5. Amaya

5

AMAYA

I don't know where I expected my absentee father to live, but it wasn't this big ass glass building in the middle of the city. If I were to have searched him out when I was a kid, I bet I never would have been able to find him in the overpopulated city of Baltimore. Maybe that was his goal all these years; to never be found.

Too bad for him my mom shared his name. It wasn't out of love. She just enjoyed shitting on the rich alpha who never wanted us. I've hated his name my entire life. It was only ever spoken out of hatred. Until I was asked if I had any family left who could help me out since they took Mom into custody when the academy secrets were revealed.

For the first time in my life, I spoke my father's name with hope.

It's odd thinking of him as this amazing lawyer that brings hope to so many people when he has never done the same for me. His daughter. Twenty-two years and he finally steps up to the plate.

"So... this is it," Paul says, seeming a little nervous and embarrassed.

If I didn't already know he doesn't have a pack or an omega, then his apartment basically fucking screams it.

My inner omega recoils at the state of the cold environment. His leather couch across from the floor-to-ceiling window looks like it has absolutely zero squish. Gray, firm, cold leather with rock-solid armrests. No pillows. No blankets. Not even the rug beneath the glass coffee table looks inviting. The walls are bright white with minimal artwork and zero photos. I'm starting to wonder if this guy even has friends.

Who doesn't decorate with pictures?

My legs take me to the kitchen. If I ignore the rest of the open space, I actually enjoy the speckled white countertops and top of the art appliances.

"I have a chef, don't worry. You won’t have to suffer my cooking," Paul teases, leaning his hip against the counter.

I frown. Would I get in trouble if I were to cook?

Paul clears his throat. "So, this is the main level. The bathroom is around the corner from the staircase." He gestures to the stairs on the other side of the bare living room.

I nod, noticing the little hallway for the first time.

"Before we see upstairs, I want to show you the security system I have in place."

I follow him to the front door again as he explains the panel and tells me what the codes are. Numbness fights the rising fear awakening in my body. Why does he need so much security? Then he's showing me the cameras in the living spaces, freaking me out even further.

He picks up on some of my panic. "Don't worry! There aren't any cameras in the bathroom down here and zero upstairs. There are only the two bedrooms and their connecting bathrooms, anyway. Oh, and my small office space, but that has its own fancy lock. Plus, the cameras will catch everything before anyone can make it up the stairs."

"Before anyone can make it up the stairs?" I ask, wide-eyed. Logically, I know that break-ins happen, but I thought after the academy and leaving rehab, I would be safe and certainly less monitored.

Paul's eyes widen, matching my own as he open and closes his mouth repeatedly. "Nothing has happened since I moved in five years ago. I promise. It's just a precaution. Anyone who would want to get in here has plenty of obstacles, just in case."

I run through the other security measures I noticed on our way up here. Security in the lobby, keys to access the elevators and staircase, and now everything in his fancy apartment. We're also so high up that nobody can bust through the windows. They would have to scale an entire damn high-rise.

Forcing a deep breath, I nod and offer him a sorry excuse for a smile. "Can I go lay down? Please?" I ask hesitantly.

"Oh! Of course!"

I haven't exactly been hiding the fact that I'm uncomfortable, and neither has he. I don't know what's worse, being in his presence or fighting my instincts to make this place cozy. This is not a home, but it sure as hell isn't mine either. No matter how much it agitates my inner omega and sets my nerves on edge, I won't change a thing.

My nesting instincts are at an all-time high when Paul shows me the guest room, or my room as he labeled it, that I all but slam the door in his face once he steps aside. White fucking sheets, two white pillows, a gray bed frame and dresser, same ashy floorboards with another uninviting rug. This is omega hell.

I'm bolting into the walk-in closet before I even register what I'm doing. I don't notice the full racks of clothes until I'm burrowed behind the lowest one in the darkest, furthest corner. Yanking a few sweaters down, I make a frantic little nest, only to have tears bursting from my eyes at their sheer lack of scent. With a whimper, I bury my nose in my long hair so all I can smell is my fresh lavender scent.

Through the sobs strangling my throat, my fraying mind conjures up the three aromas I miss the most in the world. Fresh mint, breezy lime, and fresh cut grass make my chest ache more than my horrible nest.

Lemony Febreze teases the recesses of my mind as I cry myself into a fitful sleep. Three scents that could fix my nest become four. Only three people have the power to soothe my torn soul. But the faded, confused memory of lemon makes my tears run faster and my heart break harder.

Four scent matches, but zero to show for it.

Who would want an omega like me?

Oli, Sammy, and Emmett wouldn't recognize me anyway. I'm not the bubbly omega I once was.

My father never wanted me and honestly… I wouldn't want me either. So I won't expect my mates to feel any different.