Chapter 28 #2
I feel Elias shift beside me, his presence warm and solid, listening intently without interrupting.
"It's tragic, really," Safiya continues, her tone turning thoughtful.
"The way our society frames heats as something strenuous—almost a burden to be managed.
When they should be celebrations. Celebrations of desire and connection and blooming love.
" She meets my eyes directly. "Think of it like coffee. "
I blink, thrown by the analogy. "Coffee?"
"The discovery and variation of coffee couldn't have come to be if early cultivators had feared what they expected.
" She begins preparing something as she speaks, her hands moving with automatic precision.
"If they'd looked at those first wild coffee plants and seen only risk, only the unknown, only the possibility of failure—we'd have none of this.
" She gestures at the array of equipment around her.
"No espresso, no pour-overs, no cold brews or specialty lattes.
No Safiya Sunrise. The beauty came from embracing the unexpected.
From trusting the process even when the outcome wasn't guaranteed. "
The beauty came from embracing the unexpected. From trusting the process even when the outcome wasn't guaranteed.
Is that what I've been afraid to do? Trust the process? Trust these men who keep showing up for me in ways I never expected?
"Let me make you both something special," Safiya offers, already reaching for ingredients. "A traditional Turkish coffee, the way my grandmother taught me. It takes patience, but it's worth the wait."
"That would be amazing," I say, genuinely meaning it.
She nods and turns to her preparations, and Elias gently guides me a few steps away, toward a small seating area that's been set up near the boards. Comfortable chairs with plush cushions, a small table between them, a perfect view of the glittering ice.
He reaches out and moves a few strands of hair from my face, the gesture tender and unhurried. His scent wraps around me—campfire smoke and pine and that underlying warmth that I've come to associate with safety.
"Are you afraid?" he asks quietly. "Of having your heat?"
The question is direct, but his tone is gentle. Not demanding an answer, just... asking. Offering space for honesty.
"A little," I admit, the words coming slowly, each one feeling like a confession I'm not sure I'm ready to make.
"It's not... it's not the sexual act that frightens me.
Obviously." I feel heat creep up my cheeks but push through the embarrassment.
"It's more... being in such a vulnerable state.
Completely at the mercy of biology. At the wrong time, in the wrong place, with the wrong people.
Or—" I swallow hard, forcing myself to say the thing that haunts me most. "—alone. Being alone during a heat is..."
"Dangerous," Elias finishes when I can't. "Painful. Terrifying."
I nod, grateful that he understands without me having to explain the horror stories, the warnings drilled into every Omega from childhood about what happens when heats go unsupported.
The physical agony that builds and builds with no release.
The psychological damage that can linger for years.
The very real risk of death in extreme cases—rare, but not unheard of.
Every Omega knows someone who knows someone who didn't survive an unsupported heat.
And I've been playing Russian roulette with suppressants for years. Using them longer than recommended because the alternative—trusting someone, being vulnerable, risking everything—seemed worse.
"We'd have your back," Elias says simply, his voice steady and certain. "Whatever you needed. However you needed it. No pressure, no expectations—just support. The three of us, or just one of us, or none of us if that's what you preferred. We'd figure it out together."
"But what if..." I hesitate, the fear that's been lurking beneath every tender moment rising to the surface like a creature from deep water. "What if things don't work out? What if this arrangement ends and I'm back to being alone, and then a heat comes, and I have no one, and—"
"Hey." Elias cups my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Breathe. Listen to me."
I breathe. I listen.
"If it doesn't work out," he says slowly, making sure each word lands, "we'd still be there for you.
Until you find the right pack that truly supports all your needs.
" He takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
"At the end of the day, your wellbeing is the most important thing, Rosemarie.
More important than contracts or arrangements or whatever the fuck we're calling this thing between us.
No matter if we fall out or not, our pack aren't truly assholes who would leave someone we care about hanging.
That's not who we are. That's not who any of us will ever be. "
Someone we care about. Not someone we're contractually obligated to protect. Not someone useful to our professional situation. Someone we care about. The distinction matters more than I can put into words.
The relief that washes through me is almost overwhelming—a tidal wave of emotion that makes my eyes sting and my throat tighten.
I've been carrying this fear for weeks, maybe longer.
The terror of what happens after Valentine's Day if everything falls apart.
The thought of being alone again, vulnerable, without anyone to help if a heat catches me unprepared.
The knowledge that my body could betray me at any moment, and there would be no one—
But he's telling me that even in the worst-case scenario, I wouldn't be abandoned.
That these men, these Alphas who've turned my temporary escape into something that feels dangerously close to home—they wouldn't just disappear from my life the moment our arrangement expires.
They wouldn't leave me to face the darkness alone.
Elias leans in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss so soft it's barely there. A whisper of contact, a promise sealed in the lightest possible touch. His scent surrounds me—campfire and pine and warmth—and I let myself sink into it.
"But I'm gonna work damn hard to make this work," he murmurs against my mouth. "So don't push me out on the side of the road just yet. I'm not ready to be roadkill."
