37. Sawyer

37

Iwring the sponge out, then wipe the sink behind the bar once more. Is it clean now? I've done it three times. Not a good number. Two more should do it.

So I start again, my heart racing, spraying disinfectant and wiping it again, until it gleams, and?—

"Sawyer? You okay back there?"

The voice startles me, but after a long moment, I recognize it, my mind snapping into focus.

"Soph."

"What's up, Sawyer?" Sophie smiles. "You look preoccupied."

She's a sweet alpha femme fatale who used to room together with Bee and Gigi. Now both girls got their dream packs and have moved out. Sophie hasn't commented on her new roommates, and truth is, I don't know them, and I haven't even asked her how she's doing lately.

I'm a damn lousy friend.

"I'm fine," I say.

While cleaning the counter. Tapping my fingers. Counting. Oh fuck, I need to wipe the sink one last time to round up the number. So I start doing that, even as Sophie watches.

I'm going crazy.

The pack I met yesterday was… nasty. I'm fucking shaken, man. The other packs my parents sent my way were nice, if bland, but this one… I was so freaked out that, once I left, I ran. I ran and ran until I found myself lost in the city. Thank fuck for mobile internet and being able to call an Uber to wherever the hell I was.

Things they said echo inside my head.

They cornered me. Shoved me. Licked my neck. Told me I was a good-for-nothing omega, dependent on my fucking parents, sold like a good little slave to pleasure them, and that they'd use me any way they saw fit once the deal was signed.

They didn't seem to think I was in a position to refuse them.

Jesus.

I honestly thought they were going to assault me, right then and there, inside their house. After all, I'm not that strong. I can't push two alphas and two betas off me.

Shaken. To the bone.

"Come on, Sawyer," Sophie says, startling me. I'd forgotten she was there. "You can talk to me. You don't have to pretend. Drop the mask."

But I can't do that. I shake off the panic and find that I'm clutching the sponge in my hand so hard my knuckles are white. Putting it away, I wipe my hands on the towel hanging on the hook by the sink and avoid her all-knowing gaze.

"I really am fine," I lie. "I just have to… to make a decision."

And that's the truth. What happened last night actually… made the choice easier, didn't it? Last night's pack is out of the race. Which leaves… two packs to choose from. Nice packs. Nice guys. One of them had a beta girl who was quite sweet.

Not as sweet as Brinlee.

But Brinlee doesn't want you anymore.

With good reason.

Pushing her away, even inadvertently, was the best thing that could have happened, I remind myself. You'd have had to do it soon enough. Maybe she won't hate you forever.

And the McGraw Pack… they haven't been around.

It shouldn't hurt like this. I made a choice. I need to keep my café, my business, and the only way is choosing one of the packs my parents selected.

Choosing your career over people, over feelings. Well, Sawyer, never thought you had it in you. Such a stone-cold bastard…

Doesn't feel that way, though. It feels as though my heart is shattering inside my chest, digging jagged shards into my flesh and bones.

My hands are shaking. I clench them into fists by my sides.

Sophie is still there, perched on a stool, giving me a penetrating look. "You know spacing out isn't a good sign, right?"

"Huh?"

"When your friends are talking to you."

I wince. "I'm sorry."

"That's not why I'm saying it. Have you tried art to reduce anxiety? Meditation?"

"Sure." I swallow hard. I don't tell her I haven't tried anything recently. I took a pill last night, and another one this morning. Could be why I feel as if I'm moving through fog. There's a reason I've been avoiding those pills.

"No dice with the yoga and meditation, huh?"

"Nope," I say.

"Listen—"

"I'm good." I dredge up a smile for her. I can tell from her narrowing eyes that it's not a convincing performance, but trying to pretend is adding to the stress. It's a vicious circle. "Why don't you go and take a seat? I'd better come and take your orders."

"Sawyer—"

"Please."

She backs down, giving me a few seconds to catch my breath, do my best to center myself.

