Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Now Playing: Dig It- Bring Me the Horizon

“Omen, if you don’t open this damn door and eat something, I’m going to break it down!” I demand, pounding my fist on the door to the guest room she had claimed two nights ago.

She isn’t eating. She hasn’t left the guest room either. Fear starts to press against the edges of my mind as past memories of my sister’s decline blur with my current reality. I won’t let Omen take the same path Elizabeth did. Whatever it takes, I’m going to save my omega.

When she’d looked me in the eyes and told me she wasn’t our omega, my heart damn near cracked in two. We had naively thought she would be thrilled to see the house we bought her, instead she’s shut down. Hope led us to believe she would perk back up when we showed her the nest, but she refused to enter the third floor again.

I know this is my fault, I’m the one who pushed her away and lashed out at her for being born a Montgomery, but fuck, I wish I could take it all back. If I could rewind time to the moments before Bea showed up at our apartment to tell us who Omen is, I would kick some sense into my own ass. Then I would have gone to my little omega and never left her side again.

Sighing, I carry the tray of food I made her back to the kitchen. Callisto sits at the island, his eyes fly to mine and a sad smile stretches across his lips. Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, I head into the living room. The cold glass of the window presses against my forearm when I lean against it. The back patio sits untouched in the September sun, warm and inviting despite the leaves and grass littering the stone bricks.

My eyes travel to the picture hung on the wall to my left. It’s been years since I felt comfortable enough to put my sister’s picture out for others to see. I’m finally starting to come to terms with what happened to her, thanks to the help of my therapist and my mates. It’s easier to talk about her life now, instead of focusing on her death. Remembering the vibrant, adventurous person she was before makes losing her a little more manageable.

What would Elizabeth do in an impossible situation?

I grab my phone and step outside, wandering through the garden until I find a bench facing the lake. It takes several phone calls for me to finally connect with the person I hope can help me the most–Omen’s adoptive mother.

“Hello, Dr. Powell. My name is Nebula Graves, I was hoping to speak with you about Omen’s Rejected Omega Syndrome.”

“Hello Nebula. Please give me a moment to step away.” She seems surprised to hear from me, understandably so since we’ve never met. I also don’t know how much her daughters have told her about me. Regardless of what she’s heard, I’m betting on her wanting to save Omen over whatever prejudice she has against my pack. “Alright, how can I help you?”

I explain who I am to her adopted daughter and my role in her rejection. “My older sister passed away from ROS eight years ago, so I’m somewhat familiar with the disease, but I have questions and I thought you may be able to answer them.”

“I am sorry to hear about your sister. Rejection is a difficult thing to deal with, both as the victim and those close to them. Omen doesn’t have Rejected Omega Syndrome specifically, she has what is considered a chemical rejection. Since no one in your pack verbally rejected her, she can’t have ROS. Instead, her body is convinced your actions are the result of a rejection, so it is reacting in a way that mimics the symptoms of ROS.” Dr. Powell explains.

“We had wondered how she had the disease when we hadn’t rejected her. I assumed it was from me telling her to stop contacting us.”

“Something that likely added to the stress of the chemical rejection, but wasn’t the root cause,” she explains firmly. “I heard from Donovan she is currently staying with your pack while they investigate the attempted break-in at her apartment. Do you have concerns about her being there?”

“We want her to be here with us. This is her home. Or we hope it will be one day.” I lean back against the bench, letting the afternoon sun shine down on my face. The warmth is only skin deep, unable to penetrate the trepidation still filling my soul. “She’s been here for two days and she has barely left the guest bedroom she’s claimed. She also isn’t eating. I don’t know how to help her, but I thought you might.”

“That is worrying,” she sighs. “I’ll have Donovan reach out to the doctor she’s been seeing since the encounter with the Pastor. There is a chance her close proximity to your pack may be adversely affecting the medication they’ve been using to slow her decline.”

I wasn’t aware Omen was taking medicine to combat the chemical rejection, so I’ll have to ask her about it. If I can convince her to leave the guest room.

“As for what you can do to help her, being there is the biggest step you can take. Help her take care of herself and show her you accept her as your omega. Those steps should help combat the effects of the rejection until you reach the point where she feels comfortable bonding with your pack,” Doctor Powell tells me.

“Okay,” I blow out a breath. It is disheartening to not have a solid plan moving forward.