I giggle—actually giggle, like some lovestruck teenager instead of a grown woman who's supposed to have her life figured out. "Hmm. I'll see. You're on probation."
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Fair enough. I'll earn my keep."
Safiya arrives with two small cups of Turkish coffee, the dark liquid crowned with a perfect layer of foam. The aroma is incredible—rich and complex, with hints of cardamom and something almost chocolatey underneath. She sets them on our table with a knowing smile.
"Take your time with it," she advises. "Good coffee, like good love, shouldn't be rushed."
She disappears back to her station, leaving us in the warm glow of fairy lights with the ice stretching out before us like a blank canvas waiting to be filled.
We sip our coffee in comfortable silence, the rich flavors coating my tongue with warmth. It's perfect—traditional and grounding, a reminder that some things have been done the same way for centuries because they work. Because some traditions are worth keeping.
When our cups are empty, Elias stands and offers me his hand. "Maybe we should work up a sweat before we have more hot drinks. What do you say—ready to hit the ice?"
I look at the rink—empty except for us, thousands of lights reflected in the smooth surface, the music system starting to play something soft and romantic in the background. It's like stepping into a dream. A dream someone created specifically for me.
"I should warn you," I say, taking his hand and letting him pull me to my feet. "I'm not exactly graceful on skates."
"Good thing I'm here to catch you, then."
We grab skates from the rental station—which has been fully stocked for us despite the private booking—and lace them up on a bench near the ice. Elias finishes first, having clearly done this a thousand times, and waits patiently while I struggle with my laces.
"Here." He kneels in front of me, gently taking over. "Let me."
There's something unbearably intimate about watching him tie my skates.
His big hands careful with the laces, his head bent in concentration, the way he looks up at me when he's done to make sure they're comfortable.
It's such a small thing. Such an ordinary thing.
And yet it makes my heart do something complicated in my chest.
"Perfect," he declares, standing and offering his hand again. "Let's go."
The first step onto the ice is terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. The surface is perfectly smooth, the cold radiating up through my blades, and for a moment I wobble dangerously. But Elias is right there, steady and solid, his arm coming around my waist to anchor me.
"I've got you," he promises. "Just relax. Let the ice guide you."
We start slowly, his movements confident while mine are hesitant and jerky. But he doesn't rush me, doesn't push for speed or grace. He just holds me close and lets me find my rhythm, adjusting his pace to match mine instead of expecting me to keep up with his.
The music shifts—something slow and romantic, strings and piano weaving together in a melody that makes my heart ache in the best possible way.
Under the fairy lights, with the ice glittering beneath us and no one else in the world existing outside this moment, it feels like we've slipped into some alternate reality where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.
"I've never really done this," I admit as we glide around the curve of the rink. "Slow romantic skating. It always seemed like something from movies—something that happens to other people."
"And now?"
I look up at him—at his face illuminated by thousands of tiny lights, at the warmth in his eyes, at the way he's holding me like I'm something precious. "Now I'm wondering why I waited so long to try."
He spins us gently, a move that should make me stumble but somehow doesn't because he's supporting all my weight, making it look effortless.
"We'll make it a habit," he says. "You and me.
Regular skating dates. Maybe the others too, if Julian can be convinced to do anything that might mess up his hair. "
I laugh at the image of Julian on ice skates, trying to maintain his perfect composure while wobbling like a newborn deer. "I'd pay good money to see that."
"Tank would probably be fine," Elias muses. "Military training includes all sorts of weird skills. I once saw him do a backflip off a helicopter, so I'm pretty sure ice skating would be a cakewalk."
"A backflip off a—" I shake my head, deciding I don't need more details. "You know what, I believe it. That man defies physics on a regular basis."
We skate in comfortable silence for a while, the music washing over us, the lights twinkling above. My confidence grows with each lap—not enough that I'd dare let go of Elias, but enough that I'm no longer terrified of face-planting on the ice.
"Thank you," I say eventually, the words feeling inadequate for everything I want to express. "For this. For all of it. The rink, the lights, Safiya—I don't know how you knew exactly what I needed to hear, but..."
"I pay attention," he says simply. "You mentioned loving the Safiya Sunrise once. I tracked her down through the specialty coffee network—turns out she was already planning to be in the area for a conference. The rest just fell into place."
He tracked down an internationally renowned barista because I mentioned liking a drink she created. He rented an entire ice rink and decorated it with fairy lights. He thought about what I needed—not just what would be fun or romantic, but what would actually matter to me on a deeper level.
These men. These impossible, thoughtful, wonderful men.
The song changes again, something even slower, and Elias pulls me closer. We're barely moving now, more swaying than skating, his arms wrapped around me and my head resting against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat—steady and strong, a rhythm I'm beginning to know almost as well as my own.
He tilts my chin up with gentle fingers, and then he's kissing me—tender and unhurried, a promise sealed in the soft press of his lips against mine. The fairy lights twinkle around us. The music swells. The ice beneath our feet holds us steady.
He seals his promise with a tender kiss.