Mardi Gras with His Omega

by Lorelei M. Hart

  Seven thirty in the morning. So much for sleeping in on my day off.

  Within seconds, the night before hit me. Brent was next to me.

  I turned around with a smile plastered to my face like some silly lovesick boy, ready to see Brent first thing in the morning.

  Except there were only sheets and an empty side of the bed. I waited a few minutes, rubbing my eyes and taking the time to stand up and stretch my tired body, figuring he was in the bathroom, but I didn’t hear any noise or stirring.

  “Brent?” I called out. My voice sounded a little desperate.

  No answer.

  I crossed the room and intended to knock on the bathroom door, but it was open, the only sign he’d been there a used hand towel on the counter.

  In a stupid move, I stuck my head out of the hotel door and looked up and down the hall, hoping he’d be there.

  I went back in, making myself breathe and stay calm. He’d probably gone out for breakfast or coffee. He was sweet like that. I convinced myself of it as I grabbed some boxers and headed for the shower. Yes, Brent was that type. He’d go get breakfast and a café au lait to surprise me and fuel me up for another hot session.

  Yes, that had to be it.

  The hot water poured down my chest while I forced myself to take my time, giving Brent enough time to get back.

  But after I’d washed myself three times over, I cut off the water, got out, and dried off. I peeked out of the bathroom door, but saw no one All was silent again in my world.

  “Well, maybe it’s time to go.” After getting dressed, I packed up my things neatly folding everything and separating my laundry out for when I arrived in Portland. I sat down on the bed and scrolled through the things to there. The northwest corner of the US was one of the few places I’d never worked, and it looked like the place to be. Coffee shops and beaches. Yep. My kind of place.

  At least, that’s what I tried to convince myself of.

  A dull ache that had begun when I realized Brent was gone became a full-on pinch as the morning went on and on without his presence. Last night hadn’t just been a holiday tryst but a merging of souls, a binding of our lives.

  Well—I laughed at myself and my pining—it was for me anyway.

  I hit up Twitter, simply out of boredom.

  This nurse just got dumped by one fine #omega in #NOLA.

  And with that, I zipped up my suitcase and left. I would have to change my flight at the airport, but I couldn’t spend one more night in New Orleans.

  A burst of hope blossomed in my chest as I passed the front desk. My grip on my suitcase tightened as I approached the young woman there. She batted her eyes at me.

  Wrong tree, honey.

  “May I help you Mr. King?” she asked, already typing like she was a mind reader.

  “Yes, I would like to check out, and are there any messages for me?”

  “Oh, we are going to miss you around here. Headed home?”

  I nodded, simply because I didn’t want to have much conversation.

  “No, no messages, I’m sorry. Here you go.” She handed me the bill which had already been charged to my business credit card, and I stuck it into my bag for safekeeping.

  “Thank you.”

  I looked up and down the street as I waited for my Uber to the airport. No Brent.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe what I felt was the bourbon and not some connection I’d been yearning for all of my life. Maybe Mr. Simmons and all of his regretful list-making had gone to my head, and I was desperate for any taste of the life I wanted.

  Or maybe I’d just gone bat-shit crazy.

  Crazy seemed like the best possibility at this point.

  While I waited in line at the airport, I looked out the windows several times, actually expecting in my stupid broken heart to see Brent outside, looking in, searching for me. He would come in, and I’d drop my bags. We’d run to each other and have a romantic reunion where all the people clapped and he’d whisper in my ear he was so happy he’d caught me before I left with a piece of his heart.

  “Line’s moved, buddy.” A man behind me tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Oh, sorry.” Bubble busted again.

  Like an idiot, I even glanced over my shoulder before handing the woman at the counter my credit card.

  Portland, here I come.

  #Nursewithbrokenheartwelcome

  Chapter Six

  Brent

  #brotherlypainintheass

  Nothing had been better than falling asleep in Jay’s arms. Not even the sex, and damn, that was beyond amazing. No. Falling asleep in his arms was nothing short of perfection.

  The way I woke up had been the complete antithesis.

  My phone buzzed and buzzed until I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I got up to turn it off only to see a trail of texts from my new brother.

  Alarm company called. You okay?

  Fire? Are they right? Is there a fire?

  Why aren’t you answering me?

  Brent?

  I shot him a text back letting him know I was still out but would be headed back there to check things out. Freaking A, only I could have a hot night with a complete stranger end too soon because of a fire.

  I grabbed a receipt from my jeans pocket and wrote a quick note telling him where I was going to be and that I didn’t want to wake him. The last thing I needed was for him to think I took the walk of shame on the sly after our amazing night together. There was no shame there. None.

  I got to the apartment, shortly before seven, to find fire trucks there, but everyone was standing around looking either bored or pissed, which was better than all-out firefighting mode.

  I found the guy who looked like he was in charge and introduced myself.

  “Your brother said you were on the way. We have paperwork for you to sign.”

  “I’m confused. What happened?” I recognized not one face from the night before. Half of me was worried they were all passed out in the apartment. For the love of Pete, let that not be the case.

