"It's weird," Adam finally says, shaking his headlike he can't quite find the words for what he's trying to say. "I feel like my whole identity just—" He pauses. "It was ripped away. Everything I thought I knew about myself." He picks up his glass of water, then sets it back down without drinking from it. "And male omegas aren't exactly desirable." He laughs, short and humorless. "Most people think they're defective."
He stops and something almost painful flickers across his face.
"We," he says, correcting himself. "We'redefective." He lets out a heavy sigh. "I keep forgetting I’m an omega."
Odette's expression doesn't change. She looks at him with those clear, steady eyes, and when she speaks, her voice is completely certain. “I get why you’d think that. People like to have shit opinions about things they know nothing about, and most people don’t know male omegas. But I want to remind you that my Sal was an omega too," she says simply. "And I wouldn't have traded him for every alpha on the planet combined."
She reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind Adam's ear.
"He was the best man I ever knew,” she says. “The smartest. The funniest." Her mouth curves. "The most stubborn." She drops her hand. "People who think male omegas are defective are simply too small-minded to deserve one."
Adam looks at her for a long moment, pure love shining in his soft brown eyes. "Thank you, Mama O," he finally says as he leans a little closer.
Odette presses her lips to the top of his head, holding them there for a moment. "You are still the same person you have always been, Adam," she says against his hair. "Every single part of you. Nothing has been taken away. You've only been given more."
Adam absorbs that quietly, his eyes dropping to the table for a moment. When he finally lifts his head, he looks directly at me across the table, and his mouth pulls into a small, sweet smile.
"It's really helped to have someone to talk to." His eyes stay on mine, so sweetly grateful that it makes my chest pull tight. "Someone who actually knows what it feels like."
Odette looks at me then. Not the quick, assessing sweep she sometimes gives people, but something much softer.
"We're all pretty damn lucky to have you," she says simply.
I don't know what to do with that.
I duck my head, my eyes dropping to the table. My fingers tighten around Adam's for a second before I make myself loosen them.
"Thank you," I say, which feels completely inadequate, but it’s all I can manage.
“You know,” Adam says. "A part of me wishes I could keep it a secret, and pretend to be a beta the way you did. You know." He shrugs one shoulder. "Pretend nothing changed."
"No, you don't," I say without thinking.
"I mean." Adam shifts slightly in his chair, his brow pulling together. "Omegas don't exactly have rights, Elle. They can't work, they can't live alone, they can't make their own decisions without pack approval." He shakes his head. "At least as a beta you got to have a life. A job. An apartment. Some kind of autonomy." He looks at me. "That had to have been easier."
I can’t help but shake my head. "Hiding is so lonely," I say simply. “It was exhausting and isolating and…” I let out a heavy sigh.
“That must have been hard,” Odette says softly. “I canonly imagine how much energy it took to keep track of the lies you had to tell.”
I can’t help but snort. “Very.” I run one hand through my hair, pushing it away from my face.
"The lies weren't even the hardest part," I say as I stare at the dark wooden table. "The hardest part was maintaining them. Every lie I told created a little more distance between me and everyone around me. I kept quiet and shared as little as possible about myself, because the more people knew me, the more chances there were for something to slip."
Adam is looking at me with an expression that makes me wish I hadn't been quite so honest. His brow is drawn together and his mouth has gone soft at the corners.
His fingers tighten around mine. Silently telling me to keep going.
So I do.
"I was so busy maintaining the lies that I stopped living entirely,” I say. “I had no joy or laughter or love. It was me, and my quiet apartment and those paper-thin walls." My voice drops. "I’ll never lie about who I am ever again."
"Elle," Adam says softly. “I’m so sorry.”
"Don’t be," I say, squeezing his hand. "I'm happy. Like actually happy, which still catches me off guard sometimes because I forgot what it felt like." A small laugh escapes me. "For the longest time, every sentence I said went through about seventeen checkpoints before it left my mouth." I shake my head. "Now I just talk. Like a normal person. It’s sofreeing.”
Odette raises her wineglass. "My Sal used to say that the truth takes up so much less space than a lie." She takes a slow sip. "And the bastard was right about most things."
Something crashes in the kitchen, and we all turn toward the sound.
