Page 15 of Ready or Knot

JUDE

My heart pounds, my chest tightening with each minute that passes, each floor that the elevator climbs in our building. I glance at the text from Logan again, halfway convinced it’s a figment of my imagination. Maybe I want it to be from my imagination.

Council member just left.

I don’t know if I’m ready to face the reality of us deactivating with the Council. The last five years have been difficult, and I hate the idea of walking away from all of this with nothing to show for it.

Fuck, that sounds terrible, as if being matched with an Omega is nothing more than an item on a proverbial checklist. In reality, it’s one of my most ardent desires.

The elevator opens, and I brush off the train of thought, forcing my mind to stillness as I work to get into the condo. I bypass the drop tray just inside the door, and head deeper into our home. A nondescript manila envelope sits on the kitchen island, and I clench my hands tight enough for my nails to bite, breathing through my nose to keep my heart from racing. Logan sits in one of the lounge chairs, his elbows on his knees, his fingers steepled, focused on the windows lining the living room. He flicks his gaze to me.

“Carter called the girls,” he says, forgoing any niceties.

Good. If we’re going to close this part of our life out, I don’t want us to be alone. Gina and Ashlynn will keep us from sinking too low. Will they want to separate all the assets? The idea of living alone is about as appealing as hiking Zion in the heat of summer.

“They're almost here?” I ask, keeping my thoughts to myself.

When he nods, I drop into the other armchair, focusing on the city outside, the mountains standing tall, the sun just starting to creep into the condo as it ticks over into the afternoon, burning a wide strip of light across the living room. It’s another ten minutes before they arrive, Gina and Ashlynn holding hands while they laugh about something, Hallie asleep where she’s strapped to Gina’s chest in a star decorated carrier.

Ashlynn catches my gaze. Whatever she sees must be pretty haggard because she lets go of Gina’s hand and crosses the living room before I can even manage to say something. She perches on the edge of the chair, grasping my arm, and I lean against her.

“It’ll be worth it,” she murmurs, and I cover her hand with my own.

Carter rubs his shoulders before setting his phone on the island, picking up the packet without a word to any of us and walking over.

Does it seem thicker than the other ones were? I’m not sure. The others all had a single piece of paper, one small paragraph informing us that our dreams would have to wait for the next gala.

In a sign of willpower I don’t possess, Carter’s hands are steady, breaking the seal and pulling the small packet of papers out before I can manage to take a fortifying breath.

Wait. Papers?

Tears well in Carter’s eyes as he pulls the informative letter from the top of the pile and passes it to me. Logan moves to look over my shoulder. There’s a collective breath as we read the decision together.

Pack Bennett,

It is with great pride that we are able to inform you of being selected for matching with Ms. Faedra Wilson of Los Angeles. Please find enclosed…

The rest of the letter blurs as tears flood my eyes. Gina whoops, startling the baby, but she doesn’t apologize as she rushes around the back of the chairs to wrap her arms around Carter. Ashlynn laughs, hugging me. Logan and I share a shell shocked look while I try to process what I’ve read.

Selected for matching.

Four years of galas. Five years of torment from Melanie. Six rounds of being shortlisted to be told no.

We’ve matched.

We have a chance to prove worthy of an Omega.

* * *

CARTER

“Fuck, but this feels like an interview,” Jude mutters, settling into the seat next to me. His hair is styled, pulled off his forehead with gel, his beard trimmed within an inch of its life. “And I haven’t had to do one of those in almost a decade. How the hell do you do this all the time, Logan?”

Logan shrugs, clicking through the joint pack email until he finds the link to the video chat the Council sent yesterday. “It hasn’t ever bothered me. But they don’t feel like interviews to me. They’re pretty chill. And the sporting world is small, especially the semi-pro circles. We all mostly know of each other already.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk in front of me. Logan’s office is bright and carefree, the perfect reflection of the man. My gaze skates over the large canvas portrait he has hung behind the desk, aligned just right to be seen on his work calls. The three of us stand at the precipice of a canyon, hiking backpacks peaking over our shoulders.

I wonder if Faedra enjoys camping, too.

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