Page 73 of Heat & Deceit
Ms. Emberly was still fairly new to her practice when my fathers first brought me here by court order. Most of our sessions went like this. Me sitting in stony silence, Ms. Emberly waiting, though more patiently, for me to open up. Though I’d wanted to, I didn’t bother playing with the toys then, and I certainly don’t now.
“What are you doing here, Lycus? I agreed to an appointment because of our history, but perhaps you need to see someone who specializes in adult therapy.” She gestures around her cozy office with a hard line between her eyebrows. “You never liked it here.”
“That’s not true.”
The wrinkle smooths, and she sits back. “Then? What’s on your mind? Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know.”
She settles into a mask of understanding. “Okay. Let’s start there. When did you start feeling this way?”
Since the day I was born? My mother died giving birth to me. My fathers blamed me, hated me for it. Now that I think about it, they hated everything. I tried for so long to earn their love, did everything I could to get some of their attention. Turns out, the only thing that worked was finding a way to piss one of them off.
Any attention was better than none. I happily took the looks of disdain and the hissed words of hatred, simply happy they noticed me. Without me pissing them off, they were like phantoms, moving through life. Ghosts driving me to school and therapy and the doctor. They drank too much, downing liquor until they’d pass out together, wallowing together in the misery of losing the one person they loved and being stuck caring for the child responsible for her death.
The other night, while I puked my guts out and cried into the toilet, I reminded myself too much of those phantoms I used to chase, and I didn’t like that.
Of course, if I tell Ms. Emberly any of this, she’ll regret not trying harder. The therapist did her best. I was simply too afraid to say anything bad about my fathers on the off chance the court decided I’d be better growing up with someone else as my caretaker. Life had already taken so much from me, I wouldn’t let them take my fathers. No matter how cruel or distant they were.
“I’m not sure,” I tell Ms. Emberly.
Her eyebrow lifts. “I see.”
“Did you know my pack has been searching for an omega?”
“Oh. No. How is that going?”
“Horribly,” I say with a grin.
She tips her head, a lock of graying hair tumbling over shoulder. “And that makes you happy?”
Yes.
“I haven’t found the right omega.”
Taking a page from her father’s book, Caroline Fritz, the last omega I spurned, posted a picture of me and Carmine sitting inside my Boxley on social media. She claimed that Carmine had stolen me from her, instead of blaming me, like she should have. There were hundreds of thousands of likes and comments, with a few choice words about me being a loser and Carmine an alpha chaser. I managed to get the post taken down, but not before it had gone viral. Carmine wasn’t tagged, and the guys seem certain she never knew about the post.
That’s the only thing keeping the Fritzes’ media company in business.
“And what about your pack? Have they found the right omega?”
Clever therapist. I scowl and glance away, drumming my fingers on the couch. “No, but that’s partly my fault.”
“How so?”
The scent mister releases a puff of chamomile-scented mist. The clock ticks, growing louder with each second. She shifts in her seat. The sound of clothes rasping over the cloth of her chair causes me to clench my fists.
“I’m an asshole.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Is this a therapy thing?” I snap, glaring at her. “Just a bunch of who, what, why, how?”
“You forgot when,” she says with a small smile.
I chuckle to myself and drop my head back onto the cushion, releasing a heavy breath. I came here because Javi and Rome asked me to. I came here because they were worried. I came here because...if I’m honest, I’m embarrassed by how I treated Carmine. The possibility of her hating me as much as everyone else has been eating away at me.
“We signed a contract with a dating agency. Five dates with five different omegas.”
