Page 34 of The Bright Omega

Good. Still got it. I file that away with some satisfaction and then catch myself because he probably stopped more because I look like someone who crawled out from under a rock. Hard to laugh too long at someone that pitiful.

"Water," I say. My mouth feels like I've been chewing sand. “Lip balm and a mint, too, if you have them.”

"Already on it." She's digging through her purse before I finish the sentence, which is one of approximately ten thousand reasons I love her. She produces a mint first, unwraps it, and places it in my palm. Then the lip balm, which I apply with singularly focused energy.

"My whole mouth is sandpaper," I say. "My whole body, actually. Like someone scuffed all my outsides and insides with it. It’s terrible."

On my left, Finn moves quietly to the small table beside the bed and busies himself with the water pitcher. Don't make eye contact, I tell myself very firmly. He ghosted you. Both of them did. You are furious and you are lying in a hospital bed looking like something a cat dragged in and you are absolutely not making eye contact.

He holds the cup toward my lips because I’m still lying down and that makes drinking complicated. When my fingers close over his to try to help, our hands overlap and I look up and—

Dammit, I wasn’t supposed to look at him.

He's watching me with an expression that does something troublesome to my concentration. The worry on his face is real and aimed entirely at me, and it softens something I was actively trying to keep un-softened and simultaneously makes me want to say something cutting about how he lost the right to look at me like that approximately thirteen days ago.

An omega is nothing if not a contradiction.

"Tell me what happened," Lark says, settling her hand on my arm. "Do you remember?"

"Unfortunately," I say.

I shift my eyes back to the ceiling, because looking at Finn is not helping my internal composure situation. "I don't know which I'd like to forget more, the shove into oncoming traffic, or the Pissant Pack that made it all possible." In my head I think, probably the Pissant Pack. Because without them, the shove wouldn't have been possible. Chronologically they are the more foundational problem.

Lark pats my arm. "That bad?"

I start to nod and immediately my head informs me that nodding is a terrible idea that it will not be supporting at this time. I stop. "They told me I'd look great in an apron."

Lark's mouth drops open. "No!”

"As if I would ever."

"No one's going to make you cook, Cam."

Beside me, Finn shifts slightly. I don't look at him. Beside him, Leith doesn't move at all, and I think, not for the first time since I opened my eyes, why is he even here?

"After the shove I don't remember much," I say, turning back to Lark. "Snippets. I came to in the ambulance for a second. Everything after that is just—" I try to find the words. "Too-bright lights. Beeping. The taste of blood in my mouth."

Lark gags. It's immediate and total, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. All three of her alphas move at once, a choreographed scramble that ends with Saint producing a kidney-shaped plastic bowl from somewhere and positioning it under her chin with surprising efficiency.

"Are you still doing that?"

She holds her mouth, eyes watering slightly, and breathes through her nose until the moment passes. Then she looks at me with an expression that is both miserable and deeply apologetic. "It's almost gone. But every once in a while."

My best friend, who is pregnant and still dealing with morning sickness. Who came anyway because I was in a hospital bed and that was simply not a thing she was going to let happen without her.

"Go home," I tell her.

She doesn’t look happy about it, but she nods anyway. “I’ll send Lucy to check on you.”

"No, tell her I’ll chat when I’m out of here and can stand to keep my eyes open.” I look down at the terrible gown I’m wearing. “Before I leave, have Lucy go to my apartment and grab me some clothes. I'm going to need something for when I go home."

"You'll be here for at least four days." Finn's words slip into the conversation without forcing it. Always so quiet.

I look at him. Really look, for the first time since I made the mistake of eye contact over the water cup. He's pale, which is his usual, but this is a different kind of pale. There’s something beneath it. Nerves? Exhaustion? I choose not to think about it right now.

I look back at Lark. "No rush, apparently."

She squeezes my hand then kisses my forehead. “Silas and I will get them for you.”