Chapter 35
Ollie
Nerves tremble in my throat as the garage door slides up to reveal an empty space.
A pang of hurt follows it, because I’ve become used to Timber’s truck filling the garage, but I need to be strong.
I’m the one who left in the end. Timber never specifically told me to get out.
But, no matter how much he moaned as he buried his face in my pussy, everything he did told me how much he wanted me gone.
The little chime goes off as I open the side door to the house, and my throat goes dry.
I forgot that Timber gets a notification on his super-mega hyped-up security system to let him know the evil omega is back.
It would be a lot more fun if it were for revenge, but unfortunately, it hurts too much to mess around.
He bluntly texted me to tell me when to pick up my stuff so he could avoid me. And if that doesn’t make a person feel special, I don’t know what does.
I asked him if we could at least talk, but he didn’t reply. I went silent on Kane all the time, but it felt like Timber was totally dismissing me, and I can barely stand it after everything we’ve been through.
But I have to remember that it’s my fault. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t chosen to come here in the first place.
I shudder with need as I step inside the house and get my first breath of coffee in more than a week. Good thing I downed two suppressants before I left the apartment—because that’s always worked out so well in the past…
The deeper I go, the thicker it becomes, until I’m already groaning with every step as his scent washes over me.
I don’t know how I ever got used to it when it smells so freaking good.
I’m kind of amazed that I managed to work normally and not just embrace my role as a puddle of horniness, ready to do Timber’s bidding.
I’m taking deep inhales as I drop half my stack of flat packs by the bottom of the stairs for my nest, then traipse to the kitchen.
I never know when I’m going to smell or taste his coffee again, so I might as well get as much as I can.
If that means walking around like a gaping goldfish and possibly/definitely stealing another one of his shirts for old time’s sake, then I’m going for it.
Just as long as I don’t spread my slick everywhere, it’s fine.
Though now that I’ve mentioned it…
I chuckle to myself to cover up the aching regret that twists in my gut. Because I’m all good, I’m golden. I chose this. I knew it was going to happen, so why should I be upset?
I just need to focus on what I came here to do.
And I kind of just switch off as I start to pack up my stuff from the kitchen.
If I just make my mind blank and ignore the fact that I literally feel like screaming because leaving my alpha’s house is wrong on so many levels.
I pack away my favorite pans, my special knife set, and the pot of spoons, spatulas, and other utensils.
I want to gag because this is just messed up.
It’s not just that I need to dismantle my nest, which I’m definitely going to cry like a little bitch over; it’s that someone else is coming in after me.
They’re going to hire another nutritionist, who’ll sleep in my room, and they’ll get to see Timber in his tiny towels as he plods around sleepwalking and rubs his dick.
I groan as I lean over the counter next to the stove, pressing my palm flat against it as more pain twists through me. I have to stop thinking about it, but everything hurts more the longer I clear out my stuff.
I keep glancing at the living room door, where I can just see the stairs, and I’m about eighty percent sure I’m going to puke.
Kane called me after the TV show, quickly confessing what happened and insisting it wasn’t him.
I thought I’d be angry, but he sounded so stressed and upset that I wanted to go and reassure him that I didn’t give two hoots now that I’m leaving.
They didn’t get any shots of my face, so it’s probably fine, I guess.
Or I’m just so used to Kane’s games at this point.
I was serious about not being seen, but my heart is so numb from leaving Timber that, instead of doing my usual going back and forth between “I have to hide myself” and “fuck it, I’m horny” all I care about is getting away so I can end it properly.
It’s easier to think about that than wallow and sigh like an old captain’s wife. I’ve got better shit to do.
Though the weird breathing does seem to be helping with those trusty pangs of regret that keep hitting me whenever I think about Timber—which is constantly.
You’d think, at twenty-five, I’d have a clue.
But no. Because ten minutes later, I’m lifting a box near the stove when pain rips through me so viciously I bend double. I yell as it stabs from my pussy to my heart like someone’s sliding a knife through my guts.
“No! Fuck!” With another stab, my muscles spasm, legs collapse, and I tumble to the floor. Everything clatters to the ground, rolling away from me as my vision blurs.
Another stab, and I cry as I curl up, pulling my knees to my chest.
“Please don’t. Just give me a fucking break,” I whimper.
