Page 13 of The Rejected Omega

“As soon as your vitals are back to normal.”

My next visitoris Connor’s father, who looks relieved to see me awake and eating the soggy hospital food.

I don’t like him being here. His scent, his face, his frame—they all remind me of Connor, and I’m trying not to think of him.

Mac fishes a phone out of his pocket and sets it on the swinging hospital tray next to my food. It’s mine. The case is scuffed and dirty, but the cracked screen has been replaced. I eye it like a coiled snake preparing to strike.

“It’s dead,” Mac says.

“Good.”

I’m not ready to face whatever is waiting for me on it. I don’t bother thanking him for fixing the screen. It was kind of entirely his fault.

“How are you, Alanna?”

“I want to go home. I can’t afford this.” I stab the flabby chicken in my beige lunch tray. “This overcooked chicken probably costs a hundred bucks.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

I arch a brow at him. “Yes, I do. I’m eighteen. The Clovers took me off their insurance policy a week after my birthday.”

Mac doesn’t look surprised. “I’ll take care of it. Just focus on getting well.”

“I don’t want your charity, Mr. Masters. What happened isn’t your fault.”

“It’s not charity. You’re my son’s mate. That makes you family.”

I shove the tray away from me.

“I’m not your son’s anything, anymore. Please leave.”

I checkmyself out of the hospital the next day and bus home. It’s going to clean out my bank account just to afford the low-dose suppressants I was prescribed until the specialist fine-tunes my “treatment plan.”

I take a week off school to recover, but I can’t hide forever. The doctor and Mac encouraged me to take more time, but I can’t afford to miss any more class. Crestwood Academy is a rigorous school, and I need the flexibility in college choices that top grades will afford me now more than ever. I’ve never been one who can skip class and still ace the tests. I’ve always had to work for it.

Before, I was certain I’d go to whatever college Connor and I both got into. Now I’ll have to do the opposite.

Which means I have to face whatever’s waiting for me on my phone in case I run into Connor at school tomorrow. I’d rather not be blindsided.

The screen lights up as I power it on. There are several missed calls from Mac and a few unknown numbers—the other elders after discovering I was missing, most likely.

I force myself to open my text thread with Connor.

The mating ceremony was Friday evening. Connor didn’t text me back until Sunday morning. The realization opens up a fresh pit in my stomach. I was dying in the woods, calling his name, begging for him to show up, and he’d been…oblivious.

My hand shakes as I scroll through the messages.

SUNDAY:

Whoa, missed calls. Expected them from Dad, but you never call me.

Are you okay? What was that text about? Did something happen at the ceremony?

MONDAY:

Showed up to drive you to class today, but Ma Clover said you were real sick. Wouldn’t let me in to see you. Is everything alright?

I told my foster mother as little as possible about what happened at the mating ceremony. Mrs. Clover is a beta, so she wouldn’t understand. And I don’t particularly trust her with my secrets. But I got one message across. Under no circumstance was she to let Connor Masters in to see me.

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