Chapter 27
Lo
Ishould be riding the high of satisfaction. I’m branded. Marked. And he’s marked in return. We own one another, for life. I should be relishing Beck’s knot and the beautiful pressure of his body against mine.
But the town…
Well, I hate the town.
And now, I’m forever bound to it.
Everywhere I turn, the walls are closing in on me. The rumors, the whispers… they’re everywhere.
I can feel them crawling under my skin, biting into me, making it harder to breathe.
Toby’s accusations were bad enough, but the way the town’s gossip has spread fast as wildfire makes my stomach churn. Every time I walk through town, I hear it.
“She’s just like her family.”
“A scam artist.”
“Another Marsh taking advantage of good people.”
And now, Beck is stuck with everything that comes with me.
Why didn’t I think this through?
I hate how easily the town believes it. Hate that they’ll never understand the truth or see me for the truth-seeker I really am.
Thank God for Hayes and Ford. The offer to stay with them has been a lifeline. Their house… it’s more of a safe place than I ever thought it could be. I do wish my other Alpha lived with them, though. It’s so hard when Beck’s work has him so damn busy.
“Do you always have this much anxiety coursing through you, my Omega?”
Beck’s voice rips me out of my mind. “Sorry.”
He nuzzles his nose against mine as he props himself up. “No apologies. I had no idea. Do you feel like this all the time?”
I swallow hard as tears form at the edges of my gaze. “You’re stuck with it now. I’m so sorry. I let my instincts get the better of me and—”
In a flash, I’m in his lap, his knot still stuffing me full. My parents are going to smell all of this once they get here. I have to finish packing. I have to get out before they arrive. How far away is the city again? Four hours? Five? Will they stop on the road for an evening?
“Shhh,” Beck hushes softly as he grips my chin, leveling my gaze with his.
I feel him push the smoky darkness of his presence toward the blinding light of my anxiety, muting it and wrapping around it as if he, himself, can choke it out.
“You’re safe. I’m here. And no one is getting to you without my permission. ”
I sigh, pressing my forehead to his chin. He gives me the softest forehead kiss as his knot throbs inside of me.
The sounds from the kitchen drift through the house. Sizzling, the clink of a spatula against a pan. Hayes being… Hayes. He’s the only person who can make me forget the pressure of my chest, even for a little while.
“At least the stove still works in the kitchen,” I mutter.
Beck chuckles, and the sound reverberates through my bones. “There isn’t as much damage to this place as it seems.”
By the time I hear the clinking of plates, his knot has dwindled. I ache to bounce on him again until he explodes, because the fullness of him grounds me. But I force myself to get up from the couch.
Beck stands quickly, wrapping a blanket around my naked form before we both pad into the kitchen. The smell hits me first. Eggs, bacon, and something sweet. A cup of coffee waits on the counter, steam rising from it in little swirls.
“Hey, there,” Hayes calls out, not looking up from the stove. “Figured we could have breakfast for dinner. Who’s game?”
He’s got his usual easy smile on, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and the scent of sizzling meat seems to be drifting from whatever he’s cooking. He’s always this way. Calm, considered, in control of himself. The perfect antidote to the chaos in my head.
It’s been a long few years without him. I missed him more than I thought I did.
I lean against the counter, running a hand through my hair.
“Hey, looks like someone’s trying to get on my good side this evening,” I tease, nudging the mug with my elbow. “Is this because you spilled maple syrup on the floor again?”
Hayes grins over his shoulder, looking downright mischievous. “I didn’t spill it. I was just giving the linoleum a little extra flavor. Or at least, that’s what I’m telling myself.”
I giggle softly, tugging the blanket tighter around me. “Mmhmm.”
“You can’t expect me to be perfect all the time.”
I chuckle and take a sip of the coffee. Strong. Just how I like it.
“No, you’re right. Perfection is overrated anyway. But I did almost trip over the sticky puddle you left behind. Maybe I should start charging you for cleaning services.”
He scoffs, his eyes twinkling. “Please, you know you love it. I’m sure you’re back to writing angsty poetry already!”
I snort, feeling a smile tug at my lips.
“You never read my poetry, Hayes. And you never will.” I take another sip of my coffee, making sure I sound serious. “It’s forbidden to all eyes but mine.”
He turns with an exaggerated look of shock on his face. “Forbidden? What am I supposed to do with this information? I’m basically being held hostage by your unreadable literary genius!”
“Exactly,” I deadpan, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll never know what you’re missing. It’s my art. My gift to the world.”
Hayes chuckles under his breath, flipping a pancake in the pan with a flick of his wrist. “If your ‘art’ is anything like your investigative skills, the world’s in for a treat. What’s next? A haiku about syrup?”
I make a face. “Don’t even joke about that. I can’t be responsible for any future poetry disasters.”
He slides a plate of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon in front of me on the kitchen countertop that Ford has restored, and I inhale the scent. Damn. He really knows how to make breakfast.
“Here you go. Your ‘art’ is safe with me… for now.”
I grin, picking up the fork. “You’re spoiling me, Hayes. What’s next? Are you going to feed me breakfast in bed, too?”
He shrugs with a wink. “Don’t tempt me. I might just do it, but I expect a poem in exchange.”
“Ahh, no deal.” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “There’s only so much brilliance I can put into one day. A full-on Lo Marsh masterpiece would take days of preparation.”
He takes a bite of his own eggs, leaning casually against the counter, his eyes gleaming with that playful warmth. “I’m willing to wait. You’re worth the investment.”
“Flattery, huh?” I shoot him a teasing glance. “You must really want me to finish that pancake disaster.”
His grin widens. “That’s what I’m here for, Lo. To support your creative genius… and, you know, make sure you don’t burn the house down while you’re at it.”
