Chapter 4 To Share a Nest
To Share a Nest
Oli
Jethro pulls away from the clinic in his truck, Sandra beside him. I watch them go, then turn to Caleb and Ross.
Ross claps his hands. “Shotgun!” He already heads to the passenger side of Caleb’s black Honda Civic.
I roll my eyes and climb into the back. Caleb’s car is the opposite of Jethro’s. It’s small, spotless, and has a faint new car smell from whatever “new car” scent Caleb keeps stocked in the glove box.
The engine hums to life, it doesn’t shake the steering wheel, like it does in Jethro’s. We pull out of the parking lot and follow Jethro’s truck back toward the bar and our house.
None of us talk. It’s that kind of silence filled with too many thoughts, too many questions. I’m still trying to wrap my head around tonight.
A second scent-matched Omega? It shouldn’t be possible. And yet here we are.
For almost ten years, we’ve been trying to have a child. Each negative test hit harder than the last. The miscarriages felt like sucker punches. Then came the answer; my uterus, or half of one. A unicornuate uterus. A rare condition that makes carrying a pregnancy nearly impossible.
We looked into adoption, thought about surrogacy.
Spent late nights digging through options and paperwork.
It’s selfish, but we wanted a child that was, at least in part a bit of all of us.
I know that would never be possible for real, but to conceive a baby with all of them taking part, was important to me.
And then Sandra walks into our bar. As if the Universe has heard my silent prayers for a child and is giving us a second Omega that can offer that, maybe.
But there I go, making assumptions about her.
For all I know she wants out of here as soon as possible.
I don’t know of many Omegas who would want to share Alphas.
I should feel jealous. I should feel threatened. But I don’t. I’m just curious. And maybe drawn to her in a way I didn’t expect. I haven’t felt anything like this since I met my Alphas.
The house comes into view, our big lavender-purple Victorian with the wraparound porch and too many rooms. Jethro’s truck is already in the driveway. He and Sandra head toward the front door as we park and follow.
Inside, the house smells like laundry and the guys’ mixed marshmallow scents.
Jethro pauses just inside and glances at Sandra. “This is it. Home.”
She takes in the space slowly. Eyes wide, shoulders tight. “It’s big.”
I step up beside her. “We’ll give you a tour. There’s plenty of room.”
We start with the living room, just off the entry.
“This is where we hang out most nights.” The room has a large sectional couch, soft and broken-in, a couple of mismatched chairs we found at a flea market, and a fireplace that Jethro insists on lighting even when it’s barely cold.
A projector points at the spot above the mantle for our epic movie nights.
Next, I gesture toward the dining room through a wide archway. “This is where we eat when we’re not at the bar. Caleb actually uses it to sort mail and paperwork more than anything else.”
Sandra smiles faintly, eyes landing on the oversized table that looks like it’s seen years of shared meals.
“Kitchen’s through here.” I lead her to the back of the house. The kitchen is bright, with pale cabinets, hanging copper pots, and a wide island in the center. “Ross bakes when he’s stressed, so don’t be surprised if you wake up to cinnamon rolls at three in the morning.”
She lets out a soft sound, maybe the beginning of a laugh.
“Guest bathroom’s here.” I point to the powder room tucked beside the stairs. “That one’s mostly for visitors, but use it whenever.”
I skip the door to Jethro’s office and the one to the basement. “Nothing interesting down there. Just laundry and storage.”
Upstairs, I show her the guest rooms. “Each has its own bathroom. This one’s got blackout curtains and a really soft mattress. The one at the end has the best morning light.”
Finally, we reach our wing. I stop at the hallway that branches off. “That’s Jethro’s room, and the one across is Caleb’s. Ross’s is on the other side of the staircase.”
We each have our own space, though they never really sleep in them. After a decade, we prefer to sleep together in a pile in my nest. “This,” I say, nodding toward the door in front of us, “is the nest.”
Pausing, I glance at her, measuring her reaction.
“You’re welcome to use it tonight. We can figure out a nest for you soon, if you want it.
..” My voice trails off as I rub the back of my neck.
She hasn’t said she’s staying, and maybe I shouldn’t assume.
But offering her a safe place right now feels important.
