19. Cass
CASS
J P came back this morning pissed off and soaked, the front door slamming open so hard the hinges rattled.
He didn’t say a word to me or Quinn—just muttered something about needing a shower and barreled straight through the kitchen, stomping up the stairs without even bothering to close the front door behind him.
Her scent trailed through the kitchen. Warm vanilla and cinnamon, thick as fog.
That scent meant one thing. He’d somehow run into her this morning and finally stopped fighting it. Gave in to the thing we’ve all been circling around for weeks now. Sterling Hart.
I looked at Quinn. He looked at me. I grinned like a fucking maniac.
Because JP—moody, bottled-up, emotionally stunted JP—had touched her.
I hadn’t seen her since. Hadn’t given her the apology she definitely deserves. And not just because I had my hands all over her—though fuck, I’ll never forget how she felt pressed up against me in that alley, how she came apart on my fingers.
Just thinking about it makes my cock ache. But I owe her more than that. I need to apologize for pulling away afterward, for acting like she didn’t mean something when she fucking does.
She left the door open for me, gave me a moment to step in and meet her halfway. And I blew it. Let myself get turned around by my father’s bullshit, lost focus on what actually matters. And it sure as fuck isn’t him.
Quinn and I had talked last night after he came home and told us about her—told us he thinks her heat’s coming. JP bailed halfway through the conversation, muttering something about being sick of hearing her name, then stomped up the stairs like a teenager.
We both know we won’t make a move without him on board—but that doesn’t mean we haven’t entertained some creative tactics.
Locking them in a room together. Stranding them on the North Star. Any number of scenarios that’d force them to stop running and face what’s brewing between them.
And based on what just stormed through the kitchen, maybe, just maybe, the universe decided to lend a hand again.
JP’s the most stubborn bastard I know. He’s spent years walling himself off from this kind of connection, from the idea of belonging to anyone. Sterling got under his skin. And now he’s home, confused and pissed off. It shouldn’t make me happy. Shouldn’t light me up the way it does.
Mr. Stonewall, Mr. I-Don’t-Fuck-Omegas, Mr. A Scent-Match-Isn’t-A-Big-Deal…gave in. Finally, my brother, my packmate, was unraveling because of her.
And I hate how good that makes me feel.
I still don’t know if bringing an Omega into our pack is even something I want—or if it’s something she’d ever want. Hell, I don’t even know if it’s on the table.
But what I do know is I can’t keep playing this push-and-pull game with her. Not when it’s tearing me in half.
And maybe she won’t ever be ours officially. Maybe she’ll walk away.
But there’s this stubborn flicker of hope—this reckless, aching thing—that she might actually want this. That even if it’s not forever, she could still help JP.
The thought that she might be into it, and that JP might actually let himself accept it, makes me fucking giddy. And terrified.
I’m trying to listen to Quinn talk about the business, but my head’s all over the damn place. Every few minutes, I catch myself making excuses to wrap the meeting early.
I need air. Space. A chance to clear my head and get a grip on whatever the hell I’m feeling.
Besides, the North Star’s still a mess. I’ve got a deep-sea charter tomorrow—some tourists looking for halibut and a good story—and the boat’s nowhere near ready.
Maybe a day down at the docks with my hands busy and mind quiet will do me some good.
Quinn said he’d be at the harbor office later to check on a few things anyway and we could finish this then.
Downing the rest of my coffee, I grab my jacket, truck keys, and head out the door toward the marina.
—
The North Star rocks gently in her slip, the sound of the water and the rhythmic clink of rigging soothing something in me.
I scrub the deck harder than necessary, working the suds into the deck with short strokes.
Listening to the sound of water lapping against the hull, the occasional creak of a mooring line straining against the dock.
Normally, this is the part of the job I like.
Cleaning up, getting my head right, letting the weight of the sea settle into my bones.
A day’s work done and nothing left but housekeeping and setting the North Star up for the next day.
Usually, by now me and the boys would head to Danver’s for food and beer.
But today, it’s not enough. I need to move.
I need to do something with all this pent-up energy before it chews a hole through my chest. I’ve been in my head for a couple hours and I’m about ready to throw in the towel and head to Danver’s anyways to drown the burn of cheap whiskey when I hear a familiar voice.
“Hey.”