This isn't the end of the world, I remind myself. This is your choice. And you don't have to stay with a pack forever if you hate them. Even if my parents' contract says it has to be at least five years.

I can do five years.

Right?

I've waited all my life to be independent, to create this place. It's my brainchild, my heart-child. Giving up on it so easily would be a crime. A murder of dreams.

And what about the dream of finding your soulmates and a happily ever after? What about that?

Damn.

It's too late anyway, I tell myself, grabbing my notepad and pen and heading over to the table the girls have claimed. It's a done deal.

Accept it.

Giving the girls a genuine smile, even if a bit strained, I ask, "What will it be, ladies?"

"Ice coffee for me," June says, "please. You know the drill?—"

"No sugar," I intone, "lactose-free, gluten-free?—"

"Where's the pleasure in that? I don't understand why you keep doing that to yourself, June," Coco mutters, "honestly."

"I need to lose weight," June protests.

"My ass, you do. You look perfectly fine to me."

"I agree with Miss Coco," I say.

June harrumphs softly, rolling her eyes. She's pretty as a picture, perfectly omega-like, with no doubts about her designation or her dreams.

No conflict there—unlike me…

"I'll take my usual." Coco winks at me. "Since I am happy with my curves."

"As you should be," I mutter.

"Right!" Coco beams. "So a cappuccino, please, with double cream and chocolate flakes, a dash of cinnamon on top."

"Coming right up," I say, on autopilot. I don't even have to write down their drinks, they're always the same. "And for you, Soph?"

"I'd like a smile from you," Sophie says. "A real one."

I groan inwardly. And smile. "How is that?"

"Better," she says.

"And to drink?"

"A flat white. Oh, and Sawyer?"

"Yes?" I stop, already half-turning away.

"We'll talk later," she says.

This time I can't keep my groan behind my teeth. Sighing, I go to prepare their orders.

The girls don't pay attention to me when I return with my tray. My hands were shaking so badly I spilled most of their coffees and had to redo them, hence my delay.

I shouldn't have worried. They're staring at something on June's phone.

"Here you go," I say brightly, lifting the steaming mugs off the tray and placing them on the table. "Your flat white, your cappuccino, your?—"

"Thanks." Sophie pats the table. "Just put it here, honey."

"What are you looking at?" I need the distraction. My foot is tapping already a rhythm to match the renewed counting inside my head.

"Hunks," June says absently, sitting almost in Coco's lap, drawing her lower lip between her teeth in concentration. "Oh, stop scrolling, there, there. That one!"

"Lordy, that's nice," Sophie purrs, leaning over so much to see she's in danger of dipping her chin inside her coffee. "Look at those abs! Unreal."

Walking around the table, I lean in to see. "Are those… bat wings on his back?"

"I love me some bat-men," Coco sighs. "It must be from a fantasy book or movie."

I don't mind me some bat-men, either, though currently the only men on my mind are a trio of human hunks, quite wingless, and plenty sexy.

I should call Roman, I think, tell him… tell him what exactly?

‘I'm sorry, Roman. Please, tell the others, too. I'm about to choose a pack that isn't you to tie the knot. Sorry I hung out with you. Did you realize how much I want you? How badly I?—?'

"Enough imaginary hunk time," Coco decides, putting her phone face-down on the table, to the groans of the two other girls. "Sawyer, come sit with us."

"Uh," I hedge, "I really shouldn't. I need to clean the?—"

"If your café was any cleaner," June says, "it would be a hospital. The operating room."

I wince. "Now, let's not exaggerate?—"

"I'm not," June says. "Seriously, have a seat. Haven't seen you in ages."

"You saw me last week," I point out.

"In passing. Not the same. You don't spend time with us." A perfect pout. "You don't love us anymore."

I swallow a sigh. Unlike omega men, omega girls are given free rein to be who and what they are: playful, sometimes melodramatic, childish, annoying, funny. We omega males have to tread a fine line between our omega nature and what is seen as masculine. Sure, we're expected to sleep with men as much as with women, it's not a sexuality thing. More of a… gender stereotyping thing. A macho thing.

