Page 17 of Knot Your Business

“You good?” Marcus asks as I near the host stand. He’s clicking through something on the tablet while double checking the silverware is prepped. He glances up at me when I don’t immediately answer, his frown deep.

I nod, hoping he doesn’t expect a verbal response because there’s no way I can offer one right now. My heart is so far into my throat, I’m practically choking on it.

I fucking hate feeling like this.

“You’ll give me two weeks, right?” he asks after a minute.

I must look lost, because he points at the packet that feels as though it’s bright orange rather than the sedate white. “Imagine you won’t be working here now that you’re matched. Promise you’ll give me a full two weeks, yeah?”

Fuck me. I don’t even want to think about having to leave here. It’s not like it’s a glamorous job or anything. It’s just what it represents: freedom. My own path, uninhibited by my designation or my mother’s need for perfection or my father’s notoriety. Outside of the dorm, it’s the place where I can be me.

I remind myself of March, of the aftermath of that heat, and it helps temper the desperate rage rising in me.

“Yeah, of course,” I say. It’s dangerously close to watery. “Have a good night.”

I push open the door before he can say anything else, blinking furiously, keeping the tears back. I want to run to my car, but I force myself to take steady steps, emptying my mind as I take in the clear night around me. The warmth and safety of the small space envelops me the moment I have the door closed. My scent drowns the space, and I relax into it. Once I can breathe without feeling like my chest is shaking, I pull out my phone.

A single text from Faedra lights the screen.

Couple people got packets today. You get yours?

Yeah.

Oh no. You good?

Will be. Late night tonight.

See you tomorrow.

My movements are automatic, and I don’t realize where I’m headed until I’m passing the outskirts of LA proper. By the time I’ve pulled into the empty parking lot of Faedra and my’s favorite beach, the panic and nerves are gone, replaced by a strange numbness.

I stare at the packet. It sits on the passenger seat, unmarked, and for a moment I’m sitting on my bed, the official bloodwork of my designating as Omega sitting between me and Jasper.

Get yourself together.

With a sigh, I grab the packet and start down the cliffside, sticking to the staircase that tends to be least popular. Like most nights, the beach isn’t empty. There’s a couple walking the edge of the water and another sitting near the cliffs. A photographer stands knee deep in the water, their camera pointed toward the stars.

My hands tremble.

Everything I’ve been running from sits in a pile of paper on my lap. Every fight with my mom, every late night studying to graduate top of my class, every hitching breath when I thought I’d seen Jasper while shopping or walking or driving. Even every phone call with my dads and their careful words of comfort.

Blowing out a breath, I rip the seal of the envelope.

My phone lights up with an incoming call, Papa’s face on the screen. It’s like he can tell when I’m in distress.

“Hey, Papa,” I answer. This time, I don’t try to hide the watery feel of my voice, the tears that I want to cry but refuse. Not yet, anyway.

There’s a moment of quiet, and then the sounds of shuffling.

“That Vi?” Father’s voice is muffled, but Papa answers him. “Tell her I love her.”

“Love you, too,” I whisper. Papa passes on the message. There’s more shuffling. A door closes.

“Hi, darling,” Papa says. My chest aches. “Your answering tells me what I wanted to know.”

I let out a half-chuckle, and that’s full of tears, too.

“You open it?” he asks.

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