Page 1 of Hot Knot Summer
1
EMMA
Crying in an airport bathroom is a special kind of pathetic. The harsh fluorescent lighting highlights every puffy feature, the automatic paper towel dispensers keep whirring judgmentally, and the parade of strangers giving sympathetic-but-please-don’t-talk-to-me smiles is just the cherry on top of the humiliation sundae.
Yet here I am, Emma Collins, bestselling fantasy romance author and officially discarded Omega, doing exactly that.
I splash cold water on my face for the third time, willing the redness around my eyes to subside. The bathroom mirror doesn’t sugarcoat things. I look like I’ve been hit by the sad train and dragged for several emotional miles.
“Get it together, Emma,” I mutter, yanking another paper towel as the dispenser whirs to life. “You’ve written heroines who overcome way worse thansome Alpha asshole with the emotional depth of a kiddie pool.”
My phone buzzes. Jess, of course.
Did you make it through security without committing justifiable homicide?
I manage a faint smile. My best friend since college had practically shoved me out the door this morning, insisting I take this trip.
No casualties yet. Saving my energy for when I get back and burn all his stuff.
That’s my girl. Remember, this vacation is officially a Fuck Chad holiday, and I don’t mean literally. You’ve had enough of his mess... and Megan’s.
Despite everything, I snort-laugh, earning a concerned glance from a woman applying lipstick nearby.
Boarding soon. Will text when I land.
You’d better. And Emma? He’s the loser who couldn’t recognize what he had. Not you.
I pocket my phone, grab my carry-on, and straighten my shoulders. Two weeks in Whispering Grove, the picturesque mountain town Chad and I had booked for what I’d stupidly thought might be where he’d finally mark me as his. Two weeks of cozy cabin solitude I now get to enjoy alone. Two weeks to lick my wounds and maybe, just maybe, find the writing spark that’s been missing since my fourth book hit the bestseller lists.
Two weeks to forget how completely, spectacularly wrong I’d been about everything.
The woman joins me and applies lipstick, catching my eye in the mirror. “You’re too pretty to look so sad, honey,” she says, capping her lipstick. “Whatever he did, he’s not worth those tears.”
I blink, startled by the unexpected kindness from a stranger. “That obvious, huh?”
She steps nearer, and her delicate Omega scent carries notes of cinnamon and aged paper.
“Honey, I know the ‘my Alpha is trash’ face when I see it.” She glances around to make sure we’re alone. “Listen, can I give you some advice? Not all of us Omegas need to fall into the perfect expected role of submitting to any Alpha who pays us attention. Our bodies betray us to them, that’s biology, but it doesn’t mean we should stop fighting until we find the right Alphas for us. The ones worth surrendering to.” She tucks a stray hair behind my ear in a motherly gesture that nearly makes me tear up again.
“Took me forty-seven years and three bad marriages to figure that out. Don’t waste your youth like I did. Wait for the ones who earn your submission, not the ones who demand it.”
“Thank you. Really appreciate it.” My throat tightens up.
She gives me a wink and picks up her bag. “Now, go show him what he’s missing.”
With a final glance at my reflection, I wipe away the last tears, gather my bags, and force myself toward the boarding area. The concourse stretches before me, a gauntlet of overpriced food kiosks and duty-freeshops I have to navigate while looking like the poster child forOmegas with Abandonment Issues. People move in streams around me, couples holding hands, families corraling children, business travelers striding purposefully toward their gates. Normal people living normal lives who didn’t have their partners suddenly decide their scent waswrong.
Chad had seemed so different at first. I’d met him at a book signing event for my second novel, where he’d been working security. He’d approached afterward with my book in hand, asking for an autograph with that easy, charming smile. Said he’d bought it for his niece but ended up reading it himself. I’d been flattered. An Alpha who wasn’t embarrassed to read fantasy romance literature.
He’d been attentive and protective, everything an Omega is supposed to want from an Alpha. Brought me soup when I was sick. Remembered my favorite coffee order. Listened to me ramble about plot points and character arcs. For the first few months, I’d walked around in a daze, wondering how I’d gotten so lucky. Even when my friends pointed out little things like how he’d check my location a bit too often, how he’d dismiss my career ascute, how he’d subtly put down my friends, I’d made excuses for him.
What a cliché I’d been. The naive Omega so desperate for an Alpha’s approval, she’d ignored every red flag waving frantically in her face. Stupid!
The boarding area comes into view, and I focus on the logistics of finding my gate, checking myboarding pass, and making sure I have my ID ready, anything to keep my mind off the humiliating train wreck of my love life. I’d rather think about the soul-crushing discomfort of economy seating than dwell on how spectacularly I’d misread everything about my relationship.
“Now boarding Zone 3 for Flight 1526 to Mistcrest Mountains,” the gate agent announces.
I shuffle forward with my fellow travelers, feeling like I’m moving through molasses.
