Chapter 13 Naomi
Chapter thirteen
Naomi
Warm.
That's my first thought as consciousness filters through the haze of sleep.
I yawn, roll onto my back, and reach for my phone on the nightstand. 8:04 a.m. Good thing I managed to fall back asleep after my baking session…
Hold on, what the—I blink.
There's one flickering bar of signal.
“Oh my god.” I mash Mia’s contact before I lose it. The call connects on the second ring.
“Naomi!” Her voice explodes through the speaker, high and frantic.
“Oh my god, are you okay? I’ve been trying to call, but I keep ending up on your voicemail.
The storm’s all over the news, they’re calling it a snowpocalypse.
I called emergency services, the sheriff’s office, tried to book this insane private helicopter-rescue-thing, no one can get up there.
The roads are closed, snowmobiles grounded, visibility absolute garbage—” She breaks off to take a breath.
“Sorry, I’m rambling. How are you holding up? ”
A lump forms in my throat at the sound of her. “It’s really good to hear you,” I say, sinking back against the headboard. “I’m okay, Mia. I’m perfectly safe. The chalet is secure, and we have food. At least for now.”
“For now?” Her voice jumps. “What do you mean for now? Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”
“Honestly? Yeah. We did a full inventory. There’s enough to last at least four more days. So for now we’re just… waiting it out.” I rub my face. “But listen, how are things with your franchise? I got some emails through yesterday. Did someone reach out to you?”
“Forget the franchise,” she blurts. “How are the alphas treating you?”
“They’re being good, really. Cohabitation is getting more and more… harmonious.” I let out a small huff of a laugh and clear my throat. “Not that I’m not looking forward to leaving, obviously.”
“Obviously,” she echoes, but I hear the smile.
“Anyway,” I push on. “If any lawyers contact you, K.G. Holdings or anyone else, ignore them until I can reach them directly. Don’t sign anything, don’t answer anything. I’ll handle it the second I’m back. I have to—”
Static rips through the line.
“Mia?” I sit up straighter. “Mia, can you still—”
The call drops.
No Service. Bar gone.
“Goddammit.” I stare at the dead screen. Of course. The universe dangles a tiny bar of hope in front of my face and then goes just kidding.
After a second, I toss the phone onto the bed, grab new leggings and a sweatshirt, and pull them on. No point climbing back under the covers now. Coffee smell drifts faintly down the hall, and my feet automatically follow it.
The alphas are in the living room by the time I step in, but they’re not in their usual clothes. They’re bundled up like they’re about to attempt Everest: heavy coats, beanies, gloves, serious boots.
“Morning,” Felix says, scarf halfway up his face.
“Morning,” I answer, eyeing the gear. “What’s this? Group skiing lesson?"
He snorts. “We’re making a run for the woodshed. Need to stock up on firewood before the next drift buries the door. Safer to have a backup if the heater decides to be moody.”
“We’ll be faster if all three of us go,” Liam adds, bending to tighten the laces on his boots. “The shed’s only a few minutes out in normal weather, but in this?” He straightens, grimacing. “Could be much longer.”
Silas yanks his zipper up, then looks over at me, full of defiance. “Guess you’re holding down the fort, princess. Try not to work your way through all the rations while we’re gone.”
I cross my arms. “And you try not to get eaten by a yeti.”
I’m almost sure I see the corner of his mouth twitch before he grunts and turns away.
A moment later, the three of them step out into the white roar, and the door thuds shut behind them.
Silence drops over the chalet like someone hit mute.
I pour myself a coffee and stand by the window, watching the snow whirl sideways. Somewhere beyond all that is a road to Lakeview, a way out. Right now, all I see is white.
I let out a long breath.
I am not built for this.
I am built for inboxes, depositions, and back-to-back calendars. For “let’s push that to next Tuesday” and “circle back after the merger.” Not for being trapped and… under-stimulated.
I mean, as much as things feel like they’re thawing with the whole pack, the situation is still maddening.
And honestly really, really dull.
I take my mug and turn away from the window, letting my eyes wander over the space instead of my thoughts. The worn leather sofa. The coffee table with a nick in the corner. The armchairs, one with a blanket half-sliding off…
I drift.
My free hand slides over the rough stone of the fireplace.
The mantel holds a chipped mug stuffed with pens, a lighter, an old ticket stub from some away game.
I move to the bookshelves. Histories, philosophy, poetry…
Liam written all over them. Wedged between are a couple of joke books that scream Felix.
My feet keep going on their own, carrying me down the hallway toward their rooms. It’s dimmer here, walls lined with more framed team photos and bits of art… and I see one door is slightly ajar.
