Chapter 19 #2
It should feel caring. Instead, it feels like one more thing I couldn’t control.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just need to get back to work. The festival planning has been completely derailed by this storm.”
Nate nods. He doesn’t push.
We drive in silence for another minute before I remember—the auction. My fallback. The one thing I can still organize, still control.
“Actually,” I say, “since I have you here. I’ve been trying to fill out the bachelor auction lineup. Would you be interested in participating?”
He glances at me, eyebrows raised. “The auction?”
“It’s for charity. All you have to do is walk across a stage and let people bid on a date with you. Very low-key.”
“Yeah why not.” He shrugs. “ I was working but now I’m free. Switched shifts with Seth Monroe for that night. He needed a weekend off for something with his pack—they’re doing a trip.”
I nod, but my brain has snagged on something.
He switched shifts with Seth. Because Seth needed time for his pack.
“That must be complicated,” I hear myself say. “Scheduling around a pack, I mean. Multiple people’s needs.”
Nate shrugs again. “It’s just what you do. Seth and his pack are still figuring things out, but they make it work. Compromise, communication.” He glances at me. “Pack stuff.”
Pack stuff. Compromise. Communication.
Other people’s schedules affecting yours. Other people’s needs shaping your choices. Never being able to just decide something for yourself without considering how it impacts everyone else.
The panic I’ve been holding at bay all morning crashes over me.
That’s what a pack would mean. That’s what Ben and Milo and Elijah would mean. I wouldn’t just be Tessa anymore—Tessa who controls her own schedule, her own life, her own carefully organized existence. I’d be part of something bigger. Something I couldn’t manage or plan or control.
And Ben said no to the auction.
Ben, who I just spent four days wrapped around. Ben, who made me laugh even when I was barely conscious. Ben, who looked at me like I was everything—and then said no to a simple request, and I couldn’t change his mind, couldn’t convince him, couldn’t control—
“Tessa?” Nate’s voice cuts through my spiral. “You okay? You’ve gone pale.”
“Fine.” The word is automatic. “Just tired.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. We’re pulling into town now anyway—snow-covered rooftops, smoke rising from chimneys, the familiar comfort of Main Street coming into view.
“Where do you need to be dropped? Home?”
I nod. “Please.”
He doesn’t need to ask for the address. Small town.
I stare out the window at Honeyridge Falls—this town I’ve made my home for the past three years. This place where I’ve built a reputation, a career, a perfectly controlled life. Everything in its place. Everything manageable.
And now three alphas are threatening to upend all of it.
Nate pulls up outside my building. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” I fumble for the door handle. “For the ride. And for agreeing to the auction.”
“No problem.” He pauses, and when I look back, his expression is uncharacteristically gentle. “Tessa. Whatever’s going on with you and those three—that’s your business. But running doesn’t usually solve much. Take it from someone who tried.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and climb out of the truck.
My apartment is exactly as I left it.
Throw pillows arranged just so. Books organized by color on the shelves. Kitchen spotless, counters bare except for the single orchid I’ve somehow kept alive for eighteen months. Everything in its proper place.
I stand in the doorway for a long moment, just looking at it. Four days ago, this was my sanctuary. My perfectly controlled little world.
Now it feels like a museum exhibit. Here lies the life of Tessa Lang, control freak extraordinaire. Please do not touch the color-coded bookshelf.
I make myself move. Tea first. Then work. That’s the plan.
I plug in my laptop and settle onto the couch with a steaming mug.
Work. I need to focus on work. The festival is in just over a week and I’ve lost days to the blizzard.
There are vendors to confirm, volunteers to schedule, bachelor bios to finalize now that I finally have all eight participants—thanks to Nate agreeing in the truck.
I open my email. Forty-seven unread messages.
I click on the first one. Read it twice. Realize I have no idea what it says because my brain keeps drifting back to the cabin.
To Ben making me smile even when I was barely coherent.
I take a sip of tea. Focus, Tessa.
The second email is from Maeve at the bakery, confirming her dessert donations for the festival. Good. I type a quick thank-you, hit send, and scroll to the next one.
Elijah’s hands. The way he touched me like I was something worth being careful with.
I set down my tea and press my palms against my eyes.
This is pathetic. I am a grown woman. A professional. I have coordinated events through crises, natural disasters, and one memorable incident involving a runaway goat. I can handle a little post-heat emotional confusion.
Except it wasn’t just heat. Not by the end.
I remember the way Ben looked at me during that last wave. The tenderness. The way he cut me off before I could say something stupid.
I remember Milo making me drink water between waves. The way he looked at me like I was something worth protecting.
I remember Elijah saying I’ll wait.
My phone sits on the coffee table, fully charged now. Silent. No texts. No calls.
They’re giving me space.
Great. Wonderful. Exactly what I asked for.
So why am I staring at my phone like a teenager waiting for a crush to text back?
I pick it up. No new messages.
Part of me—the stupid, irrational part that apparently runs on omega hormones and poor decision-making—wants there to be something. A dumb joke from Ben. A check-in from Milo. Even just a single period from Elijah, because that’s probably all he’d send.
But there’s nothing. Because they’re actually respecting my boundaries.
Damn them.
I set the phone down and stare at my laptop. The emails blur together. I should be working. I should be in full crisis-management mode, color-coding spreadsheets and making backup plans for my backup plans.
Instead I’m sitting here wondering why three alphas aren’t texting me.
God, I’m a mess.
I should call the pharmacy. Get a refill on my suppressants.
My pills are still in my car, which is probably at Ben’s shop now.
But I could call in a new prescription. Be back on them by tomorrow.
Go back to being controlled, predictable, suppressed Tessa who doesn’t have heats or slick or inconvenient biological urges.
Seven years I spent on those pills. Seven years of muted instincts and manageable hormones and never once losing control.
I pick up my phone to make the call.
I don’t make the call.
I set the phone back down and pretend I don’t know why.
I’ve spent three years building a life here. A career. A reputation as someone who gets things done, who doesn’t need anyone, who has everything under control. I’m proud of that woman. I worked hard to become her.
But she’s also lonely as hell.
The thought hits like a punch to the gut, and for once I don’t shove it away.
I’m lonely. I’ve been lonely for a while. And three alphas just showed me what it might feel like to not be—and that’s terrifying. Because what if I let them in and it changes everything? What if I can’t be the Tessa I’ve built anymore?
What if I don’t want to be?
I close my laptop. I’m not getting any work done tonight. Might as well stop pretending.
I curl up on the couch with my tea and let myself sit with it. The fear. The want. The complete and total uncertainty about what happens next.
Three alphas. A pack. It’s not what I planned. It’s not organized or controllable or anything like the careful life I’ve built.
But do they actually want that life? Do they want me—the real me? The one with the clipboard and the lists and the color-coded anxiety?
Or do they just want the heat-desperate omega who begged them to knot her for four days straight?
Because those are two very different people. And I need to know which one they’re signing up for before I let myself want this.
I’m not running anymore. But I’m not ready to run toward them either.
Not yet.
Outside, the sun is setting, painting the snow in shades of pink and gold. Tomorrow I’ll go back to work. Tomorrow I’ll deal with festival chaos and small-town gossip and the three alphas I can’t stop thinking about.
But tonight, I’m going to sit here in my perfectly organized apartment and feel my feelings like a normal human being.
It’s annoying. It’s inconvenient. It’s completely outside my control.
I’ll figure it out tomorrow.