Chapter 6 Braiden #2
"For feelings!" I burst out, whirling to face him.
"For instincts! For this—this biological imperative that's hijacked my brain!
What about my classes? What about my pre-med track?
What about my parents? They're going to absolutely lose it when they find out I've moved in with an alpha I just met.
They're betas, Wes. They don't understand this stuff.
They sent me here to focus on my education, not to get—to get—"
"Claimed?" he supplies, one eyebrow raised.
"Yes!" I'm practically shouting now, my carefully constructed composure fracturing into a million pieces. "I had a plan! A good plan! A plan that made sense! And now I'm just supposed to throw it all away because my omega biology decided you're the one?"
I take a step back from him, putting distance between us for the first time since we met.
A real, instinctual need to run flashes through me.
My heart is a frantic drum against my ribs.
What the hell am I doing? This is a stranger.
A huge, possessive alpha stranger who has completely taken over my life.
Wes just stands there, arms crossed, watching me lose it. His face gives nothing away, but his eyes never leave mine. When I finally run out of steam, my chest heaving with emotion, he takes a slow step toward me.
"Your plans don't have to change," he says simply. "Just add me to them."
I blink, thrown off by the sheer simplicity of his statement. "What?"
"Your plans," he repeats, gesturing to the laminated schedule on the wall.
"Keep them. Go to your classes. Study your ass off.
Get into med school. Be a doctor. Nothing has to change.
" He moves closer, until I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"Just add me to the equation. Sleep in my bed instead of this one.
Come home to me instead of this room. Let me be there while you chase your dreams."
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. It's so… reasonable. So obvious. So not what I was expecting.
My voice comes out small. "You'd be okay with that? With me focusing on school?"
Something flickers in his eyes—amusement, maybe. "Braiden, I'm a football player on a full scholarship. I have practice every day and games most weekends. Did you think I was going to demand you sit at home and wait for me?"
Put that way, it does sound ridiculous. "I don't know what I thought," I admit, the panic finally starting to recede. "I just… this is all happening so fast."
"Yeah," he agrees, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. He does it like he's done it a thousand times before, and my heart skips. "But that doesn't make it wrong."
We start packing my things. I carefully wrap my desk calendar in a t-shirt, tucking it safely in my suitcase.
My hands are steady but my mind is a mess—part of me is terrified, part of me is exhilarated, and a small, quiet part knows I'm finally doing something real instead of just following a script.
When we're done, my side of the room looks bare, as if I was never there at all. It's strange how easily my life fits into two suitcases and a backpack. How quickly I can be erased from a space.
"Ready?" Wes asks, picking up the heavier of the two suitcases like it weighs nothing.
My throat is tight, but I manage a single, sharp nod, taking one last look around. "Ready."
The walk back across campus is just as attention-grabbing as before, but this time, the suitcases make our situation even more obvious. We're not just an alpha and omega walking together—we're moving in together. The whispers follow us like a wake.
Outside the registrar's office, we run into a group of guys who are clearly part of Wes's team.
"Chambers! Where the hell have you been, man? Coach is looking for you!"
Wes guides me toward them, his hand a steady pressure on my back. "Had some personal business to take care of," he says, nodding toward the suitcases.
The tallest of the group, a dark-skinned guy with a friendly smile, looks me over. His scent is typical alpha—musk and confidence—but as his eyes land on the claiming mark on my neck, it shifts. The scent sharpens, losing its casual edge and becoming something more… wary. A primal acknowledgment.
"And who's this?" The question is directed at Wes, but his gaze, now respectful, is locked on me.
"This is my omega, Braiden," Wes says, his voice pitched just loud enough to carry. It's not just an introduction; it's a declaration of status. A public claiming.
I feel my cheeks burning again, but I manage a small wave. "Hi."
The group exchanges glances. I can smell the shift in the air as they all register Wes's claim—a subtle change in their scents, a dialing back of their own alpha energy in deference to his. It's a primal conversation happening right under the surface of the human one.
The tall guy extends his hand to me. "Mike," he says. "Wide receiver. Nice to meet you, Braiden."
I shake his hand, noticing how careful he is not to grip too hard. "Nice to meet you too."
The rest of the team introduces themselves, and it's the same with all of them.
Their initial curiosity gives way to a cautious respect that seems directly proportional to the possessiveness radiating from Wes.
I should be angry about this. Indignant.
I should hate being seen as someone's property.
But there's a part of me—the omega part I've tried so hard to suppress—that preens under the attention, that loves being publicly acknowledged as Wes's.
After a few minutes, Wes makes our excuses. "Got to get him settled," he says.
As we walk away, I hear one of them whistle low under his breath. "Damn, never thought I'd see the day."
Back at the apartment—our apartment now, I guess—Wes helps me unpack.
He clears space in his closet and dresser without being asked.
It's strangely intimate, watching our clothes hang side by side, my neatly folded t-shirts next to his haphazardly stacked ones.
My throat tightens as I watch him make room for me so easily, like it's no big deal to completely rearrange his life.
When we're done, I find myself standing adrift in the living room, my planner clutched in my hands like a lifeline. Wes sprawls on the couch, his posture relaxed and confident, watching me with those impossibly blue eyes.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice gentler than I've heard it all day.
I look down at my planner, at the neatly blocked-out hours and color-coded subjects. Then back at Wes, this beautiful, overwhelming force of nature who has completely upended my life in less than twenty-four hours.
Something shifts inside me. A decision. A realization.
Before I can overthink it, I cross the room to where he's sitting. My body moves on pure instinct, my brain scrambling to catch up as I push at his shoulders and climb into his lap, straddling his thighs.
His eyes widen in surprise, then darken with immediate, raw hunger.
His hands come up to grip my hips, holding me in place, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there.
The heat of his body seeps through our clothes.
My thighs bracket his, and the hard ridge of his cock presses insistently against my entrance, even through two layers of denim.
A jolt of pure heat shoots straight through me, a direct line from my ass to my dick, and a low, needy whine escapes my lips before I could stop it.
Wes's scent thickens, the clean ozone smell turning musky and dark with raw lust. A low growl rumbles in his chest, a vibration I feel all the way to my bones. His grip on my hips tightens, almost painfully, pulling me down harder against him.
"Braiden," he says, my name a question and a warning all at once.
The air between us crackles with tension, with unspoken promises. I can feel the power dynamic shifting, just a little, as I look down at him from this new position. For the first time since we met, I feel like I have some control.
I lean in, my voice a shaky whisper that feels like a shout in the charged silence. "Tell me this is real. Tell me where I fit in all... this."