Talk About… Rivalry (Rockwood Valley Omegaverse #2)

2. Sidney

Sidney

“ S idney!” My dad’s barked order was so loud it startled me. The hay bale I was about to toss slipped from my fingers, and I stumbled backward, nearly plummeting to my death if Dad hadn’t put up the railing years ago... after the first time I fell.

Some things never changed. I would always be a hot mess, and Dad would always be a grumpy alpha who couldn’t put his emotions into words if he tried.

“Dammit, kid,” he grumbled as he trudged up the ladder. Everything Dad said sounded angry, but growing up with him, I knew that was just how he was.

Everything about my dad was rugged and rough around the edges. His skin was tanned and weathered from being in the sun all day. He always had dirt covering his boots and jeans—sometimes even his shirts. He tended to the horses and the pasture most days, so he was rarely inside.

If we were being honest with ourselves, I pretty much raised myself. He made sure there was food in the fridge, but I had to learn to cook it once I was old enough. He’d give me money for clothes until I was old enough to earn my own. Everything else was basics only.

Mom had never really been in the picture. This town was too small for her, and Dad had no intentions of leaving. Once she had me, things changed. Then, one day when I was ten, he woke up to find her gone, and me still there.

That was one of those things that would always stick with me. I wasn’t enough for her to stay and I knew damn well I wouldn’t be enough for any pack to stay when they found their scent match.

At least my dad stayed.

Dad was always the type to just handle situations, and so he did. He wasn’t a bad dad, but he was cold. There were no “I love yous” and hugs. I was not a coddled omega. I was expected to help on the ranch from the moment I could.

Meals were generally up to me, but at this point, we had it down to a science. Once a month, I spent the day cooking, meal-prepping, and then delivered them to his porch. All he had to do was simply set out his meals a few days in advance. He heated things up when he got up or when he finally trudged in at night.

Mama Whitaker always let me crash her kitchen on those days and I happily avoided the home I grew up in at all costs.

My dad kind of reminded me of my best friend, Avery, in the way that he buried himself in work. Maybe that was his way of coping with the life he was given. I just wish he showed a softer side more often. I swear, by the time I do find a pack, I won’t know how to handle being hugged.

“What is it, Dad?” I finally asked as I straightened up and pretended I hadn’t just nearly fallen to my death. I leaned against the railing, giving him a fake smile.

He let out a grunt but didn’t call me on my bullshit. “Uncle Dale is working with that new horse. He wants to see if you’ll have any luck. I’ll take this from here.”

“Okay,” was all I offered. He wasn’t looking for an explanation. He knew how to pick up right where I left off and would probably do it way faster—freaking alpha strength.

I was strong and fit for an omega, but no matter how hard I worked or trained, I would never be as strong as well-honed alpha muscles.

Not bothering to say goodbye, I made my way carefully down the ladder and through the barn.

The ranch was quiet this time of day. The ranch-hands had their chores done and had left for the night. I honestly preferred when the grounds were busy.

I could already see my uncle working with a new horse in the training yard. Every so often, he saw a horse at the auctions that he couldn’t pass up. The ones no one wanted were his specialty, and sometimes he thought my quiet omega voice was the trick to calming them down.

It’s not that I didn’t have compassion for these horses, but none of this was my choice. I didn’t want to be here taking care of this ranch.

This was their dream, not mine.

Sure, I could have gone off to college, but I would have been in heaps of debt. It wasn’t like we made a brilliant amount of money so that I could go without worrying.

Much to their annoyance, I stopped doing riding lessons a while back. Occasionally, I helped the Whitakers bartend, but it was just an excuse to see Maverick.

If I could, I would have gone to art school or made a business selling my paintings and prints online. Now, I just sketched in my free time and painted murals on canvas when I could.

A stressed whinny brought me out of my head. My uncle’s face lit up as he saw me, waving me over—stupidly turning his back on the horse that was already agitated. I pointed behind him before he was trampled.