  “It seems one of your guests threw a lit cigarette over the balcony.” Of course they did. Drunken fools. “It landed in a pile of garbage, which it set on fire. “

  “It feels like I’m missing something.” A fire shouldn’t get me as much anger as was flowing off of the fire chief.

  “You are missing where one of your guests pulled the alarm to call us even though it didn’t need more than a pot filled with water to put it out.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. Henry and I were going to have words when I got home. First, he sent me on a vacation to spend time with his son who gave zero fucks I was there and then left me with all of his deadbeat friends, who apparently needed more babysitting than I gave them, and now I was stuck dealing with the fallout instead of having yummy morning sex. Oh, words were going to happen all right.

  “My brother’s guests,” I corrected because I wanted no connection to those people whatsoever.

  “You are the one here.”

  He was right. Double suck.

  “So how much paperwork?” I asked wanting it to be a sign-here-and-date-there kind of form.

  “Enough.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

  Enough meant time for three cups of coffee at the firehouse, followed by online forms for the alarm company. By the time I got out of there, I was ready to sleep for a week, except sleep was the last thing I wanted. Instead, I grabbed a car to Cafe Du Monde and ordered beignets and coffee for three, the third to bribe the driver to wait for me.

  Only problem was, the hotel room door was propped open for housekeeping and all of his things were gone. Worst part was, the note I had left him, the one that told him where I was going and gave my phone number—was sitting on the floor beside the nightstand only inches from the rubbish. Well, that answered that.

  I put the coffee and goodies on the small table and snapped a quick picture before putting it on my social media l
ike a loser.

  #giftsformyalpha #morningafter #gonewithoutatrace #misshimalready #pathetictouristinNOLA

  I didn’t even bother taking my coffee with me back to the apartment, which, true to my worry was filled with awful people in various stages of undress and pitifully hungover.

  I snapped a few pictures and sent them to my sort-of brother. #yourplaceyourproblem #Imgoinghome

  I packed my bag, more than grateful I didn’t bring anything of value, considering how little anyone there seemed to care about anyone other than themselves. As I left the building, I called Henry.

  “Having fun?” He answered without a hello. I guess technically we were kind of family, but hellos were still nice.

  “I was. But—”

  “My son’s an ass.” I wasn’t going to put it that way, but it summed it up nicely.

  “Pretty much that.” I started aimlessly down the street, wanting to get away from there and fast. “He left right as I got here and stuck me with his friends who are pretty much the worst people I’ve ever met. And they pulled an alarm, and there was so much paperwork and now they are all hungover at his place, and I just wanna go home.” I was babbling, but it felt good to get it off my chest.

  “I’ll see what I can do. Worst case scenario, I’ll get you a room at the hotel near the airport, and you can fly out tomorrow.”

  He was taking it a lot better than I had feared he would, which was nice. The last thing I needed to do was to go home to an angry mother and future stepfather after dealing with all my sort-of brother’s bullshit and getting my heart stomped on.

  I swore Jay said he had one more day in town. If I had known it was his last night, I might have reacted differently or at the very least woken him up. From where the letter was when I got there, it either fell off the table or he tried to throw it away. In either case, he wasn’t going to be calling me any time soon.

  “Thanks.” I meant it, too. Henry was a nice enough guy. He’d never have sent me to his son if he knew the man was going to leave me high and dry.

  “You sound heartbroken.”

  That’s because I was.

  “Don’t. It’ll be okay, and I’m sorry about Jaxon I thought if you went to see him and he saw how amazing you are doing in your field, he might think about putting his life together. I shouldn’t have put that on you.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that if I was his role model of choice, he needed to set the bar higher. We chatted briefly before hanging up so he could find me a flight, which he did faster than I thought possible. It was later that night and I headed to the airport early. No need to tour the city with my suitcase when I could drink overpriced coffee and use crappy free Internet at the airport. Yeah, I was in a pretty crappy move.

  As I settled into the seat, heading to the airport, I took a selfie of my pathetic self before uploading it on my SM. #heartbrokeninNOLA #MissingMySexyNurse #HeadedHome #IfYouSeeMyJSendHimMyWay

  I knew I’d regret documenting my pain for all the world, but since my SM was under BrentTheNerd, I figured it was kind of private-ish enough and oddly therapeutic. If only someone really could find my Jay.

  Chapter Seven

  Joaquim

  #poutymiserablealphamissinghisomegahotnursewhoop

  The flight was miserable. Usually, I loved air travel. It was like you were moving, and time was suspended all around you.

  Of course, it wasn’t, but I liked it.

  But from New Orleans to Portland was extra miserable. I intended to drown my sorrows in a glass of whiskey, but the hospital might call me in to work after I got there, and I didn’t want to be inebriated. I’d emailed them from the flight to let them know I’d be in town early if they wanted to schedule me early.

  I threw my head back against the headrest listening to the captain talk about landing shortly. I didn’t want to be in Portland. I needed to be with Brent, strolling down some lazy French Quarter street hand in hand.

