Lucas #2
When omega Serena returns to her small hometown, she never expects to run into the three alphas who once held her heart...
Three alphas. Small hometown. An omega who returns after years away.
I download all of them.
Inside, Theo’s at the stove. Pasta, from the smell of it. He stress-cooks when he can’t sleep. Has since we were kids.
“You’re late,” he says without turning. “Hungry?”
“Already ate.”
“Where?”
“Huckleberry Hollow. That diner with the pie.”
Now he turns. His eyes scan my face—the rumpled hair, the dazed expression I haven’t managed to hide—and I watch understanding dawn.
“Your date.”
“Took her to the creek. And dinner.” I lean against the counter, trying for casual. “And kissed her in the parking lot.”
Theo sets down the spoon. “You kissed her?”
“Why does everyone sound so surprised? I’m capable of kissing people.”
“Because this morning you were talking about ‘appropriate distance’ and ‘managing expectations’ and—what was the phrase—’not letting emotional impulses override rational judgment.’“
“I said that?”
“You said that. With your serious doctor face.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the opposite counter.
“Plans changed.”
“Clearly.” He studies me for a long moment. “How was it?”
“The kiss?”
“All of it.”
I think about the ice race. The banter. Her laugh when I fell on the ice. The way she tasted when I finally stopped fighting and just let myself want her.
“She’s different,” I say. “Same, but different. Stronger. More confident. She knows who she is now, in a way she didn’t at eighteen.” I pause. “And she still makes me laugh harder than anyone I know.”
“That’s saying a lot. You don’t laugh easily.”
“I know.”
Theo’s quiet for a moment, turning back to stir the pasta that doesn’t need stirring. “What does this mean? For us. For the pack.”
The question I’ve been avoiding all night.
“I don’t know yet.” I run a hand through my hair. “We didn’t talk about that. We just spent time together. Tried to remember what it was like before everything fell apart.”
“And?”
“And it was good. Really good.” I meet his eyes. “But I’m not making promises on behalf of anyone else. You and Nate have to figure out what you want. This can’t just be me dragging everyone along.”
“No one said anything about dragging.” He taps the spoon against the pot, sets it on the rest.
“I know. I just...” I exhale. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Today was one day. One really good day. But one day doesn’t fix ten years.”
He nods slowly. “Fair enough.” He pauses. “I’m glad, though. That it went well. You deserve a good day.”
“Thanks.”
“Even if you’re terrible at managing expectations.”
“I kept my distance. For like three hours.”
“That’s not how distance works.”
“It’s exactly how distance works. Distance first, then less distance. Progression.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Go to bed. You’re delirious.”
“I’m going to read first.”
“Read what?”
“Her books.” I push off the counter and head for the stairs. “She writes romance novels. Pen name Scarlett Monroe.”
“Romance novels?” Interest sparks in his voice. “What kind?”
“The kind with three alphas and an omega who returns to her small hometown.”
That stops him. “Three alphas.”
“And an omega. Sound familiar?”
Theo stares at me.
“Good night, Theo.”
I’m halfway up when he calls after me. “Lucas?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad it went well.” His voice is soft. Sincere. “Really glad.”
I read until two in the morning.
Chapter three is when I realize the alpha—the analytical one with brown eyes and glasses—is me. Not inspired by me. Is me. The way he notices details. The way he shows love through actions instead of words. The way he holds himself back, afraid of wanting too much.
She captured me on the page. Every flaw, every quirk, every defense mechanism I thought was invisible.
Chapter five introduces the warm alpha. The gardener. The one who loves with his whole heart and doesn’t know how to protect himself.
Theo.
Chapter seven is when my face catches fire.
The analytical alpha undresses the omega slowly. Catalogs every shiver, every gasp, every sound she makes. His precision drives her crazy—he knows exactly where to touch, exactly how much pressure, exactly when to pull back and make her beg.
It’s clinical and devastating and so specifically me that I have to put down my phone and stare at the ceiling for a full minute.
She wrote this. Imagined this. Published it for thousands of people to read.
And it’s not just the physical scenes. It’s the conversation after. The alpha explaining, in halting words, why he’s so careful. Why he needs to analyze everything. Why loving her terrifies him.
“Because when I let myself want things, I want them completely. I don’t know how to want you halfway.”
I didn’t tell her that. I never said those words out loud.
But she knew anyway.
I pick up the phone and keep reading.
The quiet alpha—Nate, obviously—doesn’t appear until chapter eight. He barely speaks. Shows love through protection. Builds things with his hands. Guards the pack like it’s his reason for existing.
By the end of book one, I understand why Mrs. Patterson was enthusiastic about reading these books. It’s not just good—it’s a love letter. To us. To what we might have had.
The omega doesn’t run. She stays. She fights for her alphas, and they fight for her, and they build a life together.
Fiction. Fantasy. But underneath is a truth I can’t ignore.
She never stopped wanting this.
I pick up my phone and compose a text.
Lucas: Just finished book one.
Response comes immediately, despite the hour.
Cara: Oh god.
Lucas: The alpha with brown eyes and the medical degree.
Cara: I can explain.
Lucas: Can you?
Long pause.
Cara: Probably not.
Lucas: We should talk about this.
Cara: Okay. But for the record, the good parts were based on reality.
Lucas: The good parts?
Cara: The kissing scenes. Definitely based on reality.
I stare at the screen. Think about chapter seven. About what exactly she based on reality.
Lucas: Chapter seven.
Cara: ...
Lucas: Was that based on reality?
Cara: Parts of it.
Lucas: Which parts?
Cara: The parts where you’re extremely thorough.
I’m blushing alone in my room at two in the morning like a teenager.
Lucas: Go to sleep, Cara.
Cara: Goodnight, Dr. Price. ;)
I stare at the ceiling for a long moment.
Then I download book two.
Downstairs, I hear Theo moving around. He’s probably reading the same books. Having the same realizations I am.
She wrote about all of us. Theo—the warm one, the gardener who can’t protect his own heart. Nate—quiet and intense, showing love through protection and presence.
She turned our lives into a story. Gave us the ending we never got.
And now she’s back. Real and present and kissing me in parking lots and texting me about fictional sex scenes at two in the morning.
I don’t know what comes next. The hurt is still there, underneath the hope. The fear that she might leave again. The uncertainty about whether any of this can actually work—whether we can rebuild what we lost or if we’re just setting ourselves up for another fall.
But lying here in the dark, her taste still on my lips and her words on my screen, I can’t regret today.
Whatever we’re building, I want to see where it goes.
She’s worth the risk.
She always was.