"Now tell us the truth," Coco says. "The reason you look so miserable—is it that girl you've been pining over?"

Startled by the question, still thinking about June's pout and my role in society, I blink at her. "What?"

"That girl who comes over sometimes," June says. "You know! The pretty one with the fluffy blond hair and the big eyes and the long skirts."

"Right. Yeah." I swallow hard. "I mean, no. I'm not pining."

"Or was it those guys?" Sophie says, as if she hasn't heard me.

I start again. "What guys?"

"That pack who was here the other day. Word travels, you know."

It sure seems like it. I thought she was going to point at them, that they were here. But no such luck.

I can't speak. Suddenly I want to howl and throw the furniture at the wall. Hearing the reason of my misery spoken out loud hammers the point home—that I'm giving up on them, that I will be living with another pack.

Fuck, I don't want another pack. Just the thought makes me feel sick. I'm going to?—

"Excuse me," I manage and all but run to the back of the café, to the bathroom, where I proceed to puke my guts out.

Oh, terrific.

"Sawyer!" This time it's Coco banging on the bathroom door, which I mercifully managed to close before worshiping the porcelain god. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine!" I call out. "Be out in a sec."

"Take your time. I'm just worried about you."

"Don't," I mutter. "I'm okay, really. Must be something I ate this morning."

"Did you?"

"What?"

"Eat something this morning?"

I sigh. Wash my face, gurgle some water, spit it out. "No, I didn't." I open the door and step outside, where Coco is waiting to give me a once-over.

"Oh, dear," she tuts. "Is your heat coming on?"

"What? No. I don't know."

"It can make you dizzy and get your stomach upset. It's different for every omega, of course."

"How would you know that?" I ask and wince. Coco can't stop hoping she'll turn out to be an omega, but no signs of that so far.

"I've talked to omegas, read about it." She shrugs. "It's common knowledge. Point is, Sawyer, am I right?"

"I'm not going into heat," I say quietly, "and I'm fine. Look, I have to work."

"Clean the counter again? What's up with that? It's sparkling, you know. Not a speck of dust on it."

I stare at her, willing my mouth to open, to say something witty and defuse the situation, answer the question without answering because… because I'm ashamed of my OCD. My disability. That's what Eric calls it. As if I'm bound to a wheelchair or something.

But he's right, to a point. My obsessive habits have prevented me from time to time—when they get worse—from doing my job, going out even to buy groceries, or paying my bills. It wrestles control away from me, and I hate it, and it's all my fault for not being strong enough to fight it.

Nothing comes out, though, no funny repartee to get her off the track—and off my back, no matter how sweet a friend she is—so I open and close my mouth like a fish, anxiety swamping me once again.

But then I'm saved by Sophie and June getting up to press their noses to the café's big front windows.

"Look!" June is saying. "Good Lord."

"What is it?" I call out, heading toward them, leaving Coco to follow me, answers be damned. "Has there been an accident?"

We get a few. It's a busy avenue.

"Come see." Sophie points at something outside, on the street or the sidewalk. "Look!"

Coco overtakes me in her excitement and joins the other two girls. "Ooh, look at that hunk. Oh, there's more. Three of them!"

"Three?" That number… not only magical but reminding me of…

"I could lick the dark, tall and brooding one like a lollipop," Coco says. "And that beta is to die for."

"I'll take the blond alpha," June squeals. "Oh my God, they're heading here!"

"Shit…" I look out of the window and I see three familiar faces. "The McGraw Pack," I whisper.

"Wait," June says. "Isn't that the pack you're pining over?"

"I'm not pining over anyone," I snap, exasperated and hating all the lying, because dammit, yes, I've been pining over them since I first met them.

"Figures," June sighs. "All the handsome ones are taken. I won't get between Sawyer and the pack he's in love with."

Okay, fine. This time, I don't bother correcting her. After all, she's right, it's true. I'm not pining. I'm head over heels.

And June was right. They're opening the café door and walking in.

Right toward me.