17. Chad
CHAPTER 17
Chad
Lakelyn slides into the booth beside me, her cheeks flushed and her blue eyes sparkling with something I can’t quite place. Joy? Guilt? Maybe both. She smells fresh, like spring air, but I’m sure traces of Dean’s scent still cling to her. The thought churns uneasily in my stomach, and I find myself dragging the tip of my finger along the rim of my drink, trying to ground myself.
“Was he bothering you?” she asks, her voice laced with concern.
“Your protector?” I force out a laugh, bitter and hollow. God, I almost kissed him. How messed up am I? A little kindness and I lose all sense. “I can handle alphas like him.”
Her brow furrows, her expression somewhere between doubt and hesitation. She’s not sure if she should push me on it. “He really isn’t that bad. Dean and him are two of my brother’s closest friends.”
That clicks things into place. So, that’s why Dean’s been keeping her at arm’s length. He wouldn’t want to step on her brother’s toes. I nod like I understand, even though I’m trying not to think too hard about it. “Have they both always wanted you?”
Her eyes go wide, and she practically sputters. “What?”
I turn to her, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. It’s a casual touch, but it feels heavier than it should. “You didn’t know?”
She shakes her head, leaning back against the booth, her expression shifting to something softer, more introspective. “They don’t matter,” she says quietly.
“It didn’t seem like Dean doesn’t matter,” I say, voice sharper than I mean it to be. Rip the bandaid off. Always rip it off.
Her cheeks flush a deeper pink, and she fidgets with her hands like she’s bracing herself.
“He kissed me,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “He was on the edge when I went into the office... I caught him in a position I shouldn’t have. And?—”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Did you enjoy it?”
She presses her lips together, guilt flickering across her face. “If I say I did, will you hate me?”
My mouth curves into a self-deprecating smile, and I lift my eyebrows at her. “I pushed you into it. And I could never hate you.”
Her gaze searches mine, cautious but curious. “What happened between you two?”
Her question yanks me backward, the past rushing in like a tidal wave. Hazy memories of that night crash over me—painful, raw, and impossible to forget.
My legs tremble as I stumble outside toward the tennis courts, each step harder than the last. The steady thwomp of a ball meeting a racket reaches my ears long before he comes into view. My stomach twists painfully, heat pooling low and relentless, a need I don’t know how to name punishing me with every breath.
What’s wrong with me?
Getting here was a struggle. My hands had barely stayed steady on the wheel, and now my body feels like it’s betraying me, caught in something I can’t control.
When I finally see him, his shirt clings to his chest, damp from sweat, and his muscles flex with each precise swing of the racket. My knees buckle, and I sag against the fence. The twang of metal reverberates through the air, catching his attention.
“Chad?” His voice cuts through my haze, layered with concern, grounding and soothing all at once. He drops his racket and strides toward me, each step deliberate. “What’s wrong?”
“Dean—” My voice cracks as I whimper, barely able to form the words. “Help me.”
“Shit.” He inhales sharply as he gets closer, his nostrils flaring. His expression shifts, his eyes darkening as understanding flickers through them. “Heat… Chad…”
I don’t fully process what he’s saying. His touch—just his hand brushing against my arm—sends a shockwave through me, igniting every nerve. My body burns, every atom alive with an intensity I can’t handle. My cock swells, straining against my shorts, and my slick pools uncontrollably, seeping through the fabric.
I tug at his waistband, desperate, my fingers fumbling. My mind’s drowning in a haze of need. I manage to push his shorts down, getting momentarily caught on the hard, swollen length of him. A needy, pitiful sound escapes me, something I’ve never heard myself make before.
“Chad, you’re not thinking straight,” Dean says, voice strained, as if he’s battling his own instincts. But I’m too far gone, too consumed by the ache tearing through me.
I grab the hem of his shirt, dragging the damp material upward. It clings stubbornly to his skin, but I don’t stop, yanking until it’s free and tossing it to the ground. His scent—strong, grounding, and so completely him—floods my senses. It settles something deep inside me for a split second before flaring my need to an unbearable level.
I press against him, my body begging for relief. My lips find his collarbone, then trail along his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat. It’s intoxicating, better than any fantasy I’ve ever let myself have.
When my lips finally reach his, something snaps.
Dean growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through me as he grabs my hips and pushes me back against the fence. It rattles under our combined weight. His mouth claims mine, urgent and demanding, and I lose myself in the kiss. It’s savage, unrestrained—pure alpha—and I can’t get enough.
His hand tangles in my hair, gripping tightly, angling my head the way he wants as he deepens the kiss. His other hand wraps gently around my throat, not squeezing but holding me in place, asserting control without hurting me.
It’s everything. Everything I didn’t know I needed and more than I ever dreamed I could have.
It’s in the past.
