Page 75 of Run Omega Run
Chapter 33
Heather
Later that day, after we had shown the girls around and given them a chance to settle in, the front door opened again. Cole's familiar toffee scent drifted into the kitchen, followed by Angus's chocolate presence that had darkened to something satisfied and dangerous. Both men looked tired, but now, their shoulders were no longer rigid with anticipation, and hands were loose rather than ready for violence.
"Ladies," Cole said with a gentle nod toward our expanded group, his clinical mask in place but his eyes warm as they took in the scene of organized chaos that had transformed the pristine kitchen into something resembling a refugee camp. "I hope everyone is settling in well."
Angus filled the doorway behind him like a friendly mountain, his massive frame conveying comfort rather than intimidation as he surveyed the collection of children who'd claimed every available surface. His gaze lingered on each of the rescued girls with the same protective assessment I'd seen him apply to Loubie Lou and the others.
"Right then," he rumbled in his thick Scottish accent, "looks like our family's gotten a wee bit larger while we were out handling business."
I felt my heart pounding with delight as I watched my pack assess our new reality without complaint, without suggestion that six traumatized teenagers might be too much responsibility to take on. Instead, their expressions carried the same planning focus I'd seen when they'd rebuilt the orphanage.
"I think," I said, addressing the rescued girls with a gentle authority that had served me well at the orphanage, "you should take your time to shower and change before breakfast."
Some of them looked uncertain about being separated from our group, as if proximity to protectors was the only thing standing between them and a return to captivity.
"We'll be right here," I assured them, my voice carrying the same steady promise I'd used with frightened children for years. "The kitchen will be full of food and family when you're ready. Nothing bad will happen while you're upstairs. Nothing bad will happen again, period."
Susie stepped forward with characteristic decisiveness. "I'll take them; I need to shower anyway," she announced, already moving toward the staircase.
I felt a warm feeling in my chest watching her take charge with such natural competence. Despite everything she'd endured, she was channeling her experience into helping others navigate their first steps toward healing. I had always adored her resilience, her fierce spirit, right from the moment she'd arrived at our door, with a social worker who'd warned me about her "difficult attitude."
"Thank you, sweetheart," I said, meaning it more than she'd ever know. "That's exactly what they need right now."
As the girls disappeared upstairs in a group, their footsteps hesitant but gaining confidence, I turned to address Cole.
"They'll need medical attention," I said, though I suspected he'd already reached the same conclusion. "Not emergency care, but thorough examinations. Someone who understandstrauma, who can assess what they've been through without re-traumatizing them."
Cole nodded, his expression shifting into the professional competence I'd learned to associate with his medical work. "There’s a psychologist I know; she works at Shaker City’s hospital. I’ll contact her to help.” I nodded. “But for now, I can check them over. But their examinations will require patience, clear communication about boundaries, and absolute respect for their autonomy.”
"They'll need to trust you first," I added, though I suspected he already understood this. "Maybe after they've eaten, after they've had time to realize they're really safe."
"Of course," he replied simply. "Medical care should never feel like another violation. They've had enough of adults imposing their will."
Dante moved deeper into the kitchen, his massive hands already reaching for pots and pans. "Aye, and they'll need feeding properly," he declared. "Real food, not whatever scraps they've been surviving on. Something that reminds their bodies what nourishment feels like."
The men's immediate acceptance of expanded responsibility, their instant shift into planning mode rather than complaint or hesitation, sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach alongside pride that made my chest warm. This was what pack meant, not just romantic connection or biological compatibility, but the willingness to expand your definition of family to include whoever needed protection, whoever belonged in your circle of care.
"I'll prepare a feast," Dante announced.
“I’ll help!” I said, feeling more confident in my role as pack Omega than I had since everything fell apart. "Not just breakfast, but proper celebration food. Something that says 'welcome home' and means it."
This wouldn't be the careful rationing that had defined orphanage meals. Where I had to stretch oatmeal with extra water, making donations last until the next uncertain delivery. This would be abundance made manifest, a celebration of safety and family and the revolutionary concept that these children deserved more than mere survival.
