Page 149 of Roulette Rodeo
I head to my room—and it is mine now, truly mine in a way no space has ever been—to change. I haven’t done my nest yet, wanting to have the time to really decorate it, but I’ll aim to do that maybe next week.
The fuzzy shirt and puppy slippers get reluctantly exchanged for dark jeans that actually fit properly, the ones Talon helped me pick out because "your ass looks amazing in them, Cherry Bomb," and a burgundy sweater that's soft as sin and supposedly brings out the red in my hair.
It was intriguing that he was using the same nickname that Briar had given me, which only made me further worry about her.How was she surviving with this whole government issue? Was she still at Crimson or did she leave? How are the Omegas surviving in this chaos.She’s thankful that she’s no longer in that chaotic environment.
Having been here for almost a month now was beginning to show that her life back then was a circus in itself, always testing her and leaving her in a state of fight or flight mode.
Now she got to enjoy life peacefully, with no unexpected chaos, though she’s also ready for it if need be, knowing that her men did have dark passes that could creep up on her or any of them. She truthfully didn’t want to be a burden, which is why she also wanted to grow in her independence here.
Learn to cook meals, learn to drive in dirt roads. Maybe even ride Luna independently.
She wanted to be an asset to the pack.
Not a burden who made them worry every single time she wasn’t in this wooden glass house.
I keep the outfit simple—these omegas already look at me like I'm some curiosity. No need to give them more ammunition by showing up either underdressed or trying too hard.
As I'm pulling on actual shoes—ankle boots that Corwin insisted were "practical but stylish"—I think about Rafe's comment.
For an omega, you really aren't burdensome.
It shouldn't mean as much as it does.
It's barely a compliment, hedged with qualifiers and delivered in his typical grudging tone. But from Rafe, who's spent four weeks barely tolerating my existence, who still tenses whenever I enter a room, who watches me like I'm about to reveal myself as the disaster he's expecting?
It's progress.
I think about the book I just finished, about Celeste playing two alphas against each other, never choosing, never committing. About how she'd rather fake her death than deal with the consequences of her choices.
That's not me.
Could never be me.
I've spent three years with no choices, no agency, no ability to control even the smallest aspects of my life. Now that I have choices—overwhelming as they are sometimes—I'm not going to waste them on games.
Even with Rafe being difficult, even with the ghost of Sophia hanging over everything, even with Luca stirring up trouble, I want to be here. Want to figure out how to fit into this pack, this town, this life that still feels too good to be real sometimes.
My phone buzzes with a text from Poppy:
Heard you're getting chauffeured by Mr. Grumpy himself. Try not to kill each other. Or do. Either would be entertaining.
I grin, knowing either Talon or Corwin probably text her to check in on me.I quickly type back:
He said I'm not burdensome. I'm considering it a marriage proposal.
Her response is just a string of laughing emojis followed by:
RIP Rafe's sanity.
Another text comes through, this one from the pack group chat.
Talon: Heard Rafe's taking you to book club. Proof that miracles exist.
Shiloh: be nice to him red
Red: I'm always nice!
Talon: LIES
