15. Brookes
Brookes
T he cursor blinks in the corner of my screen while I wait for the call to connect.
I've got a hoodie on even though it's not cold, Dante's cedarwood scent cocooning me in warmth like a protective shield, and my tea's gone lukewarm in my hands.
The ceramic mug feels heavy between my palms, grounding me to this moment, to this reality where I'm safe in my home with three Alphas somewhere nearby.
When Dr. Kendrick's face finally appears, warm and steady as always, something in my chest unclenches.
"Morning, Brookes," he says, voice calm and even, the same tone he's used for our sessions over the past thirteen months. "You look tired, but not the usual kind. There's something different about your energy today."
I huff a soft laugh, tucking my knees closer to my chest on the oversized armchair Dante insisted on buying for my ‘therapy corner’. "Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Kendrick? You can tell my energy's different through a computer screen?"
He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "Professional and personal. I've known you long enough to read between the pixels. Want to talk about it? Something significant has happened. I can see it written all over you."
I glance down into my mug, swish the liquid around like the dregs will give me courage.
The tea leaves form patterns I can't interpret, swirling and settling in meaningless configurations.
My reflection stares back at me, distorted in the amber surface.
"My heat ended two days ago," I finally admit, the words hanging between us in the digital space.
"First one in years. First one with people. . .Alphas."
Dr. Kendrick nods, his expression carefully neutral but attentive. His pen doesn't move to take notes. "How did it feel to share something so intimate after keeping it contained for so long?"
My throat tightens, constricting around words I'm still learning how to form.
I swallow and force them out anyway, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Overwhelming. Intense. Safe." I pause, eyes darting away from the camera, focusing instead on the small potted succulent on my windowsill.
A gift from Charlotte before everything went sideways.
"It didn't hurt like when I was seventeen.
They were so careful with me. Definitely less traumatic. Actually, not traumatic at all."
His tone shifts, softer, anchoring me to this conversation when my mind wants to drift away. "Do you want to tell me about that one? Your first heat? We've touched on it before, but never in detail."
I don't, but I do. My fingers tighten around the mug, seeking strength from its solidity.
What is therapy for if I can't tell the one person who I've spilled all my deepest darkest thoughts to?
The one professional who's seen me at my lowest and never once looked at me with pity.
Who's watched me piece myself back together, fragment by painful fragment.
"I was already out by then. My parents kicked me out the day I designated as a male Omega, they said it didn't fit their picture.
. .and so much more." I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper.
"I was crashing in a shelter downtown when the first heat hit. No one was prepared. Least of all me."
I remember the tile floor. Cold and unyielding beneath my feverish body.
The shuddering sobs I buried in a pillow that smelled like bleach and strangers.
The feeling of crawling out of my own skin while my body begged for touch that I didn't dare ask for.
The way my rose scent had filled that tiny room, becoming sickly sweet with desperation as the hours stretched into days.
"They kept me quarantined," I murmur, my voice barely audible.
My gaze falls to the window where raindrops chase each other down the glass.
"No one came near me. Just left food and water by the door.
Plastic bottles and packaged snacks slid across the threshold by volunteers wearing masks.
I could hear them whispering outside. I clawed through it alone. "
The memory of that agonizing week still lives in my muscles, my bones. I can feel phantom echoes of that pain even now, sitting safely in my house with Dante's steady presence somewhere in the next room.
Dr. Kendrick's face is lined with empathy, his eyes holding mine through the screen. "That sounds incredibly painful. Both physically and emotionally devastating for someone so young."
"It was," I say simply. "After that, I went on suppressants. Haven't come off them until recently. Until. . .Hero, Dante, and Levi. My pack."
The word 'pack' still feels foreign on my tongue, like a luxury I'm not sure I deserve. It's been so long since I've belonged anywhere or to anyone.
He nods again, patient. "And how do you feel about that choice now?"
I think about it. The fevered touches, the careful way they held me through every peak and tremble.