I pause, fingers tightening around the mug handle. I am aware taking a peek would not be what polite houseguests do… but I am also trapped, restless, and perilously close to alphabetizing their spice rack for entertainment.
“Just a peek,” I mutter, nudging the door open with my shoulder.
The room is a mess: team posters are plastered on the walls, jerseys slung over a chair, the bed is unmade with a bright gold comforter on top, and…
Sniff…
There’s a faint scent in the air. Something sweet I can't quite place.
I frown.
Am I smelling the faintest trace of an alpha's smell? That shouldn't be possible since I took a Duoblock last night, but… maybe my pill is already wearing off. Or maybe the smell is just leftover honey from tea or something.
Note to self: take another pill before lunch. Just in case.
Okay, peek achieved. I back out and pull the door closed.
I turn, intending to head back to the living room, but spot another door cracked open a little further down the hall.
My curiosity perks up like a dog hearing a treat bag, and my feet change course on their own.
The bed’s made in this one, three books are stacked on the nightstand, and a keyboard is set up against the far wall, sheet music arranged on a stand.
Okay, this room gives Liam vibes. I had no clue he played piano, but somehow it fits.
I'm still in the doorway, just taking it in, then quietly pull the door shut and move on.
First room gave off Felix vibes. The second Liam's. That leaves…
I stop in front of the last closed door, fingers resting on the knob. This one feels… riskier. But hey… might as well just see if—
I twist the knob. It's unlocked. My head does a very undignified little swivel before I push the door open.
Gray duvet. Simple. A single book on the nightstand, The Art of War, naturally. No posters, no photos, no clutter. Everything tidy, functional, a little cold.
Yeah. Checks out.
I close the door and keep going. There’s another door farther down. I try the handle. Locked. Storage, probably. Then, the hallway ends at a door.
I open it and step into what seems to be a home office.
One wall is covered in hockey trophies and framed game photos. A big desk dominates the middle, buried under scouting reports, old mail, binders, loose papers.
I hover by the chair, taking a sip of coffee. This room is one pile away from a hoarding intervention.
My eyes snag on a desk drawer left open a crack.
I hesitate, chewing my lip. I really should stop snooping around… and yet, my fingers, traitors, hook under the edge anyway. My heart does a stupid little thump as I slide it open.
Pens. A knot of charging cords. And right on top, a stack of photos held together with a rubber band, practically begging to be straightened. Which, technically, would be tidying. Helpful, really.
I set my mug down and pick them up.
The first photo is the three of them. Felix, Liam, and Silas, impossibly young, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders in what looks like a high school graduation shot.
Another is just Silas, actually smiling as he holds a massive silver trophy over his head. I almost don’t recognize him.
Then, another group shot. The three of them on a beach, laughing, shirts off. They're flanking a fourth person... an omega, most likely, I can tell from the build. But…
Why is her face blacked out?
The heavy thump of the front door makes me jerk so hard I almost drop the photos.
“Shit.”
My hands shake as I bundle the stack back together and slide them into the drawer exactly how I found them. Drawer shut. Mug back in my hand. Deep breath.
By the time I make it back down the hall, my pulse is still thudding, but at least my face feels under control.
They’re in the mudroom, stomping snow off their boots. Their cheeks are red and their hair dusted with white.
“Success!” Felix crows, a load of split logs at his feet. “Got enough wood to last us ’til, I don’t know, mid-January. Hum, you okay in here? You look a little… pale.”
“Just… cabin fever, I guess.” The lie sits weird on my tongue, but telling them I was accidentally rummaging through their stuff doesn’t sound better. “Was everything okay out there?”
“Yeah. Went fine,” Liam says, unwinding his scarf and hanging it up.
Silas shrugs out of his coat. He looks a little less wound tight after the haul, but his eyes narrow when they land on me.
“What’s the matter?” he asks.
“N-nothing,” I say too fast, wrapping my arms around myself. “I’m just… bored.”
His gaze sharpens. “For a lawyer, you’re being a terrible liar right now, you know that?”
“Silas, come on,” Felix cuts in, a warning under the easy tone. “I thought you were getting over the hostility.”
Silas holds my gaze for one more long, searching beat, like he’s trying to peel thoughts right out of my head… then finally grunts, “Coffee,” and heads for the kitchen.
I let out a shaky breath, watching his back as he goes.
That was close.
But as I watch Felix and Liam load wood into the nook beside the fireplace, my mind keeps drifting back to those photographs.
I'm pretty sure I'm starting to understand what's going on here.