Page 97 of Lavender and Honey

A fresh wave of tears blurs my vision at her immediate offer. Avery has been my rock for so long, the one person who truly understands what I escaped and why I had to run. But I can't ask her to drop everything and drive for hours just because I'm having an emotional crisis.

Me: No, don't come. I'm just... really shaken. She showed up at the shop this morning. It was awful.

Avery: What exactly did she say? Are your parents staying in town? How did they find you?

The questions come rapid-fire, Avery's protective instincts in full force. I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, trying to formulate a response that captures the essence of the confrontation without needing to relive every painful moment.

Me: Dad has connections. She said it was "just a matter of time." They're at the Grand Haven Hotel until Sunday. Expecting me to "come to my senses" and agree to the Greene alliance.

Avery: That's NOT happening. We didn't get you out of there just for you to get dragged back a year later. What about your friends there? The ones you've been telling me about? Can they help?

My throat tightens at the mention of Elias, Lucian, Finn, and Soren. The group chat continues to ping with new messages, their worry growing more evident with each unanswered text.

Me: I can't tell them about this. Not yet. I don't even know what I'm going to do.

Avery: Lydia, I think you should. From everything you've told me, they would stand with you. But if you really don't want to involve them, what's your plan?

That's the question, isn't it? What is my plan? Do I hide in my apartment until Sunday, hoping my mother leaves without further confrontation? Do I go to the hotel and try to reason with her one more time? Do I pick up everything and run again, abandoning the life I've been building in Haven's Rest?

Me: I don't have one. I just need to think. I'm sorry. Can we talk later? I just wanted you to know what was happening.

Avery: Of course. But I'm keeping my phone on me at all times. Call ANYTIME, day or night. Promise me.

Me: I promise. Thank you.

Avery: I love you, Lydia. We'll figure this out together.

I set the phone down on the coffee table, screen-side down so I don't have to see the continued notifications from the group chat. The simple act of reaching out to Avery has depleted what little emotional energy I had left. My body feels heavy, limbs weighted with a bone-deep exhaustion that has nothing to do with physical exertion and everything to do with the emotional marathon of the morning.

I curl onto my side on the couch, drawing my knees to my chest in a position that feels like surrender. My mother's words echo in my head, each one striking against my newfound confidence like hammers on glass:

"An unmated Omega without pack protection—do you have any idea how vulnerable you are?"

"How long before the novelty wears off? Before you realize the security and status you've thrown away?"

"A respectable Omega doesn't flaunt her scent in public like some common stray."

I press my hands over my ears as if I could physically block out the memories, but they persist, seeping through my fingers like smoke. Behind them lurk older memories—of my childhood home with its formal sitting rooms where I was expected to be seen but not heard, of etiquette lessons that emphasized proper Omega behavior, of conversations about my future that never included my own desires or dreams.

My art had been tolerated only as a suitable "hobby" for a well-bred Omega, never as a genuine passion or potential career. My tendency toward independence had been viewed as a flaw to be corrected, not a strength to be nurtured. Every aspect of my personality that didn't fit the traditional Omega mold had been systematically discouraged, until I'd learned to hide those parts of myself away, presenting only the docile, compliant facade they wanted to see.

Until I couldn't anymore. Until the prospect of being mated off to the Greene pack—known for their rigid adherence to traditional pack structures and Omega subjugation—became a reality I couldn't face.

I'd thought I was free of all that. I'd thought I'd escaped.

But what if freedom is just an illusion? What if my mother is right, and the protection of a traditional pack is the only real security an Omega can hope for? The world can be dangerousfor unmated Omegas—I've always known that. It's why I spent so long hiding behind blockers, keeping to myself, avoiding connections that might lead to complications.

The irony of my mother's timing cuts deep. Just as I've begun to let my guard down, to trust others, to imagine a future where I might belong without sacrificing who I am—she appears to remind me of all the reasons I kept those walls up in the first place.

And the most painful part? A tiny, insidious voice in the back of my mind whispers that maybe she's right. Maybe I am being naive. Maybe this tentative happiness I've found will shatter at the first real test, leaving me more vulnerable than before.

I stare at the ceiling, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes and soaking into my hair. My limbs feel too heavy to move, my thoughts too tangled to unravel. Exhaustion pulls at me, the emotional toll of the morning a weight I can't fight anymore.

So I surrender to it, letting my eyes drift closed as silent tears continue to track down my temples. Maybe when I wake up, I'll have some clarity. Maybe I'll know what to do, what to say to my mother, how to protect the fragile new life I've been building.

Or maybe I'll just have to start running again.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

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