“I know this isn’t the advice you were hoping to hear, but there isn’t much else you can do. Time, and a bond, are the only things that can stabilize the rejection enough for Omen to truly heal.” She hesitates for several seconds before continuing. “Whatever happens, Nebula, your pack cannot hurt her again. If she believes she isn’t wanted there, she will spiral to a point we may be unable to bring her back from.”

“We won’t,” I promise. “We’ll never hurt her this way again.”

After we end the call, I continue to sit in the sun to try to work through my chaotic thoughts. My phone beeps with a timer reminding me of my virtual therapy appointment, so I make my way inside and get my laptop set up in the living room.

“Good afternoon, Nebula,” my therapist, Mia, greets when her video flickers to life on my screen. Her warm smile and grayish-white hair remind me of a grandmother, though she is brutally honest in a way my own grandparents were not.

We chat for a few minutes, easing into the session. Her affable personality is what endeared me to her as a therapist. Even when we’re discussing difficult topics, I always feel comfortable speaking with her.

When she feels I’ve relaxed enough to move on, she asks me if I’ve shared a story about my sister yet today. When I first started seeing her a few weeks ago, she’d given me ‘homework’ in the form of talking about the happy memories I have of Elizabeth.

At first, I was reluctant because it was hard to remember the good when the bad felt so overwhelming, but it has gotten easier. It’s like the picture I have of my sister in my mind has slowly shifted from the frail, lifeless person she was toward the end to the spirited daredevil she was when we were younger.

“I have not yet.” I hesitate for a second, not wanting to redirect our conversation away from dealing with my grief, but it strikes me Mia could have better advice for me regarding what to do to get through to Omen. “Actually, I was hoping we could discuss something else today.”

She gives me a knowing look. “We can take the conversation wherever you need it to go.”

“A few weeks before I restarted my therapy journey, my packmates and I met an omega.” I briefly fill her in on how we met Omen and started to grow close to her. Everything from our decision to ask her to formally be our omega and then finding out she was born Sarah Montgomery spills from my lips.

She takes my information dump in stride, nodding along and making notes when she wants to follow up on something. “How did you feel when you learned her true identity?”

“Pissed off. Betrayed. Fucking terrified.” My head shakes as my disappointment with my past actions resurfaces. “I was–am–in love with her, but to hear she’s related to the person I blame for my sister’s death? I didn’t handle the situation well at all.”

“You don’t sound angry when you speak about it now, what changed?”

“Partially, you. These sessions. Working through my anger toward my sister’s Fate matched mate has helped me see the truth about her death. Benjamin Montgomery may have had a hand in her decline, but it was ultimately Liz’s decision to take her own life.”

She nods, a wisp of pride gleaming in her eyes when I speak the words freely. I’ve fought her a lot about Ben Montgomery’s role in my sister’s death. Accepting that my sister’s life-ending decision was her own choice had been one of the most difficult journeys I’ve ever had to undertake. But I would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant healing enough to see how deeply I’ve betrayed my omega.

“And how do you feel now? About your omega’s identity as Sarah Montgomery?”

“Heartbroken.” Mia’s brows twitch, so I rush to explain myself. “Not because of who she used to be, but because I now know the abuse she faced growing up in their family.”

“What made you realize that? Did you speak with her?”

“I saw the live stream of her confronting her father. It was… jarring to realize there was more to her story than I’d originally assumed. The way he treated her–my stomach still gets sick remembering it.” I doubt the sound of Grant Montgomery’s fist connecting with Omen’s body will ever leave my mind. Nor will the dreary look in her green eyes as she stared up at him. “The only thing worse than realizing she was used to the way he was treating her was seeing the signs of rejection.”

“You believe she has Rejected Omega Syndrome? Did you or your packmates reject her?” Mia asks.

“She does or doesn’t really. It’s confusing. We never rejected her, but according to her adoptive mother, her body is convinced we rejected her without us actually speaking the words. A chemical rejection is what she called it.” I still don’t understand how that whole thing works, and if I hadn’t seen the signs of it myself I wouldn’t believe it was possible.

“Personally, I have never encountered someone with Rejected Omega Syndrome, so a chemical rejection is a new concept for me.” Mia seems contemplative as she jots notes on her yellow legal pad. Her warm blue eyes move back to me a few seconds later. “What challenges are you facing now that you’ve discovered Omen’s chemical rejection?”

