His brow wrinkles and after a long moment, he sighs. “I’ll tell you what. We can treat this like an extended leave of absence. Unpaid, of course. And if things do die down and go back to normal, in say, two weeks? You can come back.”
Two weeks? That’s all the grace he’s going to give me? Two freaking weeks after I’ve worked here faithfully for years, been the model employee? Well, sans that whole taking a couple months off for the show and because I was sick.
Who am I kidding?
Two weeks is more than fair. He doesn’t even need to give me that.
I give a tight nod. “Okay. That’s… that’s very kind of you, Mr. Bahmer. I appreciate it.”
His face folds into a smile, wrinkles popping up by his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. He reaches over and pats my hand. “It’s the least I can do. You’ve been a joy to work with, Florence. Truly. And I know things have beendifficultfor you since you got back.” By difficult he means, he knows I’ve been diagnosed with RMD. I had to tell him since he’s my direct manager. He’s tried to be as accommodating as he can. But what good is a teller that can only assist betas and omegas without feeling sick?
“And for the record, my wife and I feel the way that pack treated you was… abominable. You deserve better than them.”
I give him a tight smile and push to my feet, readying to collect my things and leave. No matter what he said, this will be my last shift. I won’t be coming back here. Two weeks, while generous, isn’t enough time for the furor to die down and we both know it.
“Thank you, Mr. Bahmer. I appreciate all you’ve done for me.” I hold out my hand and bite back a wince when he closes his fingers around mine. A wave of nausea swells, but I force it down by will alone.
He definitely doesn’t deserve to have me vomit all over him.
Not when he’s been so understanding.
He clasps both of his hands around mine. “When things die down entirely, if they die down entirely, come back and we’ll see if we can find a place for you, Florence.”
Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them back with a deep shuddering breath. “Thank you. You’ve been very kind.”
With one last trembling smile in his direction I turn to leave, knowing I won’t be coming back.
“What are you doing home?” Haven asks, the worry in her voice clear as she levers herself off the couch and rounds it toward me. “Did something happen at the bank?”
That’s it. That’s all it takes for the dam to break. Tears flood my eyes, my mouth parts on a sob and Haven’s eyes widen in surprise even as she tugs me against her body in a tight hug. I sob into her shoulder and she lets me soak her sweater—or actually, Jude’s sweater based on the rum soaked beach scent clinging to it—with my sadness. I feel more than see Tic slip up next to us, his broad palm rubbing soothing circles between my shoulder blades.
They both murmur comforting words to me, words that I’m aware of but don’t really soak in. “Sorry,” I eventually mutter into Haven’s hair. “I just… Mr. Bahmer let me go from the bank today.”
“What?” Haven and Tic say at the same time, but their tones are entirely different. Haven’s is bright with shock, while Tic’s is dark with the promise of violence.
I push away from Haven and swipe a hand over my face, even as tears keep falling unchecked from my eyes. “Technically, he gave me two weeks leave.Withoutpay, mind you. With the hope that things will die down. But ever since that asshole doxed me the bank has been… a bit of a madhouse.” I shake my head and wrap my arms around my stomach, hugging myself now that Haven is no longer doing it. “I can’t even blame him. It's a financial institution. They need to have some kind of security. Having a bunch of looky-loos come in isn’t very secure, now is it?”
Haven frowns and guides me over to the couch, urging me to sit down. “None of that is your fault though. Just like it’s not your fault that you have a hard time with alphas.”
She’s not wrong, but I can’t blame Mr. Bahmer.
I’d already been thinking I needed to find something else, another job that didn’t put me in direct contact with the public. But I’d also been stubbornly trying to stick it out, to prove to myself and the rest of the world that the Ashbourne pack didn’t take this from me too. My steady job, the one that provided security, normalcy when everything else feels so strange and uncertain.
I should have quit ages ago.
“I’m a goddamn mess,” I sniff, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. It's disgusting, but I’m beyond caring. Tic and Haven aren’t going to judge me for falling apart.
“It's okay if you are,” Haven says, reaching out to pat my hand. “You had your heart broken, that’s going to take some time to get over it.” Her fingers tighten, and her grey eyes burn into mine. “But you are going to get over it, Flo. You’re going to survive this and come out fighting. Like always.”
My lower lip trembles as my throat goes tight all over again. I’m so fucking tired of fighting, of needing to be strong and reliable and elastic. Bouncing back after every blow life has seen fit to hand me.
And this is different. So fucking different. You can’t just bounce back from this. “How? I’m sick. I’m not going to magically recover from that.”
“No,” Tic says, tucking me against his chest and giving me a squeeze. “But we can do things to make it manageable. Starting with you actually taking the suppressants they prescribed you. Thefulldose, Ren.”
“And limiting your proximity to other alphas,” Haven adds.
“I have to work,” I protest.