Chapter 10 #2
I hear the guys moving around, dishes being cleared, water running, the sounds of cleanup. I focus on breathing, trying to will the strange symptoms away. It’s probably just exhaustion. Stress. The chaos of the last few days catching up with me.
Except it felt like this last night too. And a bit the night before.
Footsteps approach. When I open my eyes, Seth is there with a cold, damp kitchen towel. He presses it gently to my forehead, and the coolness is such a relief that I actually whimper.
“This should help,” he says, his voice softer than before. “Are you feeling sick?”
Carter appears with a steaming mug. “Chamomile tea. Thought it might help.”
Kai is hovering behind them, his usual playfulness replaced by genuine worry. “What can we do? Tell us what you need.”
I stare at the three of them, surrounding me with care and attention, and something in my chest aches for entirely different reasons than my body.
“The last couple of nights,” I admit, my voice shakier than I’d like, “I’ve had these sharp pains. All over. And I keep getting really hot, like I’m running a fever that won’t break.” I shake my head. “But I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just exhaustion from everything that’s been happening.”
“You should rest,” Seth says firmly. “In a bed. Not on a couch.”
“That’s what I’m trying to—”
I start to stand, and my legs buckle.
Carter catches me before I hit the floor, his arms wrapping around me with surprising gentleness. And then he’s lifting me, scooping me up like I weigh nothing, cradling me against his chest.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll carry you up.”
“I can walk—”
“You almost just face-planted into the coffee table. Let me help.”
I don’t have the energy to argue. And honestly? Being held by him feels… incredible. The moment his arms wrapped around me, something in my body settled. The burning sensation is still there, but it’s muted now. Manageable. Like his touch is somehow dampening the flames.
I let myself lean into his chest, inhaling the scent of him, and the ache in my stomach eases another fraction. I exhale with relief.
“That actually feels better,” I murmur, surprised.
Seth and Kai are watching us with concern etched into their features.
“Don’t worry,” I tell them, trying for reassuring and probably sounding pathetic. “I’m fine. Really.”
Neither of them looks convinced, but they let Carter carry me toward the stairs.
Up in my room, the pink explosion of cushions and blankets and that ridiculous Kai body pillow are waiting on the bed. Carter sets me down gently on the mattress, then shoves the pillow aside with one hand, making room.
The moment he steps back, no longer touching me, the pain returns with a vengeance.
It’s sharp, stabbing, deep in my core and radiating outward like lightning. I gasp and curl in on myself, one hand pressed to my stomach, the other reaching blindly for something—anything—to hold on to.
“June?” Carter’s voice is alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
My fingers find his hand, and I grab on, lacing my fingers through his desperately. The contact is instant relief, not complete, but enough that I can breathe again. Enough that the world stops spinning.
“Please don’t go,” I whisper.
His expression softens. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he settles onto the edge of the bed beside me, his thumb stroking across my knuckles.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly. “I’m all yours.”
I hold on to him, not ready to let go, not understanding what’s happening to my body but knowing his presence makes it bearable. The burning is still there, simmering under my skin, but it’s not consuming me anymore. Not while he’s touching me.
“Your company makes me feel better,” I admit. “I don’t know why. You make the pain stop. Or at least… dim.”
He grins, and God, he’s gorgeous. All golden warmth and easy charm, with those green eyes that seem to see right through me.
“I’ve heard Alpha presence can help,” he says lightly. “Touch, proximity… it’s supposed to be calming for Omegas. Especially when they’re hurting.”
“Yeah, very funny.” But my laugh comes out shaky because what if he’s right? What if that’s exactly what’s happening?
I press my hip against his on the bed, seeking more contact, and the ache dims further. My body is reacting to him. To his Alpha presence, and Betas don’t react like this. Which means…
No. I can’t think about that right now.
“Let’s not talk about that,” I say quickly. “Please.”
“Of course.” His voice is gentle. No pushing, no prying. Just acceptance.
He sits with me in comfortable silence. I’m trembling from the implications, because if Carter’s touch is soothing my body this way, if his presence is putting out whatever fire is building inside me…
Then my Omega isn’t dormant anymore.