“Making sure she doesn’t burn things down is my job,” Beck mutters as he walks over to the stove and plucks a piece of bacon from the pan. “Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot,” he hisses as he bounces it from hand to hand before shoving it into his mouth. “Haaa, haaa, haaa. Fuck.”
I arch an eyebrow and try not to laugh. “Hot?”
Beck nods with tears in his eyes before he finally gets the piece of meat down. “Yep. Just a little.”
Hayes chuckles as he plates Beck some food. “I hope you don’t mind, but you two were pretty passed out on the couch. Ford packed up the rest of your things and took them to our place. He should be back soon.”
I pause. “Wait, really?”
That’s when I look around and realize that all of my things are gone.
“Yep,” Hayes says nonchalantly, even though I can feel him studying me. “So we eat here, we clean up, and the rest is history. Your family won’t be able to touch you at our place.”
“Not without getting through us first,” Beck says around a mouthful of eggs.
I shove my plate forward slightly, looking at the delicious eggs and bacon, but feeling a little too full of something else. It’s not the food. It’s the warmth. The way I can joke around with Hayes as if I never left. Plus, the presence of Beck in my chest, dark and soothing and just a bit smoky.
It makes me wonder how full I’ll feel when Hayes and Ford are there, too. I love that nothing has changed between me and Hayes, despite this dynamic that’s growing the longer I stay in town. He’s always been one of my best friends.
“Thanks for this,” I say softly, meeting his gaze. My voice has dropped a little, the teasing fading into… more. “You didn’t have to. But I really appreciate it.”
Hayes’s eyes soften, the playful smirk melting into something more sincere. “I know you don’t always ask for help, Lo. But I’m always here to help you.”
“We all are,” Ford says as he steps through the front door. “Got a plate for me?”
Hayes puts some food in a bowl for him. “Always.”
I don’t know what it is about the way he says that, but he means it. It’s just truth to him. But it hits me right in the chest. Hard.
I swallow, trying to keep it together, but his steady gaze, and the calm way he stands there, the way he’s always been there… I can feel my scent stirring, tugging at me in a way I can’t quite explain. I don’t want to admit it, but there’s something magnetic about him.
I want to mark him, too.
It’s not just the way he makes me feel safe. It’s the way my whole body reacts to him. The way my pulse quickens when he looks at me like that. As if I’m the only thing that matters in the room. The way my skin feels like a watertight suit when I’m around his scent.
My chest tightens, the air in the room suddenly feeling too thick, too heavy, as if the very scent of him is wrapping itself around me. His honeycomb and clean cotton scent lingers. But there’s an undercurrent of something raw and undeniable.
I push the plate of food off to the side after taking a few bites, my fingers tightening around the mug in my hands. The smell of the food is gone. All I can smell now is him, his presence filling up every corner of the room.
“Lo?” Hayes snaps me out of my thoughts, and I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at him for way too long. The corners of his mouth curl up in that familiar mischievous smile, but there’s something in his eyes now. A flicker of more. “You alright?”
I reach up, my hand sliding against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. His gaze drops to my hand, then back up to my face, his eyes darkening just a little.
And then, without thinking, I’m kissing him.
Imiss working.
I miss it a lot. I love having something to do, to focus on. Being alone and aimless doesn’t suit me much. Especially when my mind is wild and out of control.
So it’s a relief when I’m finally back at Hayes and Ford’s place, with Ford arriving last.
I practically run to greet him as he comes through the door, but I can’t throw my arms around him because he’s got bags clutched between his fingers.
Bags you’d get from a shopping trip.
“Ooh, someone went shopping without me? Here, let me help you carry it.”
Ford chuckles. “You can take it. This is all for you.”
I stare at him, blinking. “What do you mean?”
He gives me that half-smirk, the one that makes me wonder what’s going on behind his quiet eyes.
“I know you’ve been feeling a little… unsettled,” he says, reading my mind. “So I thought I’d grab some things that might make you feel more at home. Maybe make this place a little less… empty.”
I’m still standing there, blinking, trying to process what he just said, while my heart does that strange skipping thing it’s been doing since the moment he first walked back into my life. I didn’t expect this.
I step forward slowly, reaching for one of the bags, still uncertain, as if it’s some kind of trap. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.” His tone is soft, sincere, and the simplicity of it disorients me a little.
He’s been paying attention to all those little things I’ve been avoiding about myself.
He sets the other bags down on the kitchen counter, and I glance at the contents. Bath towels, some lavender-scented candles, a few throw pillows. A basket of fresh fruit. A couple of plants. A bottle of wine.
I feel the sudden urge to shrink into myself. “You really didn’t have to. It’s not like—”
Ford cuts through my rambling. “You’re not just here physically, Lo. You’re home for as long as you need to be. So I figured maybe this will make it feel like you actually belong here.”
I swallow, unable to find words for how much the gesture hits me. This isn’t just about the stuff he brought. It’s about the thought, the care.
My senses are suddenly flooded with his scent, pine sap, and leather warmed by a crackling fire. A shudder runs down my spine.
Ford’s watching me carefully, those hazel eyes never leaving my face, the hint of a smile still playing at the corner of his lips. It’s too much. Too right.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
My Omega hums again, a soft murmur in the back of my throat, and my hands are shaking as I reach for the bottle of wine.
Ford notices. His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t ask. He knows. He always knows. And that makes it worse. Makes everything teeter on the edge of something I don’t want to fall into.
“You’re welcome.”
He’s speaking directly to the part of me that’s desperate to cling to whatever control I have left. And I feel the grip of my independence slipping. Just a little.
It’s terrifying.
And yet… it feels good.