Chapter 12 Theo
THEO
My apartment was clean. Not just company clean, but surgical strike clean.
I had vacuumed the rugs three times. I had organized my bookshelf by genre, then by author, then by color, before realizing that looked psychotic and switching back to alphabetical. I had plumped the throw pillows on my sectional so many times they were starting to look deflated and sad.
They would be here any minute. In my domain. My home. What the hell was I thinking?
I stood in the center of my living room, vibrating with an energy that felt too big for my skin.
Technically, my heat wasn’t due for another two weeks, but my body had apparently decided to throw out the instruction manual the moment it smelled Peyton.
My skin felt tight, hyper-sensitive, like I had a sunburn that went bone-deep.
You don’t have to do this, I told myself for the hundredth time.
I walked to the window, staring down at the street below. Sugar Beach was bustling. Tourists were heading to dinner, locals were walking their dogs. It all looked so normal. So easy.
And up here? Up here, I was preparing to host an alpha and a beta in my nest for a biological event that usually involved me eating ice cream, playing Mass Effect, and napping for three days.
My heats had never been the “mind-shattering, climb-the-walls” events other omegas whispered about. They were… mild. Boring. Like having a low-grade flu with a side of horniness that was easily managed with a few toys and a lot of sleep.
Which led to the terrifying question gnawing at my gut: What if I’m broken?
What if they got here, expecting some wild, primal omega who needed a thorough knotting, and instead they got…
me? Theo. The guy who got anxious if his coasters weren’t aligned.
Including a third person in an established relationship was already complicated enough.
If I couldn’t even perform my basic biological function correctly, what was the point?
A knock at the door made me jump a solid foot in the air.
Game time.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. I smoothed down my t-shirt—soft cotton, easy access, god why was I thinking like that?—and walked to the door.
When I opened it, the air in the hallway seemed to vanish, replaced by the scent of them.
Peyton stood in front, looking like a granite statue come to life.
He was holding a go-bag slung over one shoulder, his golden eyes scanning me from head to toe with a intensity that made my knees weak.
Behind him stood Dalton, looking a little less like a conqueror and a little more like a man walking into a minefield.
“Hi,” I managed, my voice cracking on the single syllable.
“Hey,” Peyton said, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped inside, bringing the storm with him. Dalton followed, closing the door and effectively sealing my fate.
The apartment suddenly felt very small.
“You’ve been cleaning,” Dalton noted, a small, tentative smile touching his lips. “It smells like lemon pledge and… anxiety.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Is anxiety a scent note? Because if so, I should bottle it. I’d make a fortune.”
“It’s distinct,” Peyton agreed, setting his bag down. He didn’t move further into the room. He stayed near the door, giving me space, respecting my territory. It was a calculating move, an alpha move, and it only made me want him closer.
“We don’t have to do this,” Peyton said, watching me closely. “If you’re second-guessing, say the word. We turn around, we leave, you ride out the heat alone. No harm, no foul.”
It was an out. A graceful exit ramp.
I looked at them. Dalton was wringing his hands, looking like he expected me to kick them out any second. Peyton was stone-faced, but his scent was spiking with concern.
Terror gripped them, too. The realization hit me like a splash of cold water. They weren’t judging me. They were just as scared of screwing this up as I was.
“I’m not second-guessing,” I said, wringing my own hands. “I’m just… I’m inexperienced. Okay? I’m twenty-six years old and I’ve never… I’ve never done this. Not like this. Not with an alpha. Definitely not with two people.”
I forced myself to look at them, baring my insecurities before I bared my body. “My heats are boring. I’m boring. I play video games and I color-code my bookshelf. I’m terrified that you’re going to touch me and realize I’m not the omega you think I am.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat.
Then Dalton moved. He crossed the room in three strides and pulled me into a hug that squeezed the breath out of me. It wasn’t sexual. It was grounding. Solid.
“You aren’t a performance review, Theo,” he murmured into my hair. “And you aren’t a checklist. You’re just… you.”
Peyton moved then, joining the huddle. He was warmer than Dalton, running hotter, his presence encompassing us both. He wrapped his arms around Dalton’s waist, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“We aren’t looking for a generic omega,” Peyton rumbled, the vibration traveling through my chest. “We’re looking for you. Boring heats and color-coded bookshelves and all.”
Tears pricked my eyes. Stupid, emotional hormones.
“I don’t know the rules,” I whispered, leaning into them, surrounded by their scent, their heat, their solid reality.
“There are no rules,” Peyton promised. “We make them up as we go.”
I pulled back slightly, looking up at them. At Dalton, with his gentle, understanding eyes. At Peyton, with his fierce, protective gaze.
I wanted this. I wanted to be messy and imperfect and theirs.
“Okay,” I breathed. “No rules.”
I looked at Dalton, then Peyton. My heart was hammering, but for the first time, it wasn’t from fear.
“Kiss me?” I asked, the request hanging in the air like a dare. “I think I need to know what it feels like when someone wants me.”