Page 40 of Storm
My fathers have always seen me as nothing more than an extension of their will, a vessel for their ambitions. And despite everything, despite all my efforts to build something separate from them, I'm still dancing to their tune.
My phone feels heavy in my hand as I stare at Alex's number. Twelve missed calls from him. I should have called him back immediately after the ceremony, but every time I thought about telling him what had happened, I found a reason to delay. Now I have no choice.
I press call and bring the phone to my ear, tension coiling in my shoulders as I wait.
"You finally decided to call me back," Alex's voice is tight with barely controlled anger when he picks up. "What the hell is going on, Jonathan? I've been trying to reach you."
"I know," I say, keeping my voice level. "Things have been... complicated."
"Complicated?" He barks out a laugh. "The entire city is talking about you claiming an omega from your own lottery. Fox is terrified that this is going to lead back to us somehow. That's more than 'complicated,' Jon."
I close my eyes briefly, running a hand through my hair. "Our fathers were here this morning."
The line goes silent for a moment. "What did they want?" Alex finally asks, his voice softer now, tinged with the same dread we both feel whenever our fathers are involved.
"What do you think? They're furious. The Kingsley name is being dragged through the mud, the press is circling, and they're demanding answers I can't give them." I move away from the window, lowering my voice, though I know Storm is still in her room. "They gave me one week to fix this. To present a united front to the public."
"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
"You need to come back to the city," I say, bracing for the explosion I know will follow.
"What? No. Absolutely not." The panic in Alex's voice is immediate. "I can't leave Fox. You know that."
"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary," I say, keeping my voice firm. "Our father’s are asking questions about your absence. Four months, Alex. The public is starting to notice."
"I don't care what the public thinks."
I bite back the growl that rises in my throat. Of course he doesn't care. Alex has always had the luxury of following his heart—mother's cherished son, the one who received her smiles, her lullabies, her soft touches. I was the one who had to be practical, the one who had to earn approval with cold efficiency.
"You should care," I say instead, an edge creeping into my voice. "Because if our fathers decide to look into where you're spending all your time, they'll find Fox. And then what do you think happens? To him? To you? To all of us?"
I almost tell him how our father Michael talked about expanding surveillance on all of us, how our other father Joseph suggested having Alex followed. I almost confess that I'm afraid for him, for Fox, for what could happen if our carefully constructed façade crumbles. But I swallow the words. Alex and I don't have that kind of relationship.
The silence on the other end of the line stretches for several heartbeats. "Just for a few days," I add, modulating my tone to something more neutral. "Just long enough to make an appearance, satisfy their questions, and then you can go back to him."
The unsaid words hang between us. Go back to him. To the warmth and connection I've never known. To the relationship, that makes all this deception worthwhile.
"Fine," he says finally. "I'll come. But only for three days. And you better have a plan for how we're going to fix this mess."
"I'm working on it," I reply, relief mingling with the tension that still coils in my stomach. "There's one more thing. I need to find a beta for the pack. Our fathers were explicit about that."
"A beta? Why? We've never needed one before."
"Storm," I say simply. "A proper pack has a beta to tend to the omega's needs. That's what our fathers expect."
Alex snorts. "Since when do you care what they expect?"
"Since they threatened to take matters into their own hands if I don't handle this their way."
The weight of that threat hangs between us, unspoken but understood. We both know what our fathers are capable of.
"Fuck," Alex mutters. "This really is a mess."
"Yes," I agree. "It is."
"I'll be there tomorrow afternoon," he says. "Try not to make things worse until then."
The line goes dead, Alex hanging up without waiting for a response. I slip my phone back into my pocket, turning to find Reed standing in the doorway, watching me with an unreadable expression.