He turned around just in time, hopping out of the way as the horse started to charge at him.

With a string of colorful curses, he crawled out between the fence slats and left the horse in the circular training yard.

“This one’s feisty, Sidney. I’m going to really need your help.”

“What are you going to do when I leave here one day?” I teased. He shot me a look, knowing damn well it wasn’t really a joke. It was an inevitability.

My uncle ran a hand through his beard, the copper catching in the sun. He had the same green eyes my dad and I had, but outside of that, he was stockier, had a gruffness to him that my stoic dad lacked.

He was also softer, but not enough to make me feel comforted here. I needed more than this.

“One day,” he mused. At this point, I’d been saying it for years, so he was happy to bury his head in the sand.

The truth was that I had nowhere else to go. All my work experience was here on the ranch. Then there was the omega bullshit I was forever battling.

Since my scent never came in, and I couldn’t even pick up subtle hints from other people, my doctor warned I might not have heats. The only way we knew I was an omega was by my physical stature and bloodwork.

Instead of no heats, I ended up with these awful short bursts of heat that didn’t quite pull me under, but just made my life hell for a few days before leaving me exhausted.

Omegas were protected by law in the workforce, but with mine being sporadic and sometimes frequent when I was stressed, I doubted their patience would last for long.

My doctors had studied it, done mountains of research—I could at least give them credit for that—but it got us nowhere.

When the Omega Network Clinic moved to town, I saw a doctor there. Dr. Graves had theories, of course, thinking that once I found my mate, it would trigger everything.

I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

At this point, I didn’t want to find a mate. I’d been in love with Maverick Whitaker for years. I had a feeling he didn’t see me that way. I’d always just been his little sister’s best friend. The Whitaker family just took me under their wing when mom left. There was nothing more there than platonic kindness from him. Nash and Cameron, the other two of the triplets, were just more open about me being another little sister. They were all jokes and teasing, whereas Maverick was more reserved.

That was probably why I let this delusion go on for as long as it had.

To this day, I still got the family discounts at the bar, and they treated me like one of their own.

Being there was my own personal torment. I couldn’t help sneaking glances at Maverick every so often and sometimes I swore I saw him looking back.

There was just something about the stoic alpha that drew me in. I couldn’t scent him, but I could imagine how amazing he probably smelled. I bet it was something rugged and perfect—something I’d want to drown in.

And then there was Taylor, the adorable waiter I’ve had a crush on for months. I mean, he got paid to deal with me since he was usually working at The Landing every time I went, which was several times a week. Truthfully, I only went for him. He was this adorable, playful omega that never failed to make me smile. When I was with him, it was easy to forget about scent matches and failed biology.

The reality was, that one day they would find their match and wouldn’t spare me a second glance.

My chest ached at the thought. I had to clear my throat and shake my head as if to fight off the thoughts so I could focus back on Uncle Dale, who’d been rambling on about how he got this horse and why. The stories were generally long so I knew I didn’t miss anything.

“So, if you could just try to calm her down, that would be great,” he said, handing over a bag of apples and carrots before walking away and leaving me to clean up his mess.

“Thanks, Uncle Dale,” I mumbled under my breath.

The horse was eyeing me from across the yard. She was beautiful, though she definitely needed a little TLC. Her coat wasn’t as shiny, and I could see tufts of fur that needed to be brushed away. From the flies and the dust clinging to her, it was obvious she was in dire need of a bath. The only thing that had been taken care of seemed to be her hooves.

“Hi, sweet girl,” I cooed, keeping my voice low and warm. She let out a huff and still eyed me, not bothering to take a step closer. “It looks like you didn’t get treated like you should. I promise you’ll be safe here, girl. You just have to give us a chance.”

Instead of trying to lure her closer with a treat, I tossed an apple her way. It hit the ground far enough away that she didn’t jump. She simply let out a little snort as it rolled her way, dipping her head down when it was close enough to sniff it before finally chomping down on the shiny, red fruit.