How they built a nest from nothing and made it feel like everything.
How Hero had whispered reassurances against my temple while Dante's strong hands steadied my shaking limbs.
How Levi had wrapped his warmth around me like a living shield against the world.
"I don't regret it," I say quietly, tracing the edge of a throw pillow with my fingertip. "It was scary. But not. . .not like before. They made me feel like I mattered. Like my body wasn't just something to endure, but something to cherish."
My stomach churns with nervous energy at the admission, but Dr. Kendrick's face remains open, without judgment.
"You do matter," he says, his voice a grounding force. "They see that. And it sounds like you're starting to believe it too."
I nod slowly, biting the corner of my thumb. A nervous habit from childhood I've never quite shaken. The rose scent I normally keep carefully controlled blooms slightly with my anxiety, filling the space around me.
Then he asks, "What about your career? I hear there's been some interest?"
I blink, momentarily thrown by the shift. "You already know."
"I always know. Hero updated me on this new development," he says with a faint smile, tapping his tablet. "But what matters is what do you want?"
I exhale, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. The rain outside has picked up, drumming against the windowpane in a rhythm that matches my heartbeat.
"Mathéo Delvecchi wants me for his NYFW show," I finally admit. "It's the comeback moment everyone keeps whispering about. The one Charlotte's been rooting for. The one I've been running from."
"And you're afraid." He clicks his pen, tablet at the ready. The motion almost brings a smile to my face. I would love to see just what he thinks about my crazy ass thoughts. I wonder what clinical terms he uses to describe the chaos that lives inside my head.
"Terrified," I admit, my fingers twisting in my lap.
"I'm scared the cameras will feel like knives, slicing through me with every flash.
I'm scared people will see my scars before they see me.
That they'll look at me and only see what happened, not who I am.
" The rose scent around me intensifies slightly, betraying my anxiety despite my careful control.
Dr. Kendrick tilts his head, rain-shadows from the window playing across his thoughtful face on the screen. "But?" he prompts, his voice gentle yet probing in that way that always makes me confront what I'm hiding from myself.
I hesitate, drawing a deep breath that catches slightly in my throat. Then I speak the truth that's been hovering behind my ribs since Hero first mentioned the opportunity, a secret whisper I barely allowed myself to acknowledge.
"But I want to try," I say, the words coming out stronger than I expected. "I want to reclaim that part of myself. Not just the runway but being seen without being afraid of what people see."
He smiles, a warm expression that crinkles the corners of his eyes.
"That's growth, Brookes. Real, tangible growth.
You're not waiting until the fear disappears completely, because it might never fully go away, you're choosing to move forward anyway, to coexist with it.
That's not just coping. That's healing."
I lean back against the chair cushions, eyes stinging a little with unexpected emotion. The rain's rhythm seems to slow, matching my calming heartbeat. "You really think I'm healing? After everything?"
"I know it," he says with quiet conviction. "This pack, this life you're building around yourself. You're constructing it piece by piece. Carefully. Intentionally. With boundaries and trust and genuine connection. That's not a person merely surviving. That's a person living."
I let the words sink in and settle somewhere deep inside me, in a place that's been hollow for too long. Then I say it aloud, even though my voice trembles with the weight of the decision.
"Okay. I'll do the show. I'll walk for Delvecchi." I say, shaking my head more to myself than to Dr. Kendrick.
Dr. Kendrick doesn't clap or celebrate extravagantly. He just nods, proud and grounded, like he knew I'd get here eventually. Like he was just waiting for me to catch up to what he already saw.
"I think it's time the world sees the real you again, Brookes Daniels. Not as a victim, not as a comeback story, but simply as yourself, scars, strength, and all."
I end the call not long after and sit there for a while, staring at the blank screen, my reflection ghostly in its darkness. My heart is racing with a new kind of adrenaline. Not fear. Not dread. Not the panicked fight-or-flight that's been my constant companion.
Hope. Fragile but persistent, like the first green shoot after a long, brutal winter.