12. Sterling
STERLING
L istening to the loud tick of the clock on Dr. Lively’s office wall, only one thing runs through my mind, Caspian. Freaking. Redgrave. The man is single-handedly responsible for turning my brain into total mush. And not the light, fluffy kind either—we’re talking full-on mashed potatoes.
I replay our walk home last night in my head for the hundredth time.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my palms against my cheeks, trying to will away the heat that creeps up my neck.
He insisted on walking me home; it wasn’t up for debate.
He stayed close enough that I could feel the weight of his presence, that quiet, solid energy that makes it impossible to forget he’s there.
A big, grumpy shadow looming over my shoulder.
It’s embarrassing how fast my anger at him melted away.
He didn’t talk much. But somehow, his silence felt nervous, not deliberate. Like he was paying attention to every single thing I said, even when I was rambling about mundane things like the weird cat I saw on the walk home or how the air felt so different here than in Kansas.
Pointing out every house I thought was cute, who had the cutest gardens and which ones had the fall decorations up. I rambled until I realized how boring it all must sound. Even then he just said he liked listening to me.
Just his existence beside me was enough to make my skin prickle, my breath go shallow, and my thoughts run in directions I should not entertain. My Omega was purring the entire way, practically rolling over for him. Pathetic.
I kept stealing glances, catching the way the streetlights cut across his sharp jawline, the way his shirt clung to his shoulders, their bulk making the shirt seem a little too small.
The way his arms flexed under the weight of his groceries and mine.
And even if he was only walking me home because he felt somehow obligated to, it made me feel seen.
Wanted. Protected in a way that I’ve never experienced.
“Thanks for…well, all this,” I said as we reached my front steps, trying for casual even though my heart was pounding so hard I half-wondered if he could hear it. “Didn’t realize I’d get a full escort service just for a few groceries.”
“Shouldn’t be walking home alone at night.” He ran a hand through his hair as he set his groceries down.
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “You sure it’s not just your way of making sure I don’t keel over from exhaustion or forgetting to eat?”
“Maybe.” The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. “You really need to work on that.”
“So I’ve been told,” I teased. And it must have been lunacy that made me say the next thing that came out of my mouth. “I could make it up to you sometime?”
Cass’s gaze flicks to me, sharp and assessing. “Yeah? And how exactly are you planning to do that, little songbird?” he asks, his voice low and teasing as he steps onto the bottom step of my porch, bringing his face just about level with mine.
Songbird. I almost melted right there on the spot.
“I don’t know,” I laughed, my own voice sounding too breathless. “Maybe bake you some muffins or something. Or make you dinner. I can do that, you know. Believe it or not I am a capable adult.” Muffins? Where did that come from?
“Sure you are,” he said, his eyes doing that intense, all-seeing thing that made my spine tingle. “If you remember to eat while you’re making it, I’ll be happy.”
“Okay, that’s fair.” I chuckled, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Guess you’ll just have to come over and supervise.”
I immediately wanted to shove the words back into my mouth.
But Cass just stared at me, his expression unreadable.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and for a split second, I swore he was going to kiss me.
My entire body went still, the air between us catching fire.
His face loomed closer and until I was positive he really was going to kiss me.
But instead, brought his cheek to mine and then pressed a soft chaste kiss to the side of my mouth.
“Goodnight, songbird.”
And then he turned and walked away. Just like that.
Leaving me standing on my front steps, like an idiot, warm and restless and completely, utterly bereft.
Not to mention so worked up it took a cold shower and an embarrassingly intense personal ‘me’ session to calm down.
It was more than an hour later before I realized he'd never given me an answer.
Now, in the light of day, after a restless night’s sleep, I’m a tangled mess of anxiety and frustration, second guessing everything and bouncing between negative thoughts and insecurities. Cass is driving me insane. They all are.
Because the embarrassing truth is, even if he confuses the hell out of me, even if I’m left spinning from his mixed signals, there’s this little part of me that craves the intensity he brings.
Something about being a little out of my depth that feeds that deep secret part of my heart that wants what is on the outside of the cookie cutter.
