Page 190 of Roulette Rodeo
"But you're not," Brittany-Bethany says softly. "You're nothing like her. You're kind and funny and you actually seem to like being here. With them. With all of us, even when we were horrible to you."
"We were mean," Madison-Addison says firmly. "Trying to isolate you from things you genuinely enjoy because of our own insecurities. That was wrong, and we're sorry."
The apology hangs in the air, genuine in a way I didn't expect. I study their faces, seeing past the perfect makeup and carefully styled hair to the fear underneath. The same fear I carried for three years at the Crimson Roulette.
"Apology accepted," I say, and watch their shoulders drop with relief. "And I'll gladly teach you everything you need to know. Every omega deserves to protect themselves and say no to situations that don't serve them. That includes all of you."
They smile—real smiles, not the practiced ones from book club—and Jennifer actually tears up a little.
"Thank you," she whispers. "Really."
They wave goodbye, already chattering among themselves about signing up for next week, and I feel something warm bloom in my chest. Community. Real community, not theperformative kind but the type built on mutual understanding and shared strength.
"Look at you, building bridges," Poppy teases, bumping my shoulder. "Regular omega ambassador."
"Speaking of which..."
Malrik's voice draws our attention as he approaches, holding what looks like a sign-up sheet. His amber eyes are bright with something between pride and amusement as he waves the paper at us.
"What's that fifty-person list?" Poppy asks, leaning over to look.
"First sign-ups for next week's class," he announces with a grin.
I nearly drop my water bottle. "FIFTY? There were only twenty-three people here today!"
"Word travels fast in small towns," he says, handing me the list. "Especially when omegas start feeling empowered. You've got sign-ups from three neighboring towns already."
The names blur together as I scan the list, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and terror. Fifty omegas trusting me to teach them to defend themselves. Fifty omegas who want to be more than decoration.
I pull out my phone, still giddy with pride, and open the pack group chat.
Red: GUYS! Major news! I'm officially teaching an evening kickboxing class! Got 50 signups for next week already!
I wait for the immediate responses that usually come—Talon with enthusiasm, Corwin with medical concerns about proper warmups, Shiloh with pride, Rafe with logistical questions.
Nothing.
"You heading out?" Poppy asks, already shouldering her gym bag.
"Need a ride back?" Malrik offers, spinning his keys around his finger. "We're heading to the other side of town, but we can drop you at the ranch first."
"Nah," I say, still staring at my phone. "The guys will probably pick me up. They always do after my sessions."
They exchange one of those looks that makes me wonder what they know that I don't, but Poppy just shrugs.
"Cool. Text if you need anything!"
They leave in a whirlwind of chatter about some new cocktail Poppy wants to try making, and I'm left alone in the gym with my pile of gear and an increasingly unsettled feeling in my stomach.
I check the group chat again. Still no response. Not even read receipts.
That's... weird.
I start gathering my things—water bottle, towel, the extra wraps I brought in case someone needed them. Five minutes pass. Then ten. At fifteen minutes with no response, worry starts creeping in like fog.
Maybe they're at the clinic? Corwin sometimes gets emergency cases that require all hands. Or maybe they're dealing with ranch business? Though that usually doesn't require all four of them...
I shoulder my bag and head out into the late afternoon air. The sun is low, painting everything golden, but there's something off about the light. Too orange, too hazy.
