Chapter 8 Naomi
Chapter eight
Naomi
The water is exactly what I needed.
Hot, steady pressure hits my shoulders and runs down my back, loosening my muscles. I stand there for a while, just breathing, letting the sound of the spray drown out the wind and the faint creaks of the house.
Hours in this room already. First pacing. Then watching snow build up against the glass. Then staring at my phone with no signal. Then eating the food Felix left outside my door.
Hah. That was sweet of him, actually.
Anyway, now, hot shower. Reset attempt.
I reach for the soap. Pine and cedar. Simple, clean. I work it into my hands and scrub methodically, the familiar motions grounding me.
I tilt my head back, letting the water cascade through my hair, trying to rinse away both the memory of my panic attack and the gnawing anxiety about all the work piling up.
Stop thinking about this Naomi.
I can’t make the storm stop. I can’t teleport out of here.
But I can decide how I handle myself.
That, I know how to do. Assess the situation. Find the angle. Adjust the strategy. Keep going.
I’ve dealt with CEOs threatening to pull eight-figure deals if they didn’t get their way. I've navigated merger negotiations with executives who'd step over their own mothers for a better deal. So what's a snowstorm and being stuck with three alphas?
Okay, that does top the list… But hey, optimism.
I stand under the spray a moment longer, then twist the handle off and step out into the steam.
The towel on the rack surprises me. Thick and soft, not the scratchy kind most guest bathrooms get. I wrap it around myself and feel it caress my shoulders.
The vanity drawers are stocked, too. A neat row of unopened toothbrushes, toothpaste, little bottles of shampoo and lotion all lined up.
“Thanks, mystery house manager,” I murmur, tearing open a toothbrush.
Teeth brushed, face washed, I grab a second towel and squeeze the water from my hair, twisting it up. The mirror is fogged, so I wipe a small circle clear.
My reflection looks better than it did a few hours ago. And no more shaking.
Progress.
I pad back into the bedroom, bare feet sinking into the rug. The air is cooler in here, but not cold. The little thermostat on the wall glows at a comfortable number. At least I don't need to worry about freezing to death.
I open the top dresser drawer.
Leggings. Sweatshirts. T-shirts. All soft, and of all colors. I pull out black leggings and a gray sweatshirt.
Felix wasn't lying about having clothes that fit. I'd half-expected to be drowning in oversized alpha clothes.
Which makes me wonder: do they have omega guests often? Cousins? A short alpha or beta friend? Maybe an ex? It would be weird to keep an ex's clothes, but what do I know? Not my business either way.
The clothes are clean and warm when I pull them on. And the bed looks… comfy. I turn back the covers and slide in, the sheets cool against skin still warm from the shower.
I look at the windows, where there's nothing but white.
Who knows, maybe it'll clear by tomorrow…
And if it doesn’t, well… maybe it'll give me time to figure out what December twenty-third means to them, why they won't play on that date. This is an opportunity to assess. Observe. Find ways to get them back on the ice where they belong.
The festival will go on. I'll make sure of it.
My eyes are getting heavy, the day catching up all at once. The early rise, the travel, the storm…
Felix… with his charming smile.
For a second, I picture a soft knock at the door. Him asking if I need anything. Sitting on the edge of the mattress while we talk…
His voice low. His face close.
I huff out a short laugh into the dark.
“Nope,” I tell myself. “Let's not even think about it.”
That would complicate things. Definitely. He's been so sweet, but I shouldn't read into it.
Even if a part of me wouldn't mind a little company right now...
Which is exactly why I need to stay ahead of this.
I reach blindly toward the nightstand, fingers finding the small pill case of DuoBlocks by touch. The plastic clicks when I open it. One pill presses into my palm and swallow it dry.
The last thing I need is for this to wear off and turn this situation into an accidental mating frenzy. I don't want to find out whether their scent appeals to me, or mine to them, especially when I'm tired and scared and far too likely to seek comfort…
Boundaries are non-negotiable.
I set the case back, pull the duvet up to my chin, and curl on my side, facing away from the window.