I glance up to see Quinn stepping on board, his bag slung over his shoulder, JP trailing behind him. Quinn has his all-business face on and I know what’s coming, though I don’t know if I’m ready to have this conversation quite yet. I’m still all over the fucking place with it. With her.
JP’s back to his usual stone-faced scowl, but his scent still carries hers, faint but unmistakable. I shoot him a look but he ignores it.
“You brought the schedule for next week?” I ask, nodding toward Quinn’s bag.
“Yeah,” Quinn replies, pulling it out. “But we need to talk first.”
I freeze mid-scrub. “About what?” I pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“Dude, are you gonna keep going with that?” Quinn asks. He throws his bag down and grabs the other scrub brush and dunks it into the wash pail next to me, sending a torrent of dirty water into my face, undoubtedly his intention.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I mutter, wiping the dirty water from my face and taking the hose and rinsing the deck, focusing too hard on the water swirling at my feet.
Quinn snorts, shaking his head. “Yes. You. Do.”
Each word is punctuated by a flick of the scrub brush in my direction, sending another splash of dirty water straight into my face.
I straighten slowly, wiping my hands and face on a rag. “Enlighten me?” I do actually enjoy razing Quinn. And it does make a good stalling technique. I truly don’t know what I want to say to the question that’s coming.
Quinn gives me a long look. “Sterling.” A deep sigh escapes me, and I lean back against the railing, arms crossed.
JP stays quiet. Of course he does. The only reason he’s even here is because Quinn must’ve twisted his arm—and my money’s on Blake being the leverage. No way in hell would JP show up for an emotional heart-to-heart on his own.
Quinn presses on. “We all feel it. The connection, the pull. It’s not going away.”
“That doesn’t mean we need to change everything. Taking an Omega into our pack is forever,” I snap, my anxiety slipping out as anger.
“She’s a distraction,” I add sharply. “We’re this close to buying the business from my father. The last thing we need is to get sidelined by an Omega—especially when we know Graves is going to make it his goddamn mission to fuck with her.”
They both look at me and I feel stripped bare. My pack. My brothers know me better than anyone else in the world.
“Bullshit,” Quinn interrupts calmly. “That’s not why you’re hesitating. Besides, I know you want her…fuck, Cass, you said as much this morning.”
My jaw tightens. “Yeah, I won’t lie—I want her.
But wanting and having are two completely different things.
How the hell do we bring her in, knowing our life is a mess of complications and likely dangerous for her?
Fuck, man—we’ve been grinding at this for two years.
We don’t need this now. And if you think I’d just throw that away, then you don’t know me at all. ”
“I do.” He steps closer. “I know you, Cass. I know when you’re scared.”
JP shifts beside him, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. Jaw like granite. But still silent.
“You think I’m scared of her?” I ask incredulously.
“No,” Quinn says quietly. “You’re scared of yourself.”
Silence stretches, heavy and thick. There it is—the ugly, bitter truth I haven’t even said out loud. I grew up watching an Alpha abuse his Omega, over and over again.
Who’s to say I won’t end up exactly the same? I feel so out of control around her in ways I don’t know how to deal with. Ways that scare the hell out of me.
“I nearly rutted her in public,” I mutter finally. “At the market. Right there, against the wall, in front of everyone. If Graves hadn’t shown up…”
I trail off, swallowing hard. The memory burns behind my eyes—her scent thick in the air, her body under mine, my control slipping like sand through my fingers.
“If he hadn’t shown up,” I say again, quieter now, “I wouldn’t have stopped. I wouldn’t have been able to.”
Quinn exhales, the tension draining from his shoulders. “But you did.”
“Barely.”
JP speaks then, his voice low. “That’s not the same as hurting her.”
“You don’t get it,” I hiss. “I’ve seen what Alphas like my dad can do when they lose control. When they think they’re entitled to an Omega just because of a mate bond. I won’t do that to her. I won’t do that to anyone.”
Quinn steps beside me, placing both his hands on my shoulders. “You are not your father.”
I look down, struggling to breathe through the knot in my chest. “I feel like I could be.”
“You couldn’t hurt her if you tried,” Quinn says gently. “None of us could.”
But I’ve seen what happens when an Alpha doesn’t control himself.
I’ve seen what happens to the people left in the wreckage.
I’m not taking that risk. Not with her.
I feel hot and my heart is suddenly beating too fast. A wave of memories runs through my head. He hurt my mom again and again, physically, emotionally, and when that didn't work anymore, he turned on me.