Page 26

“They do,” Dr. Lawson replies. “But you’re the one who is recovering from Shattered Bond Syndrome. And it’s my job to see you safely through this heat…now, in this moment. Your plan pays for a personalized suite, home care, and scent profiling with matching. We will customize everything, including rooms, treatment, and in your case touch therapy.”

“What?”

“You’re touch starved. I don’t need to read those…thousand…forms to diagnose that. Your doctors already have. Let’s be frank with each other. You have been referred to me because you’re an Omega with the highest level of need. I work specifically with Omegas who have heat-related trauma, grief, depression, and PTSD. It is what I specialize in. I can’t pretend that any of this will be an easy journey or one without setbacks. But I will match you with a volunteer pack who will work on helping you with more than your heat. If you want me to, no one else.”

She leans toward me, and her gaze is warm and open. “But you need to make this choice. No one can make it for you.”

Frozen, for a long moment, I can’t speak.

The mug has grown too warm in the palms of my hands, but I can’t move to place it down.

Dr. Lawson doesn’t press me.

If I say this, then I am making the decision to pick a new pack for the next three weeks.

I can’t pretend that my sister dragged me here, or that Beau created this plan.

She is not only checking in on my consent. She is making sure that I have the agency that was snatched from me when I received the final text with we love you and then nothing but silence.

I lean forward, placing the mug onto the coffee table, shaking out my seared palms. “Let’s do this.”

Dr. Lawson smiles. “Good. Then I will email you with the customized plan, which will be organized over three weeks. Your Shattered Bond and touch starvation are severe enough that it’s important to slowly get you used to both touch and Alphas in your territory and nest, before your heat. You need to feel safe.”

Relieved, I run my hand through my hair. “Sounds good, doc. Almost like you know what you’re talking about.”

“Funnily, this ain’t my first rodeo.” Dr. Lawson taps on the tablet with her stylus. “Next decision now that we’re on a roll. Do you want to match by profile or scent?”

Excitement washes through me.

I hadn’t realized how much control I would have. I truly am selecting the pack. I can even decide how I choose them.

“I’m not dating them,” I decide. “I don’t want to do some shitty dating app thing.”

“It’s not quite like that.”

“Still, the packs you’d offer are trained for working with Omegas like me? Ones with trauma? You’d only offer Alphas who are suited to me?”

Dr. Lawson nods.

“Then I don’t need to know whether they love…” To bake, a laughing voice flashes in my head, and I ruthlessly suppress it. “If one of the Alphas is my scent match or at least, I like their scents, then there is some chance that I will be able to accept them into my nest without ripping it to pieces.”

Dr. Lawson notes my choice onto her tablet, before sliding it beside her on her chair.

Then she leans to pick up a large, leather portfolio.

She draws back the zipper on the document case. “This is a personalized scent portfolio, which I put together for you in case you wanted it. The scent portfolio contains eleven packs of Alphas who would fit your needs. Because of your strength of heat, the packs contain at least three Alphas. Pick the one that appeals to your Omega instincts the most.”

I wring my hands anxiously. “How do I know if I get it right? My heart…my damn soul…has been fighting those instincts for a year. Plus, I didn’t choose Beau or Evan with them either. We fell in love because of who we were and not based on our dynamics.”

Dr. Lawson passes the portfolio over to me.

“Beau and Evan,” she says their names carefully like honoring my wish not to avoid them, but at the same time as if they’re glass that could shatter; I want to scream, “were your childhood sweethearts. No one can replace them, and we’re not trying to. This is a service. You’re selecting a pack to support you through a heat. You’re still allowed pleasure, right? To feel? To be an Omega? You don’t need to do anything because when you smell the right Alphas, you’ll react.”

I think of the green hoodie and leather jacket lying on my bed, whose scent has faded. All I want is to bury my nose in them and smell my old pack.

But I force myself to flick open the portfolio. A small scent wipe is attached to the inside.

“Are you wearing a neutralizing spray?” She gestures at the wipe. “Cleanse your pulse points first to ensure that you react properly to the Alphas’ scents.”