I’d been doubling up on my suppressants since I left so I could come off them in a few days and have my heat in my apartment—alone.
But my preheat is coming too fast. My melancholy ass was being all dramatic, thinking it was separation anxiety when it’s literally my body telling me to get the hell out of here.
I groan as another stab forces sticky-sweet perfume to pour out of me in a cloud of need.
I can’t take this. It shouldn’t hurt like this. Yeah, I get cramps like everyone else, but not in a way that feels like I’m getting a freaking hysterectomy.
A growl rips from me as I force myself to move.
I can’t let this happen here. I have to get back to my car and lock myself in.
I’ll call Noa to come and pick me up, and she can take me to my nest in my apartment, even though my beanbag bed won’t be there.
She can ask one of our beta friends to bring me food and shit while I ride it out myself.
It doesn’t matter how much my omega side is tempting me; I still don’t want Timber to think I’m some conniving omega doing the whole slow-burn revenge thing.
Unfurling myself, I crawl forward, dragging my aching body along the kitchen tiles. If I can just get to the living room, I’ll make it to the garage door. That’s it. That’s all I need to do…
Yeah, Timber’s house is huge, but I don’t remember it taking five minutes to get from the stove to the door. But even though my mind is blown from the pain, there’s no way I’m giving up, no matter how much I’m slicking.
Snails ain’t got nothing on me as I finally reach the living room door.
I was supposed to save the crying until after I got to my nest.
But I grit my teeth as I grab the door frame and heave myself up, just as a wave hits me.
“Fuck you!” I yell as I hurl myself into the living room. Half at my body, half at my shitty drug dealer who’s never getting another dime from me.
Yeah, my heat cramps can be uncomfortable, but this is insane. But, I’ve also never put my heat off for so long with suppressants, and or had scent matches before, either. Preheats are supposed to last two or three days, but I can’t deal with this for that long.
As I drag myself to the couch, another wave of pain comes, and I press my hand against the back to keep myself upright.
If I can get to the wall that leads to the garage door, I can move faster.
But as I rise, I realize I’m clutching the blanket Timber lies against whenever he watches TV.
And the second the scent wafts over to me, I moan.
My omega side is taking over, and I don’t want to hold back. I’m already panting from the pain, but it gently subsides as I grab the soft fabric, bunching it in my hands. I drag it up, burying my face against it, groaning out loud with happiness.
After that, it all becomes a blur. The cramps grow milder when I give in to my nesting instincts.
I know I’m tearing through the living room, looking for pieces of my alphas, but it’s not important, because I have to get ready.
I can hear crashes and see the damage, but it’s like a picture on the other side of the room.
It doesn’t mean anything when all I need is them.
The madness is taking me over so fast that my body moves on its own as I pile up blankets and pillows before dragging myself back into the kitchen. I find my favorite whisk and spatula and the lavender honey I bought at the market with Timber so I can take them up to my nest.
I’m whimpering, crying out as more heat fires in my body. I’m praying to whichever God is listening to just stop and let me go home. I don’t want to do this here, but before I realize it, I’m at the top of the stairs, my arms filled with everything I need as I stumble toward my room.
As soon as I step inside, I relax. It hasn’t changed a single bit since I left.
The only coffee I can smell comes from the stuff in my arms, so he mustn’t have been here since I left.
My beanbag bed is untouched, and Timber’s shirt, which has lost all of its scent, is still curled up in a ball from when I last used it as a pillow.
But I’m on autopilot, and the empty ache of knowing I have to pack up my safe space means nothing when my heat is growing closer.
In my mind, the mind that’s set on getting everything for my nest, there’s one way to clear the craziness of my thoughts. I can’t prepare it when I’m so horny, and I have to make it perfect for my alphas. Even though they won’t be here, my omega side stays loyal to them.
I wince as more pain hits me, but I keep going. I have way better plans than dragging myself around, ones that involve my alpha’s scent and my trusty dildo.
Quickly opening my closet, I grab the cloth bag I keep wrapped up tight at the very bottom. I squeeze it with my hand, already moaning at how thick and long it is.
I tell myself to go back to my bed, but my omega side is so strong that I’m already opening my bedroom door, stumbling, falling the second I’m in the hallway as I crawl to Timber’s room.
If I want to focus, I have to come at least once. And I know exactly where I want to do it.