  But he was probably living his life already, and this nurse just a memory—a story he told his friends about the hot guy he nailed in New Orleans.

  Out the window, Portland looked pristine. I’d read a good bit about the city on the flight and found it contemporary with a hipster flare, my kind of place, like my kind of man.

  I swiped my phone open and sent a quick text message to my dad to let him know where I was. We texted most days and once in a while, if I visited a place my dad liked, I would Facetime him and let him get a real view of my destination.

  Technology, he said, was a miracle.

  While on my phone, I checked Twitter and almost yelped out loud when seeing my notifications. Apparently, my depressed Tweet got quite the buzz from other omega and alpha couples, along with singles.

  They were using the hashtag #FindtheMardiGrasHoney and commenting like crazy. My account had gotten over six hundred followers in a few hours.

  I figured I might as well update them.

  In Portland now. Missing my #MardiGrasHoney

  Shortly after, the flight attendant made the call for everyone to turn off their phones for landing. I groaned mentally. One night with Brent, and all of a sudden my life didn’t hold the same meaning. Instead of being excited about spending time in a new city, I was wondering where he was, what he was doing, and if he was absolutely needing my touch as much as I needed his.

  Probably not. Otherwise, he would’ve stuck around.

  I got off the plane and turned my phone back on just as my dad was attempting to reach me via video chat. I accepted and let him get a view of the airport, which he was not pleased about. He always wanted to see something exciting, like he was touring the cities with me.

  I put in my earbuds. “How is life, my son?” he asked.

  “It’s life, Dad. It’s just work and travel. That’s it.”

  I looked down at the phone to see his confused expression. “Mijo, you just lied to me. Tell me the truth.”

  “I didn’t lie, Dad,” I lied again. Double lying to my dad was a mistake.

  “You did the thing with your lip. You’ve been curling one side of your lip when you tell an untruth since you were in kindergarten lying to me about what you’d done with all your lunch money after the school called and accused me of not giving you any.”

  I’d spent it on a Spiderman action figure.

  “It’s complicated, Dad.”

  “Mmm-hmm, because your old dad is such a vavoso I can’t understand it?”

  “I met this guy in New Orleans,” I started, but didn’t quite know how to finish.

  “Ugh-oh,” he said.

  “Why ugh-oh?” I looked down to see him really close to the screen, like he’d leaned in to hear the gossip.

  “Because if you met someone in New Orleans and you’re in Portland, that’s ugh-oh.”

  He was right, it was no good.

  “Yeah well, um, the next morning, he was gone. No note, no thanks for the screw, nothing.” Okay, that was probably a little too much information for my dad, but he asked for it.

  “You didn’t get his number or anything?” A concerned tone lay underneath his question, but he didn’t dare judge me. He knew I was a big boy.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Last name?” Judgey.

  “Nope.”

  He breathed out a worried sigh. “A special one?”

  A smile played at my mouth, thinking about the first time I’d seen Brent on that balcony. Hell yes, he was one of a kind, and to me he was the only one of a kind I wanted.

  “You have no idea, Dad. But he’s gone. And I have to move on, you know?”

  I managed to grab my luggage and get a taxi while still talking to my dad on video chat, yet I couldn’t get the phone number of the guy I was practically head over heels for. Idiot.

  “I know, but you can still hope, right? So, I was thinking I hadn’t seen my son in almost five months. For someone who travels, it seems you have a hard time getting a f
light home.”

  He was joking—sorta.

  “Why don’t you come to Portland and visit me? There’s beaches here and apparently some of the best coffee in this part of the country. We could have some fun.”

  “I wouldn’t be getting in the way of your game?”

  I rolled my eyes. My dad, worried about getting in the way of me getting guys.

  “No, Dad. I think I used all my game getting Brent but then didn’t have enough to keep him. How fast can you leave?”

  My mom had died too young from thyroid cancer. He’d grieved hard but, three years later, was probably bored to tears.

  “I can get on a plane tomorrow. Nothing here for me now with your mom gone and your brothers working.”

  “As soon as I get to my hotel, I’ll book you a flight, okay? I have to go, Dad. I love you.”

  “Love you, mijo. I’m going to pack.”

  Chapter Eight

  Brent

  #letsmakethisviral

  March was my least favorite month weather-wise. I never knew if I was going to be freezing or forgetting my jacket at the planetarium because it was so gorgeous when I left for the day. Which was exactly why I was running from my car to my mom’s shop, hoping to stay warm. Damn jacket was at work.

  “Where’s your coat, young man?” My cousin imitated my mother as I walked through the door. Fine, I ran.

  “At work. You got a spare around here?”

  Bastard threw me an apron.

  “No, but I’ve got a large order I’m working on, and your mom is who knows where.”

  He handed me a bucket of roses to take the lower leaves off. That I could handle.

  “It’s Wednesday.” I rolled my eyes. Everyone in town knew where Vivian was on Wednesdays. She was kind of a legend for her, shall we say, intense, method of playing. “She’s at bingo.”

  “So, important meeting?”

  I slapped him on the back of the head because, really? He thought meeting?