Chapter 11 Carlos
CARLOS
The kiss is still burning on my lips when I crawl under Jessica's sink.
Focus, Negrorio. You're here to fix pipes, not seduce your best friend's ex-girlfriend in her flooded bedroom.
Except I already kissed her. Already felt her melt against me, her hands fisting in my shirt like she needed the anchor. Her scent already tasted that made my alpha howls with satisfaction.
Six years. Six goddamn years of wondering what would have happened if she'd stayed that night. If she'd let me kiss her longer. If she'd realized that Callum was all wrong for her and I was right here, waiting, ready to give her everything.
Now she's standing in her bedroom doorway wearing a soaked t-shirt that's practically painted onto her curves, and I'm supposed to concentrate on corroded copper pipes.
I shine my flashlight into the cabinet and force myself to focus on the problem at hand.
The damage is worse than I thought.
The burst pipe is obvious, a jagged hole where the metal gave way under pressure, but that's not the only problem.
The entire line is corroded. Green oxidation creeping along the joints like some kind of plumbing disease.
Rust flaking off in patches. This pipe has been dying for years, slowly degrading until one cold snap was all it took to finish the job.
I slide out from under the sink and sit up, wiping my hands on my jeans.
Jessica is still in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself, shivering.
The wet fabric of her t-shirt has gone translucent, clinging to the swell of her breasts, the curve of her stomach, the dip of her waist. Her nipples are hard from the cold, two perfect points visible through the thin cotton, and I have to physically drag my eyes away before I do something stupid like stare at them for the next hour.
My mouth goes dry anyway.
"Well?" Her voice pulls me back to reality, to the flooded bathroom and the job I'm supposed to be doing. "How bad is it?"
I clear my throat. Stand up. Put some distance between us before I forget I'm here professionally.
"Bad." I gesture at the bathroom, at the water still dripping from every surface, at the spreading stain on the ceiling that's only getting worse.
"The pipe that burst is just the tip of the iceberg.
The whole system is compromised. I'm seeing corrosion throughout the visible lines, which means the stuff inside the walls is probably worse. "
Her face falls, and I watch the light drain out of her eyes. "What does that mean?"
I grimace. "It means this is going to be expensive and invasive. I need to open up the walls, check the main lines. Replace everything that's degraded before another pipe decides to blow."
I run a hand through my hair, trying to calculate. "This house is seventy years old. The plumbing is original. One pipe going means others aren't far behind."
"And how long will that take?"
I do the math in my head. Square footage. Pipe access. The age of the house. The fact that I'll have to special order materials because nothing in Largo Waters stocks 1950s fittings anymore.
"Three weeks minimum," I say honestly. "Probably closer to a month."
Jessica closes her eyes. Her shoulders sag like someone cut the strings holding her upright.
I watch the fight drain out of her and feel something twist in my chest, sharp and painful.
She's exhausted. Not just tired, but bone-deep weary.
The kind of exhaustion that comes from carrying too much for too long.
I've seen it in her since she got back. The way she holds herself, like she's bracing for the next hit.
The shadows under her eyes. The forced brightness in her voice when she's trying to pretend everything is fine.
Nothing about this is fine.
"I can't afford a month of hotel rooms," she says quietly, and the defeat in her voice makes me want to punch something. Preferably Callum. "I don't have any money. Callum froze our joint accounts."
Of course he did. Because Callum is exactly the kind of man who would use money as a weapon. Who would make sure she had no way out, no resources, no options.
I've known him since we were kids. Played football with him in high school. Got drunk with him at graduation parties. Stood by while he dated girl after girl, discarding them when they stopped being shiny and new.
I told myself Jessica was different. That he loved her. That the way he acted around her, the possessiveness and the control, was just him being protective.
I was an idiot.
"You don't need a hotel," I say before I can stop myself.
Her eyes open, hazel and confused. "What?"
"The packhouse has a guest room. Ground floor, its own bathroom, completely separate from the rest of the house." The words come out in a rush, tripping over themselves. "You could stay there while I do the repairs. It's empty anyway. Just sitting there. Waiting."
Her expression shifts. Closes off like shutters slamming over windows.