The door opens to a cozy room stacked high with blankets and pillows. Stuffed animals peek out from the layers. Various fairy lights in different colors create a rainbow-like effect in the room. It’s my own little haven.
Sandra doesn’t move. Just stares. “I can’t sleep here. This is yours. I can take the couch.”
Shaking my head, I take a small step closer. “It’s okay. I want you to. You need a safe space right now, and that’s what this room is for. Especially after everything.”
She hesitates. “But—“
“Please, use it. I can crash in one of the guys’ rooms. We can figure everything else out later.”
Jethro leans against the doorway. “He’s right. This is one of the safest rooms in the house. It’s farthest from the street, and it doesn’t face any of the other houses, so no one can see in.”
She glances between us. “Thank you.”
“We’ll leave you to settle in.” I back toward the door. “If you need anything, we’ll be downstairs.”
We’re almost out when she catches my hand.
My heart stumbles. Her icy fingers send a chill up my arm, but the contact sends warmth through my chest. I look down at her grip, then to her face. She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me like I’m the only thing keeping her from floating away. “Oli, please stay.”
I nod and squeeze her hand. “Of course.” I look toward the guys, silently telling them to go.
Jethro meets my gaze with a small nod. Ross studies us, curious but quiet. Caleb’s face is unreadable, but something in his eyes has softened.
Jethro speaks from the doorway. “We’ll be downstairs. Just call if you need us.”
He walks out, Caleb and Ross behind him, and the door shuts gently. It’s just me and Sandra now. Alone in the nest. I turn back to her, still holding her hand. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”
Her grip tightens. “No. Please. I just don’t want to be alone. Not yet.”
She doesn’t let go until we’re in the center of the large nest. My scent fills the space: sage, honeysuckle, and a touch of marshmallow. It’s always been where I come to breathe. Now I’m sharing it.
She steps forward, eyes on the nest. Her fingers drift across the layered blankets, tracing the edge of a pillow. “It’s beautiful.”
I spot the dirt on her legs, the blood drying at her temple, and the grime tangled in her hair. She’s filthy, exhausted, barely holding it together.
“Hey.” I motion toward the corner. “There’s a bathroom through here. I’m sure you would like to get clean after all you’ve been through today... this month. Let me get you a towel.”
She follows me to the on-suite. I grab a clean towel from the cabinet and hand it to her.
Holding it tight, she lowers her gaze. “I want to get clean, but I don’t know if I have the strength to stand long enough to wash my hair.”
“There’s a bench in the shower.” I leave out why it’s there. “You can sit. Take your time.”
Her shoulders drop with relief, but hesitation creeps in again.
“Do you want help?” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. I clear my throat. “Only if you’re okay with that. I can stay, or I can go. Whatever you need.”
She watches me for a beat. Then nods. “I trust you. I don’t know if it’s because we smell kind of similar or because you’re an Omega, but I feel safe with you.”
She peels off Caleb’s hoodie, standing before me naked, bruises litter her pale skin. Despite how battered she looks, she keeps her head held high and her arms at her sides.
I turn on the shower and strip off my shirt and jeans, keeping my underwear on. She steps in, and I follow, grabbing the handheld showerhead.
Steam fills the room. Warm water runs down her back, catching trails of grime and blood and sending them swirling toward the drain.
I keep the stream slow and careful as I guide it across her skin.
My other hand hovers just above her, not quite touching unless she leans in. When she does, I steady her.
The air thickens between us. Her bare skin gleams under the spray, the bruises casting faint shadows.
I reach for the shampoo and step closer, fingers slipping through her tangled hair, gently working in the lather.
Her eyes close. She exhales, and a soft sound leaves her mouth that makes my pulse stutter.
Neither of us speaks.
Soap glides across her shoulders, arms, down her spine. My fingertips learn the shape of her. I navigate around the bruises, brushing the sides of her ribs, the slope of her hip. Each pass of the cloth feels electric.
The silence deepens, charged and heavy. She leans into me, and I anchor her there with one hand against her back, the other tracing a path down her arm.
Every breath feels louder. Her scent begins to change.
Still delicate, still jasmine, but something in it unfurls, like warmth blooming in the cold.
I rinse her off, water cascading over skin that no longer shakes under my hands.
My pulse pounds, but I keep steady. There’s a charge between us.