Page 106 of Knot All is Forgiven

The mug clatters on the countertop, and he runs his hand through his shaggy green hair in frustration. "You're forgetting Jordan is still the Jordan we grew up with. She's not a different person because she goes into heat now, okay? Would the Jordan we went to school with have liked a public apology like that?"

My mouth opens and closes silently as my brain processes what he said.

He's right, of course.

I don't know why it's been so hard for me to connect Omega Jordan with the Jordan from my past. The way Omegas are perceived and treated in society is pervasive, and I seem to have fallen victim to the bias. Because the Jordan I knew is nothing like how I've been told an Omega is supposed to be, I've spent this time operating under the assumption that the behavior of Omegas is genetic and not a societal expectation placed upon the designation as a whole.

And that assumption has had me ignoring who Jordan has always been in favor of the belief that she would fit into the small box today's Omegas are forced into.

Trying to picture teenage Jordan and her reaction to what I did makes me want to duck my head in shame. "Well, fuck. She would've smacked the back of my head."

Now, her reaction at Alphamatic makes a lot more sense.

Shit, I messed up, didn't I?

"Yeah, she would've. That was a lot of pressure you put her under. So, what are you going to do to make up for it?" Despite my protests, he hauls himself up to sit on my clean countertop and swings his legs, humming to himself.

The clock on the stove shines bright neon, broadcasting that it's almost six and Rafe, Icarus, and Jordan should all be coming home soon.

"How about this," Simon chuckles. "I'll throw you a bone, yeah? I'll get the conversation going in a way that may give you some ideas. Worst case? Take her to brunch. Shelovesbrunch."

The door slams open, and Icarus struts in while loosening his red tie. His sandy blonde hair sticks up at odd angles like he's been running his hands through it.

"Long day, boss?" Simon asks with a chuckle.

Icarus rolls his eyes and shoves our tattooed Alpha off the countertop. "You're worse than the cats," he mutters. "I'm working on an application for a research grant for the gene that repressed Jordan's presentation."

"Does she know?" I slide off the stool and start gathering ingredients from the fridge and pantry to make dinner as we talk.

"I wanted to wait to tell her until I get the grant," Icarus says as he unbuttons his white shirt.

Simon appears over my shoulder out of nowhere, startling me into dropping the box of dry pasta. "Want some help?" he whispers.

"Never. Get." I shoo him out of the kitchen. I'm not a great cook, but Simon is tragic. I turn my attention back to Russ. "She'll be excited even if you don't get the grant."

"Yeah, I know, but she's still so sensitive about it. She thought it was her fault for so long, and I want to be able to show her forsure that it wasn't." He leans over the counter, propping himself up on his elbows. "She missed out on so much, you know? She never got to go to the Omega Academy or the socials. She didn't have a big first nest shop with her parents or pack. She furnished a nest on her own, quietly."

Simon slides him a beer, and Icarus snatches it up, taking a deep breath. "I wish I met her sooner. That I could've saved her so much heartache."

I clear my throat as I turn away from the stove, and when I meet Icarus' eyes, they hold a confusing mix of remorse and frustration. "Sorry, I'm not trying to rub it in your face. I'm just worrying about her extra today." He rubs his chest absently like he's got heartburn. "She must be having a tough day at work because the bond feels strained, and it's got me in my head."

"You don't need to apologize. We know we fucked up. We could've helped her have those experiences." The only thing I can reliably cook to feed a pack of this size is a very basic spaghetti that is not authentic at all, so I busy myself combining tomato sauce with garlic and seasonings while sausage browns.

He did give me an idea, though.

"I'll clean up. Youcooked," Jordan says as she scrapes the rest of her plate into the compost bin.

"No, you rest," Rafe says, taking the plate from her hand. They're still awkward around one another, but she's stopped tensing when he gets close. I guess that means that she scented him, finally. He kisses her on the cheek, and she smiles softly.

It seems I am behind in the groveling.

I clear my throat and tug on my white t-shirt as I stand up from the table. "Jordan, do you, uh, have a minute?"

Usually, after dinner, Icarus grabs a book and curls up on a corner of the couch, and Simon and Rafe play a video game while Jordan scrolls on her phone. Sometimes, I join the guys in a game or head to the complex gym.

But tonight, I join Jordan on the couch as the others busy themselves around the kitchen to give us a moment together.

"What's up, C?" she asks nervously. I'm close enough to her now to smell the sweet, floral wisteria scent of her pheromones, and it makes my head a little fuzzy.

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