Chapter 6 #3
Carol clicks away down the sidewalk, Pip’s paws a rapid patter on the concrete.
I let out a breath. Adrenaline leaves my limbs shaky. My palms are damp. My heart is going too fast. For a moment, I wobble on my own feet.
You lied for us.
The thought isn’t mine. It’s something I imagine in Rhys’s voice, heavy and quiet and vaguely disbelieving.
I turn back to the garage, ready to say something respectful and then retreat into my house. Except they’re not in “neighbors I barely know” mode anymore.
They’re in pack mode.
Rhys is standing, arms crossed, biceps bulging. Sweat beads on his chest, running straight down that ungodly V that marks his hips. Everything about him hums with focus.
Knox is sitting up fully on the bench, towel around his neck, elbows on his knees. He’s watching me with that bright, too-knowing gaze that saw right through my window curtain the other day.
Declan is leaning against the wall, focus bright, chest rising and falling. His usual smirk is gone; he’s just…watching.
Eli has moved.
He’s at the edge of the garage now. He hasn’t stepped onto the driveway, but he’s as close as he can get without crossing the invisible line I haven’t invited them over.
The collective weight of their attention lands on my skin like a tangible thing.
“You lied for us,” Rhys says, voice low.
I shrug, aiming for careless. “I lied for the property values.”
Declan snorts.
“Liar,” Knox says immediately, grin flashing. “You lied because Carol was being sanctimonious.”
“I lied because if she decides you’re trouble, she’ll make your lives miserable,” I retort. “Noise complaints. Citation letters. Subcommittee meetings. You don’t understand the power of a bored omega with a clipboard.”
“We’ve worked with venture capitalists,” Declan says. “We understand weaponized boredom.”
“HOAs are worse,” I say solemnly.
His eyes crinkle. There’s that smile again, warm and bright.
“We can manage Carol,” Eli says quietly.
I look at him. Really look.
There’s tension at the corners of his eyes. His jaw is set. But that warm oats scent that clings to him is steady.
“You could,” I agree. “But it would cost you. And I live here. I’m the one who’s going to have to look at her over azaleas for the next decade. I’d prefer she doesn’t decide I’m aiding and abetting a war on HOA compliance.”
His mouth twitches. “You’re very tactical for someone who claims to want ‘peace.’”
“I want boring,” I insist, the word tumbling out before I can stop it. “This is me preserving my shot at boring.”
“By lying smoothly to authority and running social interference for a pack you met a few days ago,” Knox says. “Sure. Very boring.”
A flush creeps up my neck. I hate that they’re right. That my instinct, when faced with conflict, was to…step in. Smooth it. Protect.
Pack behavior, my omega whispers smugly.
Oh, shut up.
“No more favors,” I blurt, desperate to reroute. “Okay? That’s what I came over to say.”
Declan raises an eyebrow. “No more…?”
“Trash cans. Power-washing. Random helpfulness.” I tick them off on my fingers like bullet points. “I appreciate it. Really. But I’m serious about…being independent. I don’t want to start…relying on you for stuff. It’s not fair. It’s not…sustainable.”
There. Honest. Messy, but honest.
Eli steps forward, right up to the line. The distance between us feels suddenly very small.
“We cleaned your bins because we wanted to,” he says. His voice is low, a little rough from working out. “Not because we had to. Not because we expect anything back. Stop keeping score, Mia.”
The way he says my name does something to my insides. It lands heavy, like a stone skipping my ribcage and falling straight into my stomach.
“I should get back to work,” I say, defaulting to the safest exit. “Deadlines.”
I step back a fraction, the need to retreat overwhelming.
“Thank you,” I add, because I am still polite even when I’m spiraling. “For…the bins. And for not, um, decimating Carol.”
“Anytime,” Declan says, and this time his grin is softer at the edges. “Though I think you were the one buffering us. Consider the debt repaid.”
“You lied to the feds for us,” Knox adds. “That puts you on the enterprise tier. VIP access only.”
“Goodbye,” I mutter, flustered.
As I turn away, Rhys says quietly, “You did good, you know.”
I stop. Half-turn.
“With Carol,” he clarifies. “That was…perfect.”
My cheeks heat. “I write content for tech blogs sometimes. I know exactly which buzzwords make people’s eyes glaze over.”
Eli coughs a laugh.
“Smart omega,” Knox says again, that purr back in his tone. Dangerous.
“Stop calling me that,” I mumble.
“Why?” he asks, all innocence. “It’s true.”
Too much. This is too much.
I retreat.
Back around the hedge and across my driveway, past my spotless, treasonous trash cans, up my porch steps. I can feel them watching me until I close the door firmly behind me.
My heart is still racing.
I lean against the door, press the back of my head to the wood, and breathe.
That did not go according to plan.
I went over there to gently, politely, firmly reestablish distance. To draw a clean line. To say, thank you, but no more favors and walk away with my dignity intact.
Instead, I lied to Carol without blinking to protect them. I absorbed the blast radius of her concern. I let them see just how much the idea of being “obligated” freaks me out.
And then Eli told me to stop keeping score in a voice that made my knees want to buckle.
I push off the door and march to the bedroom, because if I don’t do something with my hands, I’m going to lose my mind.
The “Rules of Engagement” notebook is still on the nightstand where I left it.
I flip it open. The ink is fresh and dark.
1. Polite Neighbor Only.
2. No accepting favors.
3. No more eating their food.
4. Absolutely no shivers when they look at you.
5. Do not believe anything they say about “our omega.”
I stare at Rule #2. No accepting favors.
I think of my bins. Gleaming. Lined up neatly.
Slowly, I pick up the pen, and put a single line through Rule #2.
Underneath it, I write, in smaller letters:
2. Don’t get used to it.