Page 142 of Stolen Omega

“It’s better to let people with memory loss remember things by putting them in familiar surroundings. If I told you the truth straight off the bat, you would have called me a liar, and you might have resisted believing any memories that came to you after that,” he explains, running a hand through his dark hair and making it stick up. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t risk it.”

I can tell it wasn’t an easy decision for him. He still feels conflicted now.

“You’re probably right,” I tell him as I digest that truth. “It’s hard enough to believe it, even after I’ve remembered so much. It feels like it happened a long time ago, in another life.”

“Fifteen years isn’t nothing,” he agrees. “If you’d been any younger, you might never have gotten any memories back.”

That’s a terrifying thought. I can deal with what I’ve found out, because the memories are warm and happy. I know that life I had before the house in the woods was a good one. If I found out I had another life before and I knew nothing about it, I don’t think I could take it so well.

“Did my … Did the Ortegas buy me?” I ask, trying to push my feelings down as I wait for the answer.

“Not quite,” Zane says. “But we should talk about that later.”

Right. I’ve already been over-loaded with earth-shattering information, and I’m still processing the fact that the Ortegas aren’t my parents. It’s not that it’s hard to believe, exactly, it’s just that it’s something I’ve known my whole life that’s turned out not to be true.

It gives me so many questions that I need answers for, but at the same time I’m a little scared to ask.

Not knowing will drive me crazy, but maybe that’s better than what might happen if I do know.

Could anything I don’t know be worse than finding out my parents aren’t my parents?

God, this is torture. I’m not going to know unless they tell me.

My guts twist up into knots as I look at them.

Do I insist on more, or wait like Zane wants me to?

“Maybe we can talk about it after lunch,” Dale suggests, clearly picking up on my conflicting feelings, and probably my underlying hunger pangs, too. “I baked some bread this morning. It’ll be perfect for slicing by now.”

“That sounds great,” I tell him.

He’s such a sweetheart. So thoughtful and caring.

He has a calming presence, and that’s without using his touch on me.

The way he feels right now speaks volumes about how he sees this place and the Alpha who kidnapped me. He’s comfortable, content and happy.

It makes me feel much safer and more relaxed than I would around Zane alone.

The Alpha is a little closed down. It’s harder to tell what he’s feeling, and I’m not used to digging around for emotional responses. Usually, they crack the surface, where I can feel them.

He’s guarded with his feelings.

I don’t think he used to be. At least, when I knew him before.

That was a lifetime ago. Way back when we were kids.

Fifteen whole years ago.

Clearly, a lot has changed in the time we’ve been apart. It would have been impossible to stay the same while we were all growing up and building our lives.

Zane turns the monitors off again and leads us out of the room, across a corridor and into a room with no carpet.

I think it’s a bedroom, but honestly, who knows?

At least it has windows. That’s an improvement on the room I was in before, though I can guess why that didn’t have any. The view would have ruined the illusion of my reconstructed childhood.

It’s tropical outside. Sand dunes and blue skies. Bright and sunny.

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