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Nodding, I pull my lips in, lowering my eyes to my hands. I’m sure he really is sorry—Dr. Stevens and I have been in this for almost two years. I’m sure he was hoping just as I was that this procedure would turn out better than it did.
“We have therapist on call, if you need to talk.”
I chuckle sadly, shaking my head, willing the tears to stay fucking put until I get home. I can wait a few more hours to break down. Not here, not now. “I don’t. I’ll be okay. Nothing a few shots of tequila won’t fix, right?”
He frowns. “Benjamin—”
“Nope,” I say, standing and grabbing my jacket. “I can’t. I’ll be fine. Drinking will be fine. I’ll be at home and I won’t drive. I’ll sleep on my side so I don’t aspirate and I’ll make sure I drink plenty of water in the morning.” I’m rambling and I know it, but I can’t stop the word vomit. “So yeah. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I just need … I gotta get outta here.” Quickly, I leave the office, rushing to get down the street and away from Dr. Stevens’s office.
Just my luck. I get left in foster care, not taken care of my whole childhood. I age out and start taking care of myself, wanting to share my life with a child once I was in the position to. Finally ready, with a decent place to live and money saved, and my first heat is so excruciating that I never wanted to have another one. Then the second one rolled around and me and the alpha that serviced me ended up in the emergency room where I found out I had Weylet’s. Get the surgery to help my Weylet’s and I find out that it worked, but I don’t have enough eggs to even benefit from it.
The bark of laughter I release has people on the street giving me funny looks, but I don’t care. The irony is too funny not to let the sound out. All the steps I took were for nothing. I’ll never have a child. I’ll never feel him grow in my womb, kick, and stretch my belly. I’ll never have the experience—and pain if what Brandon says is to be believed—of childbirth.
I won’t have any of that.
When I get over this hurt, I’ll be able to get my head on straight and start my process to adopt. I’m a single omega, and I’m not sure if the law will allow it. I’ll have to ask Rome.
Sighing, I know I have to tell Rome what’s going on. I promised Brandon I would after my appointment. Besides, we can’t continue like this. It’s so hard to fight against nature. Every fiber of my being wants me to go to him, to fall into his arms and allow him to make it better. If he wants kids, we can talk about it and figure out if we want to adopt or to separate to try to get what we need. Either way, we have to talk.
Up ahead on the sidewalk, there’s a flurry of activity, people moving out of the way of something. Before I can move myself, an alpha kid runs up to me, eyes wide and out of breath. He grabs my hand, holding on tight. Before I can ask him to let me go—gently, I think—he looks at me with pleading eyes and mouthshelp.
He’s not unkempt, but his clothes are a little dirty and he smells of the streets.
My eyebrows furrow, but the answer to my question comes running up to us. “Thief!” yells a pale alpha with a receding hairline, grabbing at the kid.
“Excuse me?” I say, stepping in his path and pushing the child behind me. Yes, this kid is a few inches taller than me, but he’s clearly still a child. There’s no reason for an adult alpha to grab at him. “What’s going on here?”
“He was stealing!” the alpha bellows, shaking his finger at the kid.
Looking back, I see what I think is a guilty look cross the kid’s features as his cheeks turn pink. “Were you?” I ask in a stern voice. From his guilty expression, he knows stealing is wrong, so I don’t feel bad about putting some bass in my voice.
“I w-w-w-was w-w-waiting for y-y-you,” he stutters and my heart goes out to him. His face turns a darker shade of red as he struggles to get the sentence out.
“This stupid boy! Stealing and can’t even string together a sentence!”
“Hey!” I shout, shoving the kid behind me more. “Do not disrespect my nephew that way. I won’t tolerate it. He is not stupid. You hear me?” The kid is in no way related to me, but the alpha before me doesn’t need to know that.
The alpha seems nonplussed that I got loud with him. And we’re on a public street with people walking by, watching the interaction. He won’t embarrass this kid like that. Not with me present.
“Now,” I say, turning to the kid. “I told you to wait for just a moment and I’d be in,” I lie smoothly. “You didn’t have to grab anything. We’re going to eat right now.” I turn back to the alpha mouth breathing in front of me. “How much?”
“What?” he asks while glaring at the kid.
“No, you look at me. He is a child and you will not stand here and make him feel like shit about an accident. You will confer with an adult.” The alpha glares down at me, but I meet his eyes steadily. He must not know that I talk to alphas like this often. He doesn’t scare me.
Not wanting to feel like he lost, the alpha store clerk swells up and yells, “I want him taken care of!”
Gripping the child’s hand tightly, I say, “And he will be. I’ll be sure to tell his dad when I take him home.” I glance back and see the kid wince and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s a good actor or because he’s really afraid of his dad. Turning back to the store clerk, I say, “Tell me how much.”
“From what I could tell from all he shoved in his pockets … eight dollars.”
Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “You chased a child down in the streets for eight fucking dollars?”
“He was—”
“Yeah, I know, stealing. I’m sure it would have been a hardship to cover it. Come on. If I’m gonna pay for it, you might as well keep it.” We walk to the store, the employee grumbling the whole way, but I don’t give a fuck. If he’s taking my money, this kid gets the things he wanted.
We walk up to the counter and I tap it, giving the kid a look. With a sheepish expression, he pulls out the contents of his pockets—a microwaveable sandwich, a bottle of water, chips, and a candy bar.