Sitting in Dr. Lively’s office, I try to act normal, but she sees right through me.
She looks at my file on the computer, adjusting her glasses as she scans the notes. “Your suppressants should still be fully effective. No previous complications?”
“None,” I answer too quickly, shifting in my chair.
She hums, looking at me like she already knows what I’m going to say next.
“When did you start noticing a change?” she asks.
I hesitate, fingers twisting in my lap. “A week or so ago.”
“Did something change a week ago?”
“No, not really.”
“Hmmm, this might be a weird question,” she starts, her tone careful but curious. “I know you’re new here, and from what I gathered from your history, you were pretty isolated before you came to Twilight Harbor?”
I nod, knowing partly where this is going. One of the questions on the health history form asked about pack dynamics and Alpha exposure during puberty and early adulthood. Something about social health history for Omegas being valuable information—whatever that means.
“True,” I say softly, my fingers twisting together in my lap. My past isn’t something I like to talk about, and the way her gaze sharpens makes me wish I’d fudged a little on the paperwork.
Her expression doesn’t change. “And have you met any scent-matched or scent compatible Alphas recently?”
My stomach twists. “I—maybe?”
“Sterling, I can’t help you if I don’t have all the information. Omega biology is complicated.” Her voice is firm, but not unkind.
I exhale, dropping my gaze to my hands, fingers twisting together in my lap.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Dr. Lively turns from the computer in front of her and gives me a direct, kindly look.
“Whatever we talk about never goes farther than this room.”
The words are calm, patient, but I still hesitate, shifting in my seat feeling exposed.
I clear my throat. “It’s just…their scents.”
That gets her attention.
Her brows lift slightly, and she looks up at me over the rim of her glasses. “Go on.”
I swallow hard, my face burning, and let the words spill out.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I’ve always known Alphas smell…good, I guess. Even though it’s not many, I have been around them before. Been in a relationship with one before. But this? It’s different. It’s like I can’t?—”
I shake my head, frustrated, unable to even find the right words.
“Can’t what?” she prompts, voice still steady, professional.
I take a shaky breath.
“I can’t think when I’m near them,” I finally say. “I feel like my whole body just—reacts. My heart races, my skin gets too hot, and their scent?—”
I cut myself off, shifting uncomfortably in my chair.
“What about their scents?” Dr. Lively asks, tilting her head, moving subtly to her keyboard again. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, embarrassed beyond belief, but I force myself to answer.
“It does… something to me.” My voice is almost squeaking.
I exhale, my voice tight. “It makes me slick. Like…a lot.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks, my stomach twisting itself into knots so tight I might actually implode.
Dr. Lively’s eyebrows lift, but her expression stays calm, professional. Finally, she pushes away from her desk, rolling her stool closer until she’s right in front of me, hands folded neatly in her lap.
“Sterling, when was the last time you had your hormone levels checked?” she asks gently.
I shrug, my fingers knotting together. “I don’t know, a couple of years ago? Never felt the need to before. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”
“Let’s do some blood work and run a few other tests, just to be thorough,” she says, her tone even, but there’s something knowing in her gaze. Like she already has the answer and is just waiting for me to catch up.
“What do you think it is?” I ask, swallowing hard, my voice smaller than I’d like.
“Well,” she begins, tilting her head slightly, her expression kind but unflinching. “You said you met these new Alphas around the same time you started noticing the suppressant’s effects diminishing, correct?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “Pretty much to the day.”
Dr. Lively’s lips twitch into something resembling a smile. “Sterling, suppressants aren’t perfect. They’re designed to help regulate hormone production and pheromone output, but they’re not infallible. Especially when something triggers your body to override them.”
“Override?” I repeat, feeling like my brain is half a step behind.
“Your body may be reacting to a perceived scent match,” she says gently. “It sounds like your instincts are telling you these Alphas are potential mates. And your body, being an Omega, is responding in the only way it knows how—by trying to attract them.”
I gape at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “So, what…my body is just deciding to go rogue because of—because of them?”