And that thought terrifies me more than the pain. Because I convinced myself years ago that I’d never be enough for an Alpha pack. Accepted that heats and bonds weren’t in my future. Built my entire identity around being a Beta who didn’t need any of that.
What happens if it’s all been a lie?
“You seem very deep in thought,” Carter observes. “Anything I can do to lighten the load?”
I breathe heavily, holding on to him like a lifeline. “Have you ever felt like your whole life was based on something that turned out to be wrong? Like you believed something for so long, built everything around it, and then suddenly it might not be true and you don’t know who you are anymore?”
He stays quiet at first. “That’s a heavy question for a Wednesday night.”
“I know.” I laugh shakily. “Let’s not unpack it. I’m just …that’s where I’m at right now.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t push, doesn’t demand explanations. Just sits with me, his presence warm and steady. “You know what I do when I feel like everything’s falling apart?”
“What?”
“I write.”
I twist to look at him. “Like what?”
“Poetry, mostly.” He shrugs, almost appearing self-conscious. “Nothing fancy. Just a few lines here and there when I need to get something out of my head.”
“You’re telling me a rodeo star writes poetry? No way.”
“We all need an outlet.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s a vulnerability there I haven’t seen before. “No one else sees them. It’s just for me.”
“Tell me one.”
“I don’t really remember them off the top of my head—”
“Liar. Tell me.”
He goes quiet, his gaze drifting somewhere distant. When he speaks, his voice is softer:
“The arena holds its breath for those who fall, but silence doesn’t mean forgetting. Some hoofbeats echo longer than the ride, some dust never quite settles, and I still count to eight every time the gates swing open.”
The words hang in the air between us. I think about them, the weight of them, the grief buried underneath. Counting to eight. The time a rider has to stay on. Someone who fell and didn’t get back up.
“That’s beautiful,” I say quietly. “And heartbreaking.”
“Yeah.” His voice is rough. “It helps, though. Getting it out.”
I want to ask who he lost, to understand what he’s carrying. But this doesn’t feel like the right moment, so instead I ask, “Would you write me a poem?”
He looks surprised. “You want me to?”
“Yes. I’m curious what you’d say about me.”
His gaze drops to my lips, then back up. The air between us feels electric. Charged.
“How about I think about it?” he says softly. “And I promise I will.”
I smile. The pain is still there, lurking, but his presence keeps it at bay.
“Hey,” he says after a moment. “Do you mind if I get onto the bed properly? I can hold you better if I’m lying behind you.”
I should say no. Should keep some distance. But the thought of him letting go, of losing that contact, makes my chest tight with something close to panic.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Carter stands and kicks off his boots. The moment he breaks contact, the ache sharpens, deep in my gut and lower still, a burning that’s equal parts pain and desire. I groan, curling in on myself, squeezing my eyes shut against the intensity.
This is bad. This is really, really bad.
Then the bed dips behind me, and his arms are wrapping around me, one sliding under my neck so my head rests on his bicep, the other draping over my waist. His chest presses against my back, warm and solid. His hips settle against mine.
And God help me, even through the pain, I feel the spark of something hot and wanting that has nothing to do with fever. His body is hard against mine, all muscle and heat, and some primal part of me wants to press back into him. Wants more. Wants everything.
I bite my lip and try to focus on the relief instead of the arousal.
“Better?” His breath is warm against my cheek.
“Yeah.” I let myself sink into him, surrounded by his warmth and his scent. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, June. Sometimes we just need someone to hold us.”
I close my eyes, letting myself float in the sensation of being held. Cared for. Protected. The fire is still stirring inside me for him, for this, for things I’ve been told I could never have, but right now, I just want to exist in this moment.
“You smell incredible,” I murmur, breathing him in deeply. “Like… safety. Like something I didn’t know I was missing.”
His arms tighten around me. “Get some rest. I’ll be right here.”
The darkness comes slowly, pulling me under, and the last thing I’m aware of is his heartbeat against my back and the lingering scent soothing me.