Chapter 7 #2
I take another drink of beer. "I waited outside the clinic. I know it was probably creepy. But I had to see her. Had to make sure she was real and not some dream I made up to torture myself."
"And?"
"And she came out looking like the world was ending. Pale. Shaky. Scared. Then she saw me and..." I stop. Swallow. "She looked terrified, Serg. Of me. I tried to apologize for the kiss, for everything, and she just... ran."
"Did you touch her?" Nacho asks.
"Just her elbow. Barely. Super gentle. I swear I was careful." I set down the beer before I crush the bottle. "She's an omega now. I could smell it. Her scent made my alpha go crazy. But I kept my distance. I was good. I tried so hard to be good."
Sergio and Nacho exchange one of their looks. The married couple telepathy thing they do.
"What? What aren't you telling me?"
"It's not my information to share alone." Sergio glances at Nacho. "We should wait for Pedro."
"Sergio." My voice comes out pleading. "Please. Something's wrong with her. Something medical. Pedro examined her. Just tell me. Is she sick? Is she okay? Did Callum hurt her?"
Another look. This time Nacho answers.
"She's an omega."
I blink. "I know. I could smell her. I just said that."
"Late-presenting omega. Thought she was a beta."
"Oh." The pieces click together. "Oh God. She didn't know?"
"No idea."
I sink onto one of the kitchen stools, legs suddenly unreliable.
Jessica is an omega. Has always been an omega.
Buried under medication and wrong diagnoses and a system that failed her.
All those years I thought I was attracted to a beta, but my alpha knew.
Some part of me always knew she was meant to be ours.
"How do you know this?" I ask.
"Patricia texted me the intake form," Nacho says.
"That's a HIPAA violation."
"I'm the sheriff. I get special privileges."
"I don't think that's how it works."
The front door opens again and Pedro walks in, still in his white coat, looking like death warmed over. His dark hair is messed up like he's been running his hands through it. His wire-rimmed glasses are slightly crooked. His scent is all wrong—sage and honey but sharp with stress hormones.
"I need a drink," he announces. "A very strong drink. Maybe several."
Nacho pulls whiskey from the cabinet and pours him three fingers. Pedro takes it and drains half in one swallow.
"Okay, now I'm really worried," I say, trying for humor. "Pedro only drinks like that when someone dies or when he has to tell someone bad news."
"Worse than death." Pedro sets the glass down and runs both hands through his hair, making it stand up in spikes. "She's going into heat. First real heat. Her body is playing catch-up for years of suppression, and it's happening all at once."
The room goes silent.
Heat.
Jessica is going into heat.
The word conjures images I've been trying not to think about for six years. Her body flushed and needy. Her scent thick with pheromones. Those soft sounds she'd make if someone touched her right. The way her hands would grip sheets, grip skin, grip me while I helped her through it.
I grab my beer and finish it in one long pull because apparently I need multiple drinks too.
"How long?" Sergio asks, voice steady even though I can smell the spike in his scent. Cedarwood and ice, sharper than usual.
"Two weeks. Maybe less." Pedro pours himself more whiskey. "I gave her medication for the symptoms, but there's nothing that can stop the heat itself. She needs to ride it out."
"Alone?" The word bursts out of me, too loud, too desperate. "She can't go through that alone. First heat is brutal. She'll be scared and confused and hurting and—"
"That's her choice," Pedro cuts me off. "I told her it's not the best thing to do, especially for a first heat. But I can't exactly write her a prescription for alphas."
"What about Callum?" Nacho asks, and his voice has gone quiet. Dangerous. "Does he know?"
"She didn't tell him. Said she was scared of how he'd react."
Silence. Heavy. Dark.
I think about Callum. My best friend since we were kids. The guy who taught me to ride a bike and helped me build my first birdhouse in shop class and stood next to me at graduation with that huge smile.
At times he looked at Jessica as if she was his possession. The way he'd squeeze her arm too tight when she talked to other guys. The way she started getting quieter around him. Smaller. Like she was trying to take up less space so he wouldn't notice her.
I think about the kiss. The way she melted into me. The way her hands fisted in my shirt like she needed to hold on. The way she whispered "finally" like she'd been waiting years for someone to see her.
