the water, unable to face the crowd. My friends and family. The disappointment. All of it.

My tears mix with the chlorine, grief floating away into the pool. I won't cry above water. Won't give Daniel the satisfaction of seeing how much this loss hurts. So I hold my breath until my lungs burn.

When I come up gasping, Daniel is still smiling. I turn my back so he won't notice my quivering lip as I pull myself out of the pool.

With my head down, I go straight to the women's locker room, not bothering to grab a towel or dry off. The air is a humid comfort, like a blanket settling on my shoulders. But the smell of chlorine just reminds me of my failure. I duck away from everyone else and head straight towards the shower, but I don't make it in time to escape my best friend, who bounds over with all the energy of a slingshot.

"You did amazing, Megs! You should be really proud of yourself. That was your best time yet!" Emily keeps going, praise after praise, as if she can wipe away my defeat with enough compliments.

After rambling like an eager cheerleader for five minutes, she finally gives up. Mostly.

"Okay, fine." She hip checks me. "I'll let you pout and wallow. But you're still coming to the party tonight. I won't let you get out of it." She grins like she's dangling a treat in front of me. "You can get drunk now that the tryouts are over."

I start to say no, but the touch of vulnerability in her eyes stops me. She's just as disappointed as I am that we're not going to the Olympics together. She just shows it differently.

Emily is toxic positivity personified, but she's got an insecure side hiding behind it all. I can't miss her celebration because of my failure. I can't abandon her. Not after everything she's done for me. Emily is the only one who knows I'm an omega. She's helped me keep my designation a secret for two years. If she needs me to celebrate with her tonight, I'll do it. I'll do anything for her.

"Yeah. I'll be there." Still dripping from the pool, I hug her tight.

"Hey, don't get me all wet!" She somehow winces and smiles at the same time as she looks at the water-splotched sundress she's wearing. "Go get cleaned up! We need to practice partying for the Olympic village."

I grimace, and she covers her mouth with her hand. "Sorry."

I don't blame her for momentarily forgetting I didn't qualify. We've been dreaming about going to the Olympics together since we first met at a swim competition six years ago. Actively planning it since we moved in together four years ago. It's been a done deal. A certainty. Only now… it's not.

I force a weak smile. "I'll meet you there, okay?"

Her look is assessing, like she's trying to decide if it's safe to leave me alone.

"I'm fine," I reassure.

"You're not." She shakes her head. "But you will be."

"Yeah. I will." My tone is less convincing.

Her lips turn up in a sad smile. "It's only four years until the next Olympics."

"Yeah," I repeat, without conviction.

What are the chances I can avoid going into heat for that long? When I designated as an omega two years ago, I immediately started taking illegal blockers to hide my scent and illegal suppressants to keep me from going into heat. Both are significantly more effective the younger you are, and if you've never had a heat before. It's one thing to block my scent and heat cycle for the first two years after I perfumed at twenty. It's another to suppress it until I'm twenty-six. Especially when ninety-seven percent of omegas go into heat before their twenty-third birthday, with or without suppressants. Some people say it happens sooner if the omega spends a lot of time around Alphas or has a lot of orgasms. Though the research is inconclusive.

To play it safe, I don't date. I haven't touched myself or had an orgasm since I found out I'm an omega. And I avoid alphas like they're a disease I don't want to catch.

It's why I broke up with Daniel as soon as I realized my designation. I cared about the Olympics a lot more than our relationship. Now, I'm glad I did. He showed his true colors when I ended things.

Emily leaves, and I shower. But I don't rush. The scalding hot water is both a punishment and a balm that I don't want to give up. I know I can't hide away in the shower forever, but I kind of wish I could. I'm not ready to face the well-meaning sympathy of my family and friends.

Being an Olympic swimmer is the only thing I've ever really wanted. I've put my entire life on hold for this. I've hidden the biggest part of who I am because of it.

Now, I just feel lost.