Page 33 of Waiting for Fate
He gives me a sharp look before digging into his food. I try to eat, but my stomach is still a mess after visiting Ren’s grave and seeing my sister.
“Tell me what’s on your mind so you can stop playing with your food,” he grumbles.
Dropping my fork, I lean back against the soft leather couch and let my head fall against the cushions. “I’m a mess.” I can feel the intensity of his attention with my words. He’s studying me, looking for signs I am spiraling.
Five years ago, he’d tracked me down about my band contract, only to find me high and drunk, sitting in a pile of my filth and begging for Fate to take me too. He’d cleaned me up and made me sober up enough to fly to California with him. Despite my protests, he had used my contract against me and booked me into a rehab facility there. Far enough from all the reminders of my loss to have a chance of surviving.
I was in that facility for two years before I felt stable enough to leave, then I’d made California my home. Working with Soulbound’s West Coast branch as a marketing consultant until I felt ready to come back to Starburgh.
“I’m not relapsing,” I reassure him. “Just struggling with some things that have happened recently.”
“Overwhelm is a slippery slope when you’re a recovering addict, Orion.”
My lips turn up in a sad smile. Living in California, I’d forgotten what it was like to have people who knew you on your side. Plenty of strangers at rehab and the West Coast offices supported me, but this feels different. Familiarity comes with a heavy weight of expectation even when he doesn’t speak it aloud.
“I met an omega.”
His brows lift, mouth parted as he stares at me. Stunned by my admission. He recovers quickly, straightening in his seat and finishing the rest of his lunch. Only after sitting his empty takeout container does he speak. “You use heat helping to help calm the echoes of ferality from your broken bond. Are you referring to that?”
The crease in his forehead deepens when I shake my head in denial.
“She is someone I met through heat helping, but there is a pull between us. Similar to what I felt for Serenity all those years ago. When I assisted her, I assumed it the heat pheromones fogged my brain. Then I saw her again the night before last and realized it’s still there.”
Shiloh folds his fingers together, leaning his elbows onto his knees. I know omegas are a tough topic for him. His experience with the designation has left him convinced he will never accept a bond. He’s jaded by a pack he never belonged in.
“You are worried pursuing this new omega would spit in the face of Serenity’s memory.” His head jerks in a sharp nod when I remain silent. “You’re also worried about bonding.”
“I won’t survive that level of loss a second time.”
He considers me for a moment before asking if I’ve made an appointment with my therapist. I admit I have, but it is still two weeks away. “I’m struggling to advise you when I can’t fathom accepting that type of connection myself,” he admits. “Only you can decide if the risk is worth the reward. Being honest with this omega is the first step. She needs to know your history before you build a relationship with her. The last thing we want is for her to trigger you into a spiral.”
His desk phone rings, and he steps away to answer it. Leaving me to think things over. When he returns a moment later to clear his mess, I jump to my feet and help him. It’s almost time for me to head downstairs to meet with a few of the bands I will design brands for.
“Thank you for bringing lunch,” Shiloh offers on my way out.
I throw him a wave over my shoulder, closing his office door on my way out. He’s right that I need to be open with Bea about my past. Even if it’s terrifying to open those old wounds.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE FCDA OFFICEwe’re meeting in is too quiet. I’ve grown used to being on tour, finding the chaos of life on the road oddly welcoming.
I stand with my back to the wall, arms crossed over my chest and my usual scowl in place. Ridley is at my side, waving and talking to every agent who passes us by. I fight back an eye roll as he pulls yet another DAU operative into his conversation. How he always knows everyone everywhere we go, I’ll never understand.
“You look like someone slashed your tires.”
I huff out a breath and glare at my only other friend, Creed Barrett. He’s a sneaky bastard. Somehow walking on silent feet despite his bulking frame. I guess that comes with being a former undercover agent at the FCDA.
“I’m here,” I grunt out.
He claps me on the shoulder, chuckling as the last of the stragglers walk in. His amusement fades when Donovan, Dromir, and Porter head to the front of the room. Two DAU leaders and the head of the FCDA.
Whatever they called us here for must be big.
“Settle down everyone,” Donovan calls out. The noise in the already quiet room drops to a nearly painful silence as all eyes turn to him. “Thank you for coming here on such short notice. We’re going to dive right into it, so please save your questions for the end.”
Porter steps up beside him and gestures to the tech organizer behind them. The gigantic screen on the wall flickers to life, displaying an image of several men meeting outside of a dingy warehouse. It’s dark enough to conceal any clues about their location, but the sharp intake of breath from several FCDA agents in the room tells me these men are big players in the criminal world.
“As of 3 o’clock this morning, we have visual confirmation the street gang The Eternals are working with the leaders of the East Coast breeding ring.”