The way I saw her.
"Callum doesn't get anywhere near her," I say, and there's no joke in my voice now. Nothing sweet or soft. "Not while she's vulnerable. Not ever."
Sergio nods. "Agreed."
"He's still technically our friend," Pedro points out, but there's no conviction in it.
"Is he?" Nacho's voice is flat. "Friends don't control their partners. Friends don't make them so scared they run from their own wedding. Friends don't treat someone like property."
"We don't know for sure what happened between them," Pedro argues.
"We know enough." Nacho starts pouring whiskey into the glasses Sergio has set out. Four glasses. Four alphas. Zero omega. Story of our pack. "I've been sheriff for five years. I know what abuse looks like. And that woman is running from something bad."
The word hits me in the chest. Abuse. I knew things weren't right between them. Knew Jessica wasn't happy. But I told myself it was none of my business. Told myself I was biased because I wanted her for myself.
I should have done something. Should have built her a goddamn escape hatch if that's what she needed. Should have told Callum to back off or told Jessica she deserved better or done literally anything besides watch from the sidelines while she disappeared.
"What do we do?" I ask, and my voice cracks again. I don't try to hide it. Can't. "She's back and she's scared and she's going into heat and I don't know how to help her."
Sergio sets down his glass and moves toward me. His hand cups the back of my neck, warm and grounding. "Hey. Look at me."
I do. His brown eyes are steady. Calm. The pack leader who always knows what to do.
"We protect her," he says quietly. "We give her space to figure out what she needs. And we let her come to us when she's ready."
"What if she's never ready? What if I scared her so bad she can't..." I stop. Swallow hard. "What if she doesn't want me? Want us?"
"Then we let her go." Sergio's thumb strokes along my jaw. "Even if it kills us. Because that's what you do when you love someone. You put them first."
"I never stopped wanting her." The confession tears out of me. "Six years, Serg. Six years of trying to move on. Dating other omegas who didn't laugh at my bad jokes." I meet his eyes. "None of them were her."
Silence. Then Sergio does something unexpected.
He kisses me.
Deep and claiming, his hand sliding from my neck into my hair, tilting my head back. I open for him automatically, years of pack intimacy making the response instinctive.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark. Determined.
"I've been in love with her since the day Callum introduced us," he says. “All those years, watching her with him."
From the stove, Nacho's voice: "Same."
We both turn to look at him. He's still stirring the stew, face impassive, but his scent tells the truth. Dark sugar and ironwood, threaded with old pain.
"The night of the kiss," he says, staring at the empty glass.
"I went inside. Told everyone I was getting more drinks.
Really I left because I couldn't stand watching anymore.
" He looks up, and there's raw honesty in his eyes.
"Watching her laugh at your jokes, Carlos.
Watching her look at you like you hung the moon.
I wanted to be the one she looked at like that. I hated myself for it."
The confession settles over us like a blanket.
Four alphas. One omega. Six years of pretending.
"We're so pathetic," I say, but I'm smiling. Can't help it. "Four grown men mooning over the same woman for almost a decade. We're like a bad romance novel."
"Speak for yourself," Pedro mutters, but his mouth twitches.
"We tried to move on," Nacho says, turning off the burner. "The app. Those omega mixers in the city. That group date Pedro set up where the omega brought her emotional support ferret."
"We agreed never to speak of the ferret," Pedro growls.
"My point is," Nacho continues, "we tried. All of us. And nothing worked because we kept comparing everyone to Jessica."
The truth of it rings through the kitchen.
This is why we're incomplete. Not because we're too picky, but because no one compares to Jessica. And now she’s an omega, she’s just perfect. She can handle our knots. We don’t have to worry or hold back like we did before.”
"So what do we do?" I ask, looking around at my pack. My brothers. "She's back. She's single. She's going into heat in two weeks. Do we just... I don't know. Show up with flowers? Build her a hope chest? What?"
"A hope chest?" Sergio raises an eyebrow.
"I'm a carpenter. It's what I do. I build things." I throw up my hands. "I don't know how to court an omega who's scared of me."
"She's not scared of you," Sergio says gently. "She's scared of what you represent. Of wanting something she thinks she can't have."
