Page 20 of A Pack of Honey
LakesideRetirementHomeisa lovely place. The outside facade resembles a picturesque village, making the front look like segmented homes even though it's one big facility. The inside is all soft cushions and gleaming surfaces. I've been coming once a week or more for the last six months—ever since I took over the farm—ever since my grandmother checked in.
In her prime, Eileen Robins was a beautiful, blonde bombshell who loved swimming in the lake, dirty martinis, and red lipstick. She ran her parent's apiary with them until they retired and she took over. In her late twenties, she found a pack she was scent-sensitive to. Two male alphas and a male beta. They bonded, had children, and lived happily ever after. Until her pack beta, Rupert, passed in a car accident early in life. Then, years later, one of the alphas died from surgical complications. Eileen and her final alpha, my grandpa, lived as happily as they could, raising their granddaughter until she could take over the farm. Grandpa passed six months ago. He'd been older than her, anddied of natural causes. It still made a hole open up in my heart whenever I thought of him.
Now she's here, in her late seventies, dying of bonding sickness. It happens with scent sensitive omegas if their packs pass before them. Their bodies just shut down. Because omegas usually bond to a large pack, they rarely outlive all their members, but it happens. It's like they lose the will to live.
Grandma's at the end stages. She's only lucid sometimes and needs help to do everything. It's why she can't be on the farm anymore. She needs special, around-the-clock care that can't be administered at home. It breaks my heart to not be able to care for her myself but with the farm I just wasn’t able to give her the professional help she needed alone.
Today, she's exceptionally lucid. She knows where she is and why and even my name. It's been a long time since she's been this way, and we've enjoyed every moment. She's been asking about the farm, town, and all her old friends. We've laughed and cried and hugged for the last hour. She asks about my personal life and I can't keep anything from her. I never could. I fill her in on the pack and that we're scent sensitive. I leave out the vandalism and the fact that they're camping in my yard.
Grandma listens as I pour my heart out about my uncertainty and firm belief that they can't fit into my life. I lay out all the reasons why. The fact that they live in the city. That I don't ever want to leave my farm. The fact that they need someone more sophisticated than a farm girl and that I don't think I can make a life with people so different than me. There's a long beat of silence. For one horrible moment, I fear she's slipped back out of lucidity.
But then Grandma chuckles. The sound is like a sip of lemonade on a warm summer day. So light and fresh. She laughs with the brightest smile I've seen on her face in a long time.
It's contagious, and I find myself smiling along. "Why are you laughing?" I demand.
"Because you're so much like your mother," she sighs. I stiffen. Maybe she has slipped away from reality. I'veneverbeen compared to my mother. I never looked much like her. Any genetic material skipped a generation. My mother looks distinctly like her father, and I look distinctly like the sick, somewhat delusional woman lying in the bed with tubes coming out of her frail arms.
"I think I'll get the nurse, Grandma."
But she holds my hand in hers. "No, sweety, I mean you would fight everything and anything, even your own fate. Even if it hurts you."
That's true. Mom was known for being quite stubborn. I'd been told it was part of why she hadn't taken a mate or a husband. She just showed up already pregnant with me, refusing to say who the father was.
I take a deep breath, swallow, and ask the question that has been screaming in the back of my mind ever since I scented the Night Pack. "Knowing this is where you end up, would you still have bonded with your pack?" She blinks, and her eyes become glassy. "Oh, I'm sorry I—"
"Rupert? Where's Rupert. What's happened?" Grandma asks, and my heart plummets to my shoes.
"It's ok, Grandma," I soothe.
"You're not my granddaughter. Sunny's five. Who are you?" she snaps.
The nurse must have been outside the door because she swoops in, telling me that visiting hours are almost over. I hardly hear her as I gather my things. I practically sprint to my parked car, but by the time I get there, I'm a sobbing mess. My grandmother was there, and then she was gone, leaving her body behind. It's said that when a scent sensitive omegas pack dies,the inner omega psyche dies too. Studies have shown that a part of the brain shuts off. Omegas report not feeling that insistent inner voice anymore. It must be terrifying.
I sob until I can't breathe, and then I sob some more. Finally, the cries fade, and I'm just sitting in my car.
I head back to the Apiary. I'm almost there, and then I'm in pain.
Luca
Ican'treadanymore.I've completely lost the ability. I stare at my screen, and I swear to fuck, I've read the same email at least three times, and not a word is sinking in. Sunny's been gone for a long time. The Apiary is closed, and everyone's gone home.
There’s a nagging pulling in my chest. My alpha straining. He’s upset. He thinks something is wrong. The old, paranoid bastard. I want to call and check on Sunny, but I know she wouldn’t appreciate the hovering. The rest of the guys look just as stressed.
The sound of a car has me pushing away from the table and stalking out the front door. The footfalls of the rest of the pack close behind me. But it's not Sunny's car. An omega that smells of rain and wind with tousled auburn hair leans out the window.
"You're the pack camping on Sunny's farm, right? Her scent-match pack?" the woman calls.
"Yeah! Who the hell are you?" Jess shoots back.
"Calliope. I'm a friend of Sunny."
Calliope, the dirty librarian. I remember first meeting Sunny in the Café like a punch in the gut.
"Where is she?" I ask, panic beginning to coat my insides.
"There was a car accident—"
We're all piling into her car before she can finish.
