Page 67 of Heat Hesitation

Fletcher releases a deep breath. She looks tired as she leans back in her chair.

Doctor Rubens joins the conversation. "I remember that night. Well, in fact. We changed many policies after what happened. You're right, there were rumors your father drank, and I remember the Olcenes pushing that theory. Everyone was so concerned about Alma that their story became muddled in the aftermath."

"You okay?" I prod after a few moments of silence. There's a lot to talk about. To understand. The cause of the accident which looks more and more like… an accident. Coming to terms with the Olcene Pack being nothing more than the worse kind of assholes. Her sister not being the innocent-blushing-omega that she believed her to be. It's a lot to come to terms with.

I regret asking the doctor to be here now. I underestimated how much Ophelia and Fletcher had to hash out. Pushing any further right now would be counterproductive.

But, as usual, Ophelia surprises me. She gives me a small, quiet smile, then turns to Rubens. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

Chapter 27

Ophelia

No one ever accused me of being subtle. I adjust in my seat, but when I do, I accidentally spill my cup, drenching the pristine white carpet in brown liquid. "Shit," I hiss. But when I attempt to grab a napkin to dab up the spilled tea, I accidentally knock over the entire fucking pot.

Fletcher mutters several 'oh dear's' under her breath. Sully chuckles, trying and failing to get me to chill out and stop attempting to clean up my mess. Fletcher finally tells me to sit down, and like a student scolded by the teacher, I listen, feeling like a dumbass.

The receptionist from out front scurries in, takes the tea away, tells Fletcher she'll call a cleaning crew, and gives me a pointed look as if I were the cause—okay, I obviously am, but how did she just guess that?—then leaves us to it.

Once settled, the old man gives me a warm smile.

"Miss Constantine," he inclines his head. I almost correct him, but when I don't, Sully's silent approval makes me and my omega sigh in contentment, so I leave it be. "My name is Doctor Rubens, and I'm the on-staff doctor for the omegas here at the OFA. Madam Fletcher and Mr. Constantine asked me to join this meeting. I've been told little else."

Sully and I are working our way toward something amicable, but I can't hide my distrust. Is this the part where he has me meet the doctor who takes me out back to examine my procreative capabilities? No, I can't see him doing that. Or his brother's being okay with it, either. I check my bond with Asher and Enzo and it's calm and supportive. I wonder if they know where we are today.

Sully tilts his head, expressing concern. I've been keeping him at arm's length, and he's been letting me. If Enzo is the silent sentinel at my back, Sully is the infantry at my front. He's done nothing aside from forcing me to leave my apartment, and, admittedly, my neighbor was randomly shooting a gun, so it's not like his worry was unfounded. I might have been mad at how he went about it, but I can understand it. So, I take a leap. Like I did that day I climbed into the car with Enzo after the luncheon, or when I took Theo's hand and pulled him into the back room at Queenie's, or snuck into Asher's room.

I give him my trust.

It pays off when Sully explains to the both of us, "I asked Doctor Rubens here because I was hoping he could shed some light on some of the medical injustices omegas face today. As a recently unbonded omega, you've lived years under the tyranny of alpha and OFA influence and rule. You are the best person to speak on the subject, and I'd hoped that together, by changing and allocating our funds," he gives Fletcher a pointed look, "we can begin to make some changes. But without understanding where the cracks in the system are, we can't begin to repair them."

I stare, open-mouthed, dumbfounded at my alpha. My fucking alpha.

I don't care that Fletcher and Rubens are right next to me. I don't care that, until recently, I'd sworn off high-society, wealthy packs, my own pack. Maybe I'm a hypocrite.

But I launch into Sully's lap, and he catches me. Our lips collide, and I nearly bite him, wanting to swallow down his essence, that which makes him who he is. He grunts, his large, capable hands gripping my sides, and only the sounds of discomfort from the people around us make me pull back.

Before I pull away altogether, though, Sully grips my chin like a misbehaving child. "Later," he growls. A promise. A threat.

I can't fucking wait.

Fletcher clears her throat, so I wipe my hands on my legs in a weak attempt to gain some control and face the two.

"So, let's talk about omega's rights."

The discussion lasts hours. By the end of it, we argued, I cried. Fletcher more than once slapped her hand on her knee and got up to pace the room, only to return and resume arguments.

The laws are too general. There's no legislation to protect omegas' rights, but there aren't many laws against us either, aside from designation disclosure to employers; beyond that, everything is left up to interpretation. The OFA, while government-funded and obviously has a significant influence on everything omega-related on a national level, is still just one organization.

There's a lot to do. Too much. And it will require help from everyone on a grassroots level. I need to hustle. I need to get busy getting support. But getting the perspective and having the audience of the Director of the largest OFA academy in the country and the head doctor at said facility, with a man at my side whose finances can basically bankroll their entire foundation, means real progress is possible.

It's not within immediate reach. It won't be easy or quick. But it's possible.

There's a lot left in the air and so much to do. We ate take-out while we argued and plotted. Fletcher was deeply offended by Sully and my opinions of the changes the omega courses at the OFA have taken over the last decade, the push to make omegas look and act so perfectly doll-like. She defends her curriculum, and I'm not sure we'll ever see eye to eye.

By the time we leave, it's late in the day, and I'm exhausted. I grip Sully's arm, starting and stopping sentences without finishing my thought, my mind whirling a million miles a minute.

We're almost home—home, I've come to think of it as—when I realize something.

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