I explain the mistakes I made in pushing our girl away–the cruel messages, the threat of legal charges, all of it–before telling her the steps we’ve already taken to fix things. “There are new threats to her safety, so she’s staying here at the pack house with us.”

“This is a good thing, isn’t it? You and your packmates want a chance to prove yourselves to her?” She directs the conversation gently, with questions to steer my thoughts in a productive direction.

“It could be a great thing, but I’m struggling to find ways to make up for my mistakes. The impulsive choices I made after learning she was a Montgomery have resulted in life-threatening consequences for Omen. How do I even begin to make up for the pain I’ve caused her?”

I don’t know where to go from here. None of the ideas I’ve come up with feel grand enough to make a dent in the debt of wrongdoing I owe her.

Mia asks me several follow-up questions and we spend the rest of the session brainstorming together while finding ways to balance my own needs and the needs of my pack. It feels productive, and as I close my laptop lid hope brews anew in my heart. I know what steps to take next, paths we could follow to start to earn Omen’s trust again.

Heading downstairs, I find Titan in our small home gym. He’s shirtless and sweat-soaked, working off his frustrations on the heavy bag. I move into his peripherals so he knows I’m there and wait for him to finish his set before I share my plan. He’s quick to agree, his black eyes already swirling with ideas of his own. I leave him to his work out and head into the library where he suggested I might find Nexus.

My alpha mate is sitting in one of the plush chairs he picked out for the room, a book laid across his lap. He’s staring out the windows onto our small enclosed patio. Seeing him so beaten down and lost breaks my heart.

Guilt is everlasting when I’m faced with constant reminders of the many ways I’ve failed them. I slip into the room and sink to the floor beside him, letting my fingers trail through his messy auburn hair. His warm brown eyes meet mine moments before he offers me a half smile.

Our relationship has never been as rocky as it is right now. I know he blames me as much as I blame myself, but like the situation with Omen, I can’t figure out how to make it up to my sweet mate.

“I have an idea.”

“I’m listening,” he mutters. With each word, his eyes grow a little brighter, and he’s soon nodding rapidly. “Yeah. That’s good, Neb, really good.”

Leaning over the arm of his chair I press my lips to his in a soft, sweet kiss, hoping he can feel my remorse and sorrow. He hesitates for a moment before kissing me back. Neither of us tries to take it any further, not when our hearts are focused on the fragmented omega upstairs. Trailing my fingers over his stubble-covered jaw, I push to my feet and leave to track down my beta.

Callisto is standing by the picture window at the end of the hallway outside of the guest room. His hands are stuffed in the front pockets of his skinny jeans and his shoulders are slumped. My chest presses against his back, offering him the comfort of my touch while I whisper my plan in his ear. His dual-toned eyes turn to me with adoration. A soft smile plays on his lips as they press to my cheek.

“Alright, Alpha. Let’s get to work.”

For the next hour, the kitchen is full of muted laughter and the clatter of the two of us cooking. Our counters are covered in powdered sugar and splashes of egg from where we’d dipped the thick slices of French Toast I’m currently frying on a griddle.

The mess somehow makes me feel alive. I always loved cooking and baking with my mom and sister when I was younger, but I let the hobby slip to the side after Elizabeth passed away. Finding these pieces of myself calms parts of my soul I hadn’t known were unsettled.

Callisto’s shoulder brushes mine where he slices fresh strawberries and bananas beside me. He’s humming an unfamiliar tune, one I hope he turns into a new song for us. It’s as heartbreaking as it is sultry. The lyrics he would pair with it… Our fans would go rabid.

I slide three slices of the sweet breakfast onto a plate and pass it to him so he can add the rest of the toppings. It isn’t Michelin star worthy, but it’s made with love, exactly what our girl needs.

I add the things that have been delivered for Omen, before carrying the tray to the guest room door. Instead of waiting for her to answer, I carefully slide it to the floor and knock. “We brought you something to eat,” I tell her through the wood.

It takes a lot for me to walk away and leave her to discover the tray herself, but I remind myself of what Mia told me during our session. “If she feels she needs space, you need to find a way to give her that while still reminding her you are there, and you aren’t going to change your mind again.”

With one glance back down the hallway, I head back into the kitchen to help my mates clean up. We can’t force Omen to make decisions she isn’t ready for.

Yet.

If it comes to a choice between her need for space and her life, I won’t hesitate to break down this door and do whatever it takes to save our omega.