Chapter 8 #2
I showed up at work looking like I’d spent the weekend in hell, which wasn’t far from the truth.
Beau was waiting at my office with coffee.
He took one look at me and his expression shifted to concern. “You okay?”
“Fine. Just needed a day to catch up on sleep.” The lie was transparent, and we both knew it.
He set the coffee on my desk, and I caught his scent more clearly than usual.
My new suppressants were stronger, but for some reason they were also making me more aware of what they were suppressing.
Cedar smoke and charcoal wrapped around me like coming home, and I had to physically stop myself from leaning closer.
“If you need anything,” Beau said quietly, “you know where to find me.”
He left before I could respond, which was good because I didn’t trust myself to speak without admitting how much I’d missed this routine. How much one day away from morning coffee with him had felt like losing something essential.
I made it through the morning on coffee and sheer stubbornness. Silas texted around lunch asking if I wanted to meet at The Brew.
For a moment, I considered saying no. Considered avoiding him until my suppressants settled completely, until I could trust myself not to do something stupid like admit I’d spent the weekend thinking about him.
But I was tired of hiding. Tired of running from things that felt good just because feeling good was scary.
I texted back that I’d be there in twenty minutes.
The Brew was busy with the lunch crowd, but Silas had claimed our usual table near the back. He stood when he saw me, his smile warm and genuine and making something in my chest ache with want my suppressants were barely containing.
“You look terrible,” he said cheerfully as I sat down. “I’m buying lunch to go with the coffee. No arguments.”
“I wasn’t going to argue.”
“Really? Because you argued last time I tried to buy you lunch.”
“That was different. Last time you were being condescending about my eating habits.”
“I was expressing concern about your tendency to work through meals.” He flagged down Sarah and ordered two sandwiches without asking what I wanted. “But if you prefer to call it condescension, I can work with that.”
Despite everything, I found myself smiling. This was what I’d needed. Easy conversation with someone who made me laugh. Someone who saw through my walls but didn’t push.
“So,” Silas said, leaning back in his chair. “You going to tell me what’s really going on, or are we pretending you just needed a mental health day?”
“Can’t it be both?”
“It can be whatever you want it to be.” His voice went softer, more serious. “But for what it’s worth, you don’t have to pretend with me. We’re friends. Friends tell each other when things are hard.”
Friends. The word should have felt safe. Instead, it felt like a placeholder for something neither of us was brave enough to name.
“My suppressants are struggling,” I admitted before I could stop myself. “I upgraded the dose this weekend, but my biology is fighting harder than it has in years.”
Silas went very still. “That happens sometimes. Bodies adapt. Build tolerance.”
“Or bodies recognize something they want and refuse to be suppressed anymore.”
The words hung between us, heavy with implication. I waited for the ground to open up and swallow me but for some cruel reason it never happened.
“Is that what’s happening?” Silas asked carefully. “Your body recognizing something?”
I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw understanding in his eyes. He knew. Of course he knew. I suspected from our previous conversations that he was scent-sensitive. He’d probably noticed the moment my suppressants started struggling.
“I think so,” I said quietly. “I think I’m scent-compatible with all three of you. And my body figured it out before my brain was ready to deal with it.”
Silas was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached across the table and touched my hand, just briefly, his fingers warm against mine. “For what it’s worth, I think your body might be smarter than your brain about this.”
“My body doesn’t remember standing at an altar while someone told me I wasn’t enough.”
“No,” he agreed. “But your body remembers that you are enough. Exactly as you are. And maybe it’s trying to tell you that we see that too.”
I pulled my hand back, not because I didn’t want his touch, but because I wanted it too much. “This is complicated.”
“Most good things are.” He smiled, but there was something serious underneath it. “Take your time, Sable. We’re not going anywhere. But don’t punish yourself by staying alone just because someone else was an idiot five years ago.”
Our sandwiches arrived, and we spent the next hour talking about work and terrible calls and everything except the conversation we’d just had. But something had shifted. An acknowledgment. A recognition that we were moving toward something neither of us could stop even if we wanted to.
When I left The Brew, I felt lighter than I had in days. Scared, yes. But also hopeful in a way I hadn’t let myself feel since Nathan.
Maybe my body was smarter than my brain about this.
Maybe three alphas who kept showing up and being patient and respecting my boundaries were worth the risk.
Maybe this time would be different.