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because..." She waves her hand vaguely, like she's trying to catch the right words out of the air. "It's complicated."
"Everything is complicated right now."
"Exactly." Her voice rises slightly. "And staying in a house with four alphas would make it more complicated, not less."
Four alphas. The way she says it makes my alpha sit up and take notice.
"Is that what you're worried about?" I take a step toward her, drawn by some magnetic pull I can't resist. "Us?"
"I'm worried about everything." Her voice cracks, and I can smell the spike in her scent. Peaches and honey turning sharp with stress. "I just kissed you in my flooded bedroom at four in the morning like some kind of romance novel disaster."
"Is that what we are? A disaster?"
"Maybe." She meets my eyes. "I don't know anything anymore."
I should back off. Should give her space. Should remember that she's vulnerable and scared and the last thing she needs is pressure from me.
But I can't stop thinking about the way she kissed me back. The way she whispered "don't stop" like she meant it.
"Stay with us," I say again, taking another step closer. "Not because of... whatever this is." I gesture between us, at the space that still smells like both of us mixed together. "Because you need somewhere safe."
Her breath catches. "You know about that?"
"Pedro told us. After your appointment." I pause, watching her reaction. "He was worried about you."
"So he shared my medical information with the whole pack?" There's anger in her voice now.
"He shared it with his brothers," I correct gently. "Because we care about you. We always have, Jess."
She's quiet for a long moment. The water drips from the burst pipe, a steady rhythm that fills the silence. Her scent is everywhere, mixing with the smell of wet carpet and old house and my own sandalwood and sawdust until I can barely think straight.
"I need to think about it," she finally says.
"Take all the time you need."
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and check the screen.
Sergio: Everything okay?
I type back: Pipe burst. Major damage. She needs a place to stay.
His response is immediate: Bring her here.
Me: She's hesitant.
Sergio: Then convince her. Pack meeting when you get back.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and turn to Jessica, who's watching me with those hazel eyes.
"Let me at least do the temporary patch," I say, keeping my voice gentle. "Get your water running again. Then you can decide about the rest."
She nods slowly. "Okay."
I get to work.
The patch takes longer than it should because my hands won't stop shaking. Every time I reach for a tool, I remember the feel of her waist under my palm, soft and warm and perfect.
This is torture. Exquisite, beautiful torture.
I fit the coupling around the broken section and tighten it down, testing the seal with my fingers. The metal is cold, slick with water, but the connection is solid. It'll hold. For now.
"I need to turn the water back on," I call out, my voice echoing in the small bathroom. "Can you go down to the basement and open the valve?"
"I'll try." Her voice is uncertain. "It was stuck earlier. Like, really stuck. I almost dislocated my shoulder trying to turn it."
"I loosened it when I came in, so it should turn easier now."
I hear her footsteps retreat down the stairs, the sound of her moving through the house. A few minutes later, the pipes groan and shudder as water flows back through the system.
I hold my breath, watching the connection.
No leaks. The patch is holding.
I slide out from under the sink and stand up, stretching the kinks out of my back. The bathroom floor is still flooded, water sloshing around my boots, but at least no new water is coming in.
Jessica appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath, her cheeks flushed from the exertion.
"Did it work?"
"For now." I start packing up my tools, coiling the flashlight cord with practiced efficiency. "But this is temporary. You need to use the bathroom downstairs until I can do a proper replacement."
She nods, hugging herself again. She's still shivering, her lips slightly blue, and she's still wearing that goddamn transparent t-shirt that's driving me insane.
"You need to change," I say, and my voice comes out rougher than I intended. "You're going to get hypothermia."
"All my clothes are wet."
"Your mom's room?"
"She took most of her warm stuff to Mexico." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Because of course she did."
Of course she did.
I set down my tool belt and pull my henley over my head in one smooth motion. The cold air hits my bare chest, raising goosebumps across my skin, but I ignore it. I hold the shirt out to her.
"Here."
Jessica stares at the henley. Then at me. Then back at the henley.
I'm suddenly very aware that I'm standing in her bedroom, shirtless, offering her the clothes off my back like some kind of caveman who just discovered chivalry.
"Carlos..." Her voice is soft. Uncertain.