"How do you know?"
"Because I saw her face yesterday when she drove through town. She wasn't running from something, Carlos. She was running toward something." His eyes are distant. "Toward us."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly my chest hurts with it.
But I remember her eyes on the sidewalk. The panic. The way she bolted like I was a threat instead of someone who would do anything, build anything, be anything if it meant making her happy.
"What if I mess it up again? What if I push too hard?" Nacho's voice is calm, certain. "You won't. But even if you did—then we wait. We've waited six years..."
"I hate waiting."
"I know." Sergio's hand moves from my neck to my shoulder, squeezing. "But it's what we have to do. Let her set the pace. Let her come to us when she's ready."
"And Callum?" The name tastes bitter.
"Callum stopped being our friend the moment he decided to control her instead of love her." Sergio's voice is hard. Final. "If he comes to Largo Waters, if he tries to take her back, we stop him."
"I'll build her a fortress if that's what it takes," I say, and I'm only half joking. "Walls six feet thick. Guard tower. Moat with alligators."
"That seems excessive," Pedro says, but he's almost smiling.
"I'm excessive. It's my thing." I look around at them. "But I'm serious. Anything she needs, she’ll get it."
"We're all her guy," Sergio says quietly. "All four of us or none of us. If she chooses one, she chooses all. Agreed?"
I look at Nacho. At Pedro. Back at Sergio.
"Agreed."
Nacho starts ladling stew into bowls. "Dinner's ready. We can keep planning, but I'm not doing it on an empty stomach."
We gather at the table. Same seats we always take. Sergio at the head. Nacho to his left. Pedro to his right. Me across from Sergio where I can see everyone.
Four places. Four alphas.
One missing omega-shaped space that we've been trying to fill for years.
The food is good. It always is when Nacho cooks. He learned from his grandmother, that tiny fierce woman who taught him that feeding people is how you show love when words won't come.
Tonight he made enough to feed an army. Tells me everything about his headspace.
"There's something I need to tell you," I say between bites. "Something about the kiss."
Three pairs of eyes focus on me.
"When I kissed her that night... right before she kissed me back, she said something." I set down my spoon, meet their eyes. "She said 'finally.'"
“What?” Sergio asks.
"Yeah. Like she'd been waiting for it. For me to kiss her."
"That doesn't necessarily mean—" Pedro starts.
"Yes it does." I cut him off. "Think about it.
The way she used to look at all of us. The way she'd find excuses to touch us.
Ask me about my projects. Listen to Sergio's hockey stories.
Fall asleep on Nacho's shoulder during movies.
Let Pedro bandage her cuts even when they were tiny.
" I look around the table. "She wanted us. All of us. And it scared her."
Silence.
"So what are you saying?" Sergio asks slowly. "I'm saying we court her." I meet each of their eyes.
"Properly. The way we should have years ago. Show her what she could have..."
"That's a risk," Pedro says.
"So is letting her walk away again." My voice breaks. I don't try to hide it. "I can't do it twice. I can't watch her leave again. I'll break."
"We all will," Nacho says quietly.
Sergio looks at each of us. "Then we do this together. We show her who we are. What we can offer. And we pray she wants it as much as we do."
He raises his glass. "To Jessica."
We clink. We drink.
Outside, the sun is setting, painting the sky orange and pink. In two weeks, maybe less, Jessica will go into heat. Her first real heat. And we'll be here, waiting, ready to catch her if she falls.
"I'm going to build her something," I announce. "Something that shows her I'm not scary. Just... devoted."
"What are you going to build?" Pedro asks.
I think about her hands. About the way she used to touch wood grain with reverence. About the way she looked at the furniture I made like it was art.
"I'll figure it out," I say. "But it'll be beautiful. The best thing I've ever made."
"That's my brother," Sergio says warmly. "Always leading with your heart."
"It's all I've got." I smile, and this time it reaches my eyes. "That and really good carpentry skills."
We finish dinner. Clean up together. Move through the packhouse with the ease of years of practice.
But everything feels different now. Sharper. More real.
Because she's back. And this time, we're not letting her go without a fight.
Even if that fight is just showing her, one careful day at a time, that she's safe with us.
That she's wanted.
That she's home.