Page 73 of Eight Count Heat
Gray's steel eyes flick between my parents and me, clearly calculating threat levels. "Team meeting's in thirty minutes."
"That should be sufficient," Father says smoothly.
"Twenty-five minutes," Gray counters. "She needs time to settle in before we start."
The negotiation happens with polite smiles and steely determination on both sides. My father recognizes another Alpha accustomed to command, while Gray makes it clear that Reese Callahan belongs to his team first.
"Of course," Father concedes. "We wouldn't want to interfere with team obligations."
I catch the subtle emphasis on "team" and know he's filing away information for later dissection.
"There's a quiet seating area near the restaurant," Mother observes. "Shall we?"
The next twenty minutes feel like navigating a minefield while wearing high heels. We settle into leather chairs arranged around a low table, the positioning carefully orchestrated. Mother and Father claim the chairs that give them the best view of the lobby and easy access to exits, habits ingrained from years of business and social warfare. I take the seat facing them, feeling uncomfortably like I'm being interviewed.
"Now then," Father begins, hands steepled in front of him. "Perhaps you can explain why we received a call about our daughter being involved in a security incident at Westlake, only to find you here with Sable Ridge's men's rowing team."
My stomach drops. Of course that's where they'd start.
"I transferred to Sable Ridge three weeks ago," I say, deciding to rip the bandage off quickly. "I'm coxing for their men's team now."
The silence that follows could freeze water.
"You left Westlake," Mother says, her voice perfectly controlled. "Without telling us."
"It was a time-sensitive opportunity—"
"You left the women's team," Father interrupts, "to cox for Alphas?" The revulsion in his tone makes it clear exactly what he thinks of his Omega daughter surrounded by unmated Alpha males, and the disapproval makes my stomach clench. This is going exactly as I feared it would.
"The Sable Ridge men's program has superior coaching and facilities," I explain, falling back on technical arguments. "Their alumni network includes Olympic development coaches. The exposure and experience will be invaluable for my rowing career."
"Your rowing career?" Father's eyebrows rise fractionally. "Darling, we've discussed this. Rowing is an excellent activity for college, but it's hardly a career path for someone of your background."
"Especially," Mother adds delicately, "given your... particular circumstances."
The coded reference to my designation makes my chest tighten. Even here, even now, they can't bring themselves to say the word "Omega" aloud.
"My circumstances don't affect my ability to cox," I say firmly.
"Don't they?" Father leans forward slightly. "Reese, you're a nineteen-year-old Omega surrounded by unmated Alpha athletes. The biological implications alone..."
"Are managed," I cut him off, glancing around to ensure we're not being overheard. "And completely irrelevant to my performance on the water."
"Is that what you call it?" Mother's smile is razor-sharp. "Managing?"
My chest tightens. Do they know about the suppressants? About what was really stolen?
"I call it being professional," I reply evenly.
"Professional." Father tastes the word like expensive wine. "Tell me, what do these young men think you are?"
"Their coxswain."
"You know what I mean."
I do. He's asking if they know I'm an Omega. If I'm passing as Beta. If I'm living the lie that makes everything easier for everyone.
"They think I'm qualified to do my job," I say instead.
