Page 39 of The Omega Trials: Part Two

This situation with Sinclair is eating him up. It takes a lot to hurt him. He can let almost anything roll off his back with a laugh and wink, so when something does get through his cracks, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

When Bishop is hurt, he turns it inward. He claws and picks at the wounds on his heart and stirs up old hate and beliefs. And me?

I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t hurting, for one reason or responsibility or another. I’ve learned to live with the pain.

I know I’m far from a fucking ray of sunshine, but at least I can keep my shit together . . . most of the time.

But Ecker . . . I watch him grip the back of the armchair until his fingers rip into the leather. He keeps staring daggers at Bishop’s closed bedroom door. It’s like he’s waiting for these feelings to pass without ever having to actually face them.

Even I know, as fucked-up as I am, that that’s not how these things work.

“Just go talk to her,” I stress.

He presses his lips into a firm line and shakes his head. “No, it’sherturn to apologize.”

“You say that like you’ve already apologized to her—”

“I have nothing to apologize for!” he erupts then storms off to his room, slamming the door again like a hormonal wreck of a goddamn teenager.

I look between their two closed rooms and sigh, knowing this shit show is going to fall on me to fix.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and groan internally.

Fine.

I’ll go to the gym and if, when I return, these three numb nuts still haven’t figured their shit out, I’ll do something about it.

When I get back, I hear Bishop’s deep groans as soon as I walk up to his door.

“Nope,” I scoff and turn right back around.

I’ll give them until I’m out of the shower, andthen, I don’t care if he’s balls deep in omega pussy or not, we’re going to fix this shit.

I stand under the scalding stream of water way longer than necessary. I know I’m stalling, even though it’s futile. It’s not like things are going to magically resolve themselves if I turn a five-minute shower into a ten-minute one.

As I towel off, I try to tell myself that as unpleasant as this arbitrating will be, if things go unresolved, living with the three of them will be even more unpleasant.

After getting dressed, I go straight to Bishop’s room. I don’t even knock—there’s no part of Sinclair I haven’t seen, and I’ve seen Bishop’s cock more times than I can count.

I throw the door open and barge in. Both of them bolt up in bed. Sinclair clutches the sheets to her bare chest like she gives a fuck about modesty, as if the sounds of her getting fuckedaround the damn clock haven’t been the soundtrack to my last few weeks.

Picking her dress off the floor, I throw it at her. “You two need to get your asses out of bed and smooth things over with your other mate—or did you forget about him?”

Sinclair immediately gets a look of defensiveness, but by Bishop’s calm face, I know he gets it.

“I didn’t do anything wro—”

Bishop cuts her off. “Whether you did or didn’t doesn’t matter. What matters is he’s hurt, and when Ecker’s hurt—”

“He loses his shit,” I finish for him.

I can see pushback in her face. She doesn’t like backing down—for anything. Like us, I’m sure she’s been fighting her whole life, conditioned to make everything a battle. But Bishop squeezes her thigh over the comforter, and she swallows down her resistance.

“Okay, but what am I supposed to apologize for if I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“Well first, you gotta stop saying you didn’t do anything wrong—”

“I was attacked!” She roughly yanks the dress over her head and jumps out of bed. “Me.”She thrusts a finger at herself.

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