Page 27 of The Omega Trials: Part One

I smile at the grubby, child fingerprints smudged on the door at waist level. The bell above the door chimes as it opens, and the sound is comforting and nostalgic, like an old friend’s laugh.

The tallest cook on the line turns around at our entrance and my chest flutters. His warm brown eyes, comforting like fire in a hearth, light up when they see me. “If it ain’t Little Miss Sin.”

“Hi, Mr. Captain.” I smile, so damn happy to see a friendly face. It almost makes my eyes prick with tears.

He wipes his hands on his chef coat and leans across the counter, offering them to me. “When that car pulled up, I was sure someone was lost. But you ain’t lost, baby. You’re home.”

Okay, maybe I will cry.

I set my hands in his big ones, and he clasps them together. I bite my trembling lip as I soak in this feeling. He looks the same as he did the first time I saw him twenty years ago, save a few more creases in his deep brown skin and strands of silver in his black hair.

His eyes seem to take me in right back, and I am grateful I threw on a hoodie that Seventeen brought me because it covers my burn. I don’t think I could bear the look in his eyes if he saw it. This way it’s easier to pretend.

“Mr. Captain?” Ecker whispers behind me.

I glare over my shoulder. “Don’t question the man.”

He pats my hands before releasing them and answering the guys. “You can call me Mister or Captain or Cross or any combination of the three.” He spreads his arm out and says warmly, “Now, take your pick of a table, and Barb will be right there to take your order.”

We take the farthest booth in the corner. We are surrounded by windows that the alphas keep surveying like they’re anticipating an attack. I’d expect their edginess to make me anxious, but instead I feel a slight tingle in my chest like a string being lightly tugged.

I know—Iknow—any protectiveness they feel toward me is a purely physical reaction or a desire to protect theirasset.

It’s not actually aboutme.So instead, I try to trick myself into thinking it’s being back here and the warm welcome from Mr. Captain.

Barb makes her way over to us. Just like with Mr. Captain, it doesn’t seem much has changed. Her cheeks are heavier and dotted with sun spots but still painted her signature bright pink rouge, her eyes glittering with blue eyeshadow and her hair now dyed to maintain her natural blonde. But she snaps her gum and stuffs her uniform’s breast pocket with five different pens just like the last time I was here over seven years ago.

I can’t help but laugh when the first thing Ecker asks for is unsweet tea.

“Is it on the menu?” She passive-aggressively taps her pen on the laminated menu in his hands.

“Well, no, but—”

“Then it’s not an option, is it, sweetie?” There’s nothing sweet about her tone, and I relish the look on his face, like he’s both offended and respects the shit out of her.

She continues to take the rest of the guys’ orders. When she gets to me, I ask for a large chicken tender basket and sweet tea.

“Chicken tenders?” Titus balks, and both Barb and I look at him like he just spit on a saint’s grave. He tries for what I think is his attempt at a diplomatic tone but just sounds like he’s constipated. “We came here becauseyouwanted fish ’n’ chips.”

I hold a finger up as if making an astute point. “I never actually said I wanted fish ’n’ chips.”

His gaze hardens. “But—”

“Anything else, doll? The Captain says it’s on the house.” Barb ignores whatever he was about to say. For the second time in as many minutes, I wish I could put their boggled faces on coins and collect them all.

I glance over my shoulder, and the Captain gives me a wink from the grill. After mouthing thank you, I turn back to Barb. “In that case, I’d love two extra sides of ranch.” She jots it down and walks away with a parting nod.

“You came to a fish ‘n’ chips place for the chicken tenders?” Ecker, who is sitting next to me, looks seconds away from actually scratching his head.

I shrug. “They have the best ranch.”

As we wait, I observe.I almost feel invisible. The more they act like I’m not here, I’m shocked to realize they seem scarily . . .normal.

They shit on each other then laugh about it. Bishop makes a paper airplane out of a napkin, Titus’s face isn’t wearing a permanent scowl, and Ecker jokes about the Elder’s “Bambi mask.”

Then our food arrives.

I didn’t know that manifesting as an omega would suddenly make tartar sauce the new porn.

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