Page 77 of Heat Hesitation

"A picture's worth a thousand words," I reply solemnly.

Asher pipes in, "Exactly. Just like all those pictures they posted of us, of me, over the last year, and you know, you can feel it in our bond that they were all bullshit. Some of the pictures might have captured a moment in time, but look at this again," he comes to stand by me and zooms in on the picture on my phone.

"The caption could be about a rogue eccentric selfishly bonding and claiming a woman regardless of his pack's consent. Or the caption could be the truth. This is the lucky bastard that got to bite and fuck you first." Theo snorts from across the room, but I get what Asher's saying.

"But… I mean, it doesn't bother you? What they say about Enzo? I mean, the Freak of Arrow Cove? I keep hearing tha—" My words trail off.

That fucking bitch. This has Bridgette written all over it. That girl just will not let it go. She's the only one I've ever heard call Enzo that.

"What were you going to say?" Asher prods.

Instead of answering, I ask, "Have you ever heard someone call him that? The Freak of Arrow Cove?"

Both men shake their heads, so I let it go, getting back to dinner. While I'm mixing the dough for biscuits, a recipe Greta taught me, Asher comments, going through the stack of mail to get it off the counter where it inevitably collects, "We really need to get off the OFA's mailing list."

He tosses the invitation in the trash, but I see the headline. Omega Selection Gala. My spoon slows in the bowl.

"What's wrong, beetlebug?" Theo asks.

I nod toward the trash and walk over to the counter where the baking pan is ready. Fingers full of dough, I listen to the guys make assurances. They'll get off the list soon, they only pay fees to support the organization until we decide what to do as a pack moving forward, there's no other omega in the world for them, and so on.

Finally, I remind them, "The twenty-second. That's the day my family died. The gala is usually the same day, I guess. I knew it was coming. I guess I've just been so busy and happy… I forgot."

I make balls out of the dough, wiping the sticky substance off my fingers, placing each biscuit a few inches apart like Greta taught me. Like my mom should have taught me.

Asher hugs me from the back. He gives the best hugs.

But now my fingers are covered in wet dough, and his warm, comforting hug, his soothing vibes in our bond, has me shaking. I'm sucking back the tears before they even start falling.

I try to keep my hands in the air to prevent getting dough everywhere, but thankfully, Theo wipes my hands down with a rag, and when they're somewhat clean, I collapse into Asher's arms. He shifts me so I'm cradled into his chest, with Theo's at my back, holding me and letting me cry.

"I can't believe I forgot," I cry.

"You didn't forget. It's two weeks away."

"I usually think about it all the time. But I haven't been. I'm moving on. How can I move on from them? Oh my god, I've been working with the OFA. How could I do that? What kind of person does that after what happened?"

"Ophelia, they died in a car accident. It wasn't anyone's fault. You're not working with the enemy. You're working to improve the lives of other omegas. You're working to make sure what happened to Alma doesn't happen to someone else."

"No, I'm not. Nothing I've done is for Alma. I didn't try to prosecute them, I haven't done a damn thing to make the Olcenes accountable. What kind of sister am I? It's like I've forgotten all about her!" I cry out.

My alphas hold me tighter, letting me be irrationally upset. A few minutes later, Enzo and Sully arrive, and when they take in the state of me, answers are demanded.

"I don't want to talk about it," I sigh once the tears have stopped. They each try to take control in their own way, asking me if I'm okay and trying to talk out the problem.

Finally Sully steps in. "This dinner looks amazing, Ophelia. Thank you for cooking. Why don't we finish, and you and Enzo go relax in the living room. I'll call you when it's ready."

Enzo takes my hand and leads me out of the kitchen so the guys can finish cooking. I insist I'm fine. He can feel through the bond that I'm not, but I will be.

"It's a lot of change," he says against my temple as I'm curled up in a ball in his lap while I play another horror movie in the background. It's not a theater room, but it's still a pretty awesome living room. Big and spacious and cozy, full of blankets and pillows.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Everything. It's only been two months since we came into each other's lives. Since then, you've left your jobs and your home. Your daily habits are different. You're campaigning, working with the OFA and the mayor's office. You've bonded, you're living with a pack that you spent the previous year avoiding. The anniversary of your parent's death is a constant in your life. An anchor, in a way."

"You think it's weighing me down?"

"That's not what I mean. Just that, it's defined you, in a way. Not you as a person, but it's shaped many of your decisions. And that you and your decisions are changing. Change is good, but change is overwhelming and sometimes scary. Both things are true."

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