I pull myself out of the memory and shake my head, trying to dispel the lingering ache. Hindsight’s supposed to be twenty-twenty, but all I can see is the image of a clueless teenage omega stumbling into their first heat. They don’t teach you about it in school, and my parents sure as hell didn’t prepare me for it.
But that wasn’t even the worst part. No, the worst part is the version I’ve rewritten in my head—the one where it wasn’t my pheromones that made him act the way he did.
“My first heat,” I finally admit, the words heavy on my tongue. “Not exactly what you’re thinking. I can promise you that.”
Lakelyn’s eyes widen slightly, and she leans in closer, waiting for me to continue.
I swallow hard and force myself to say it. “I threw myself at him. He was a young alpha with no control, so of course he responded. I don’t blame him for that. But… I was already half in love with him before it even happened. And?—”
She places a hand gently on my leg, her touch grounding me. “And?”
“And it ended badly,” I say, letting out a bitter laugh. “Lots of unresolved tension. But enough about that. How was your experience in his arms?” I take a long sip from my drink, masking the sting of my words with a smirk. I’d half convinced myself she’d pick him. But she’s here, with me, proving my insecurities wrong.
She captures her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. It’s distracting—dangerously so—but I force myself to stay composed. When her lips finally curve into a slow, deliberate smile, it’s almost my undoing.
“It was—intense,” she admits, her voice soft but teasing.
I lift my cup to my lips again, hiding behind it, and nod. “Yeah. His kisses are intense. It’s like he puts his whole body into it.” My tone is light, even as my chest tightens. “Too intense for my innocent beta?”
She grins wide, her sky-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “ Your beta?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” I shrug, feigning nonchalance.
Her smile softens, and the way she looks at me makes my heart stutter. “And I’m always going to be where you are. We’re a package deal now. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
My breath hitches, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at her. The raw, blinding hope that swells in my chest is overwhelming, almost terrifying. It’s the kind of feeling that makes me want to hand her the world—everything she’s ever wanted.
“I like the sound of that, Lakelyn,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended.
She tilts her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “Well, you’re not the only one who reads into kisses.”
Her laughter spills out, light and unrestrained, and it hits me like a punch to the chest. Pure happiness threads through me, unfamiliar and all-consuming. I take a slow sip of my Peanut Butter Chia, savoring it, before leaning closer to her, my voice dropping low.
“I’m going to give you everything you’ve ever wanted,” I promise, my tone steady and sure. “Do you want Dean or Mason first?”
She laughs, soft and easy, like I’m joking. But I’m not. My eyes stay fixed on her, studying the way her amusement fades and her lips part as realization sets in. I watch the exact moment she understands I’m serious.
"Chad, I told Dean we were a package deal," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “He thinks you’re playing games with him.”
“That’s because I am,” I reply, shrugging as I take another sip of my drink, savoring the sweetness.
She blinks, processing, then leans back in the booth, crossing her arms as she studies the side of my face. “That sounds like your defenses talking.”
I raise an eyebrow focusing on my hands, swirling the liquid in my cup. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just me keeping things interesting.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me. I’m not going to hurt you,” she says softly, shifting closer to me in the booth. Her knee brushes against mine under the table, and her warmth seeps through my jeans.
I feel her gaze on my face again, and for a second, I almost look at her, but instead, I trace the rim of my cup with my thumb, avoiding her eyes. Her words settle between us, too heavy and too real, like she’s seeing straight through the armor I’ve worked so hard to build.
She waits, her fingers lightly tapping the edge of the table, patient but not pushing. I can feel her expectation hanging in the air, but I take another slow sip of my drink, hiding behind the taste.
I know she means it, but a part of me still wants to deflect, to throw up another wall. It’s easier that way.
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. My heart pounds harder than I’d like to admit, and I catch myself tracing the rim of my cup again, like it’ll somehow distract me from what’s happening right next to me. Her knee stays pressed against mine, grounding me in a way that feels... different.
I finally meet her eyes, and there’s no judgment there, just calm and something else—something I’m not used to seeing directed at me. Not from anyone.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” she repeats, her voice soft, coaxing, like she’s daring me to believe her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I exhale, long and slow, like I’m deflating. I could deflect, joke it away, but I’m so tired of the game. And she’s still here, close enough that her warmth feels like something real, something solid, something I want. And she picked me.
“I know,” I admit, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them. My throat tightens as I drop my defenses. It feels vulnerable, too raw, but for once, I let it happen.
Her expression softens as she leans in a little more, like she’s encouraging me without saying a word. Her hand hovers for a moment before she rests it lightly on my arm, her fingers warm through the fabric of my sleeve.
I don't pull away.
“Chad…” she whispers, her voice careful, as if testing the waters. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be real.”
“I don’t know how to do that.” My voice comes out quieter than I intended, like I’ve let her into a part of me I didn’t even realize I was hiding.
Her thumb brushes my arm, a small, tender movement. “You’re already doing it.”