Page 41 of Claiming the Pack's Omega
She knows that I wouldn’t ever say something like this unless I was dead serious.
My dad lets out a deep breath, leaning back against the back of the couch, his white t-shirt spread across his burly chest. That’s probably one of the few shirts he owns that doesn’t have permanent grease stains on it. Mom would never let him sleep in bed with something dirty.
“What kind of trouble are you saying we have to run from?” Dad asks, stroking his thick beard. His thunderstorm scent swirls around us, growing more intense. I’m pretty sure I got my unique petrichor scent from him.
I’m a genetic rarity, I guess. An omega born from an alpha-beta pairing is like one in a hundred. That on top of my uniquely not-so-sweet scent? That makes me weird.
I shake myself. My dad asked me a question, I’ve gotta stop daydreaming.
“I—I—” I cover my face with my hands. “I’ve been lying to you guys for the past six years. I haven’t been working at a bar. I’ve been working at an underground fight club as a ring girl and—” My voice breaks and a deep-rooted shame twists low in my belly. “And as a prostitute on the weekends for a club.”
Mom gasps, tears filling her eyes as she covers her mouth with her hands.
“Sweetie, I—I can’t believe—” Mom blinks furiously. “Was it—was it our finances?”
I have to clench my fists to keep myself from rubbing my eyes from the emotional exhaustion I feel bearing down on me. If I smudged my makeup now, I’d look more like a cheap whore than I already fucking feel right now.
“Something like that.” I settle for running a hand through my hair. “I can explain the whole story to you another time, but—but I stand by it, I guess. We never would’ve made it without the money I brought in.”
“That—that’s true, but god—” My mom fights back another sob, wiping away her tears.
“No buts, I had to find a job where I could work nights so I could help take care of the kids. Me getting a job at the diner or something would’ve meant Sav would’ve had to take care of the kids and that’s not fair to her, especially when she’s such a bright kid.”
Dad’s expression remains stormy, despite the cheap excuses and justifications I’m trying to give them.
“Howcouldyou?” He growls.
I flinch as if he’s slapped me.
“You wereeighteen—” My dad’s voice breaks as he scrubs a hand down his face. “Howcouldyou!”
“Rick!” My mom hisses, jerking her head towards him. “Don’t—don’t talk to her like that!”
“She’s my baby girl, Angie! She may have been an adult in the eyes of the law, but she willalwaysbe my baby girl,” my dad snaps. “And wefailedher! She never would’ve had to do that bullshit if we weren’t drowning!”
I feel out of place as they talk. Like a child. Just like how I felt listening in on their arguments about money as I was growing up.
“It—it’s isn’t your fault, Dad,” I whisper, my voice just as quiet and small as I feel right now.
“Itis,” he says. I’ve never seen him look as defeated as he does right now. “We’re your parents, it was our job to protect you, and we failed. You don’t need to defend us. We fucked up.”
I swallow the protests that are on the tip of my tongue. He’s not in the headspace to hear them. I don’t know if he ever will be, because there’s truth to his words.
“You were a bright kid too,” he says softly as he stares out the window. “You shouldn’t have had to throw all that away.”
“But I did,” I say, pushing back. “And it meant that our family didn’t fall apart.”
“But that was neveryourresponsibility.”
“I had to do it, Dad—” My throat closes up. “There was no way in hell you and Mom would’ve been able to afford the cost of my suppressants. I couldn’t put that on you. I did what I had to.”
“And I hate that you had to,” he says, his shoulders deflating.
Our living room is silent, other than my mom’s occasional sniffles.
My dad leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“So is it a John giving you trouble? Threatening the family?”
