Page 5 of Talk About… Rivalry

Instead of no heats, I ended up with these awful short bursts of heat that didn’t quite pull me under, but just made my life hell for a few days before leaving me exhausted.

Omegas were protected by law in the workforce, but with mine being sporadic and sometimes frequent when I was stressed, I doubted their patience would last for long.

My doctors had studied it, done mountains of research—I could at least give them credit for that—but it got us nowhere.

When the Omega Network Clinic moved to town, I saw a doctor there. Dr. Graves had theories, of course, thinking that once I found my mate, it would trigger everything.

I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

At this point, I didn’t want to find a mate. I’d been in love with Maverick Whitaker for years. I had a feeling he didn’t see me that way. I’d always just been his little sister’s best friend. The Whitaker family just took me under their wing when mom left. There was nothing more there than platonic kindness from him. Nash and Cameron, the other two of the triplets, were just more open about me being another little sister. They were all jokes and teasing, whereas Maverick was more reserved.

That was probably why I let this delusion go on for as long as it had.

To this day, I still got the family discounts at the bar, and they treated me like one of their own.

Being there was my own personal torment. I couldn’t help sneaking glances at Maverick every so often and sometimes I swore I saw him looking back.

There was just something about the stoic alpha that drew me in. I couldn’t scent him, but I could imagine how amazing he probably smelled. I bet it was something rugged and perfect—something I’d want to drown in.

And then there was Taylor, the adorable waiter I’ve had a crush on for months. I mean, he got paid to deal with me since he was usually working at The Landing every time I went, which was several times a week. Truthfully, I only went for him. He was this adorable, playful omega that never failed to make me smile. When I was with him, it was easy to forget about scent matches and failed biology.

The reality was, that one day they would find their match and wouldn’t spare me a second glance.

My chest ached at the thought. I had to clear my throat and shake my head as if to fight off the thoughts so I could focus back on Uncle Dale, who’d been rambling on about how he got this horse and why. The stories were generally long so I knew I didn’t miss anything.

“So, if you could just try to calm her down, that would be great,” he said, handing over a bag of apples and carrots before walking away and leaving me to clean up his mess.

“Thanks, Uncle Dale,” I mumbled under my breath.

The horse was eyeing me from across the yard. She was beautiful, though she definitely needed a little TLC. Her coat wasn’t as shiny, and I could see tufts of fur that needed to be brushed away. From the flies and the dust clinging to her, it was obvious she was in dire need of a bath. The only thing that had been taken care of seemed to be her hooves.

“Hi, sweet girl,” I cooed, keeping my voice low and warm. She let out a huff and still eyed me, not bothering to take a step closer. “It looks like you didn’t get treated like you should. I promise you’ll be safe here, girl. You just have to give us a chance.”

Instead of trying to lure her closer with a treat, I tossed an apple her way. It hit the ground far enough away that she didn’t jump. She simply let out a little snort as it rolled her way, dipping her head down when it was close enough to sniff it before finally chomping down on the shiny, red fruit.

Then she promptly turned her back on me. I let out a soft laugh at the dismissal. It wasn’t convincing. I could still see her head tilted just enough to keep an eye on me.

“That’s all right, girl. I’ve got all day, I promise.” My uncle wouldn’t be happy until he thought I put in a good effort here. Plus, I wasn’t looking for another lecture from Dad.

I pulled my sketchbook out of my bag that I always kept with me, along with a snack for myself. I tossed two more apples into the ring—one of them hitting midway, the other close enough for her to just reach down and eat it. She still watched me every time I glanced up at her—those dark, inky eyes locked on what I was doing.

We had time to kill, so I played it cool, falling into a state of relaxation as the scratching of the charcoal pencil on the paper filled the air. I was still hyper-aware of her, making sure she wasn’t going to charge the fence or do something to hurt herself, but I tried to be as unassuming as possible.

Right now, she needed patience. Something my uncle lacked.

She continued to stomp her feet and huff at me while I worked, but I wasn’t going to let her scare me away.

The pencil glided over the page, soothing away the stress of my own thoughts. I swear, not only was my body my worst enemy, so was my mind.

Depression was a bitch. Especially when I had to put on a mask and pretend everything was always fine. Mama Whitaker was the only one who had ever called me on it. I had a suspicion that Avery had something to do with it, but her mom sat me down and talked me through a lot of things. She offered to help me find a therapist, and we found one that I saw for years.

Art was my therapy these days. I knew I would have to face it eventually but today wasn’t that day.

I hoped no one ever found my sketchbook. I looked like a lovesick teenager—all of the pictures were of Maverick and Taylor, capturing their forms perfectly, memorizing their faces.

It was stupid. I wasn’t their mate. But having these pictures made me feel better, like I’d always have something to hold onto.

Bile started to rise in my stomach as the thoughts started to pile up, one by one until they were crushing, but I refused to let it take hold.

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