ChapterTwo
WHITNEY
Funerals suck. Especially when your status as low pack means there is no police escort to the burial. Low pack means there is no fancy marble headstone. When you can’t afford one, all the city gives you is a cheap wooden cross to put at the head of the casket and a plot in the section of the cemetery with too many weeds. Nothing says society hates us more than the giant too bad, so sad, they give when a low pack member passes.
Mother called on Monday night. Two days have passed since then, a blur of tears and hurt. Two days of wallowing in my apartment and dreading today. We buried Granny on Thursday, her favorite day of the week. She loved it because it was the day before the end of the work week.
“Dammit,” I mutter when my mother speeds through a yellow light. We just finished burying Granny and I’m supposed to be leading the trail of cars from the graveyard to her house for the repast, the part after the funeral where everyone eats and pretends life can carry on. I guess she forgot what common courtesy is. She didn’t think to stop so we’d stay together. I know the way, but that’s not the point. She’s being an asshole, as always.
“Some things never change.”
She’ll be pissed if I don’t keep up, but speeding up means leaving everyone else behind. I weigh the options. Catching a dose of my mother’s anger or leaving the people, who also have the address, behind to fend for themselves. The right thing to do would be to wait, but my gut tells me to speed up to avoid a fight. Pressing down on the gas, I gun it to try and get through the light before it turns red, but I’m too late. The light changes. My heart jumps into my throat.
“Shit.” I glance from side to side to make sure I’m not about to be T-boned. My gaze catches on a police car. The lights flare to life and the cop follows after me.
Seriously? On the day of my granny’s funeral? Life has really said fuck you this week.
With a heavy sigh, I pull over, tears stinging my eyes. Today is the worst. I drop my forehead on the steering wheel and wait for the cop to come give me a ticket. The last thing I need is more trouble. Camila, head of the Omega Council, has already given me a verbal reprimand for the two underage drinking citations I received.
I should have waited, but Mother is already in one of her moods. The law doesn’t care about Mother’s mood swings, though. When the inevitable rap of knuckles sounds on my window, I suck in a shaky breath and lift my head. My old Honda has a crank window that’s broken, and it takes a lot of muscle to get it to roll down. The officer’s eyebrows rise as I begin the slow and painful process.
“Hi,” I say once the window is down, giving him a weak smile that’s accentuated with tears. Everything blurs, and I can’t tell if he’s mad or simply indifferent about pulling me over.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” His voice is deep and stern. Cars rush around us, and he steps a little closer, resting his arm on the top of the car.
My throat aches from holding back a sob. My body flushes under his scrutinizing gaze. My hands tremble on the steering wheel.
“Yes.” I bite my lip and try to blink my tears away.
“License and registration, please.”
I take in a shuddering breath and reach for my glovebox, digging through the papers inside until I find my registration. I set it in my lap, cringing when tears slip down my cheek and drip onto the paper. Furiously swiping at them, I grab my wallet from my purse.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
Sniffing loudly, I shake my head. “My grandma died.” I grab my license. “Here you go.”
He stares at me, and I focus on a lamppost behind him. I’m too embarrassed to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” I say.
He sighs, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him glance at the papers I’m holding out. “Listen, you could have hurt someone, or yourself for that matter. You’re being matched tomorrow?”
He saw my license. He knows I’m an omega and that my twenty-first birthday is in two weeks. He’s smart enough to know what that means.
“Yes.” My vision clears of tears, and I take him in. He’s incredibly fit, but most cops are. Closely cropped brown hair, sun-kissed skin. He doesn’t have the pheromones of an alpha, so my guess is he’s a beta. Deltas generally don’t land good jobs unless they’re in a royal pack. Perks of being “in” with a purebred alpha.
“I’d hate for you to get in trouble the night before, especially with what happened to your grandma.” He pauses, gray eyes flicking between mine. “If you promise to stay out of trouble, I’ll let you off with a warning. I won’t write you up. Can you do that?”
“Yes, yes. I can. I’m so sorry.” Relief sweeps through me. Omegas who get tickets get in trouble. The Compatibility Ceremony is Friday night. One day is all I have until I’m matched with a new pack. Hopefully I’ll find a better life with them than the one I have now, but I’m not getting my hopes up.
“All right. Be careful and don’t break your promise. I take those very seriously.”
I give him a funny look, putting the license and registration in my lap. “I’ll be good,” I say. “Besides, it’s one night, how much trouble can I find?”
With a grimace, he glares at a car that passes a little too fast. “You’d be surprised,” he mutters. “Ma’am.” He dips his head, hooking his thumbs in his duty belt and strutting back to his squad car.
