Page 29 of Knot All is Crystal
“And she’s working at a fucking brothel. Have you ever thought that maybe shecouldn’tknow you?” My mother rolls her brown eyes as she flings open my windows and flicks on my ceiling fan, not-so-subtly hinting that it stinks in here. I’m nose blind to it now, but I know it can’t be great.
My fathers file into the room now, Pops holding an empty laundry basket, and Dad has a plate with a sandwich.
“Those clubs are no place for an Omega,” Dad says softly. “I can’t imagine what would cause an Omega to work in a pleasure den.” Dad is an Omega, too, and when I called all of them the morning after I met Queenie and told them what happened, he was immediately concerned for her well-being.
Pops drops the laundry basket and starts to strip the linens from my bed. I lunge for the sheet.
“Don’t!”
“No,” he barks, causing me to drop it and step back. I may be an Alpha, but he’s still my parent. That bark gets me every time. “It won’t even smell like her anymore. It’s soaked with your filth now.”
“Who the fuck even let you into my house?” My words are harsh, but they hold no bite.
Dad places his hand on my shoulder, guides me to sit at my desk, and pushes the sandwich in front of me. “We have a spare key. Your sisters were worried and called in reinforcements.”
“What did I ever do to you guys to curse me with twin Omega little sisters?” I grumble around a bite of the sandwich. “Meddlesome little jerks.”
“They love you,” my mother says as she picks up the dozens of empty water bottles surrounding the bed. “They were worried about you.”
How many times in my life have my parents done this dance?
They’ve never made me feel bad about my mental health. I’m lucky that I wasn’t raised in one of those ‘mental illnesses aren’t real’ households. The three of them have always been the perfect balance of care and tough love.
“Now be honest, Mav,” Dad says gently, “have you been taking your meds?”
My face heats, and I can’t make eye contact with him. I shove a too-large bite in my mouth to get out of answering immediately. Eventually, I have to swallow.
“I ran out two days ago.”
“Aren’t you on auto-delivery?” Pop’s tone isn’t angry. No, it’s all concern.
“I am. They’re at the mailbox. I just…” I curl in on myself.
It fucking hurts. No one talks about getting rejected by your scent match because it just doesn’t happen. If they did, maybe I would have been prepared for how much this would hurt.
“It’s okay, baby,” Dad whispers, rubbing between my shoulder blades. “We’ll go get them for you. Is two days off bad enough for us to get you an emergency appointment?”
I shake my head. “No, if I start back up today, I should be fine.”
After I finish the sandwich and shower, my room is cleaned, and everything looks slightly less grey.
When I shuffle out of my room, Dad is sitting on the soft grey sofa between Mom and Pops, cuddling. Mom wiggles over, and I wedge myself between her and Dad, curling into their warmth.
I don’t give a shit what anyone says. You’re never too old for a hug from your parents.
“Now. This Omega of yours. She’s at Prism?” Pops asks once I get settled. “Kieran Cobb runs that place.” I wrinkle my nose. The name is vaguely familiar, but it doesn’t immediately tell me anything. Noticing my confusion, he continues. “He’s a powerful ‘businessman,’ and bad news.”
Pops works for the Lunarcrest Police Department in the organized crime unit. If he says this Kieran guy is shady, he definitely is. “You’ve investigated him?”
His laugh is bitter. “More times than I can count. Nothing ever sticks. He’s a fucking eel. And you said she was in the pleasure dens?”
I gulp. Having to tell my parents I took drugs and sought out the pleasure dens while manic was embarrassing, but it’s not the worst thing I’ve had to admit to them. “Yeah, but I got the vibe she wasn’t supposed to be there. She even left me a note saying there was no fee and that I should donate it to an Omega crisis center.”
“And what did you say her name was?”
“They call her Queenie, but she said that it’s a fake name.”
Pops’ eyes widen, and he angles himself on the couch to face me better. “You’re sure?”