Then she promptly turned her back on me. I let out a soft laugh at the dismissal. It wasn’t convincing. I could still see her head tilted just enough to keep an eye on me.

“That’s all right, girl. I’ve got all day, I promise.” My uncle wouldn’t be happy until he thought I put in a good effort here. Plus, I wasn’t looking for another lecture from Dad.

I pulled my sketchbook out of my bag that I always kept with me, along with a snack for myself. I tossed two more apples into the ring—one of them hitting midway, the other close enough for her to just reach down and eat it. She still watched me every time I glanced up at her—those dark, inky eyes locked on what I was doing.

We had time to kill, so I played it cool, falling into a state of relaxation as the scratching of the charcoal pencil on the paper filled the air. I was still hyper-aware of her, making sure she wasn’t going to charge the fence or do something to hurt herself, but I tried to be as unassuming as possible.

Right now, she needed patience. Something my uncle lacked.

She continued to stomp her feet and huff at me while I worked, but I wasn’t going to let her scare me away.

The pencil glided over the page, soothing away the stress of my own thoughts. I swear, not only was my body my worst enemy, so was my mind.

Depression was a bitch. Especially when I had to put on a mask and pretend everything was always fine. Mama Whitaker was the only one who had ever called me on it. I had a suspicion that Avery had something to do with it, but her mom sat me down and talked me through a lot of things. She offered to help me find a therapist, and we found one that I saw for years.

Art was my therapy these days. I knew I would have to face it eventually but today wasn’t that day.

I hoped no one ever found my sketchbook. I looked like a lovesick teenager—all of the pictures were of Maverick and Taylor, capturing their forms perfectly, memorizing their faces.

It was stupid. I wasn’t their mate. But having these pictures made me feel better, like I’d always have something to hold onto.

Bile started to rise in my stomach as the thoughts started to pile up, one by one until they were crushing, but I refused to let it take hold.

Everyone always thought that I was this bubbly, happy, playful person, and I sank into that role. It was comfortable there—the sarcasm came naturally—and I never wanted anyone to know just how bad I was hurting. Maybe it was too many years living with my dad, but I couldn’t imagine just spilling my guts to someone else.

Even if it was silly, a part of me still longed for a pack that would swoop in and claim me. They’d whisk me away from this life and take away some of this darkness that lived in me.

It was a silly dream. I was just a pathetic adult still living on her family’s land, not truly able to let go of this stupid ranch or my family, because they were all I had.

Even though I don’t think they’d notice if I was gone, outside of the fact that no one would be able to tame my uncle’s skittish horses.

Reaching into the bag my uncle gave me, I tossed a few more carrots and apples, leaving a trail that was a little bit closer to the fence. I wasn’t going to push it today—this was about as far as I would get.

Uncle Dale learned a long time ago that I was never going to rush these horses. It was dangerous to do so. Sometimes, earning their trust could take days. He always joined me at the end when they were more comfortable.

He’d sit out here with me on and off, make his presence known, and then take over when the horse was less afraid. Mainly because I refused to. This was his project, his horses—they were never mine. I refused to do anything that would tie me here for too long.

I continued my sketch, perfecting Taylor’s cheekbones while she slowly munched her way through the snacks. I didn’t want to give her more than I already had. I just needed her to get closer, to know that I wasn’t going to hurt her.

By the time the sun started to set and my bones were aching from being curled up on this dusty ground, I finally stood, giving her a soft smile.

“Good job today, sweet girl. Same time tomorrow?”

The sigh she gave me had me laughing, but I still kept the sound soft before sending a text to Dale to let him know I was done.

I packed up my things, gave her a soft goodbye, and started to walk away. When I glanced back, she was at the edge of the fence, looking over as if trying to figure out where I was going and why I was leaving her behind.

My heart hurt for her, but it was about time for me to head into town. I was meeting Avery at Whitaker Brews, and that meant I got to see Maverick tonight.

Just one off-handed smile from him could make my day, and I needed that today.

God, I'm pathetic.