Chapter twenty-five #2
Watching them, I think about Miles and his alphas.
Not what I saw them do on the couch last night—that was pain, pure and simple.
But the good version. The kind where love isn’t a prize to be fought over, but something everyone gets to share.
Feels like maybe this pack has that. And maybe, if I belonged to them, I’d get it too.
Jeremy gives me a finished S’more. Graham cracker golden, marshmallow soft, chocolate gone to liquid. I take a bite and close my eyes, because Leo wasn’t lying—it’s the best S’more I’ve ever had.
“Told you,” Leo crows.
“You’re the S’more king,” I say, and he beams.
They close in on me as the night goes on. Slowly. Each one of them gets a tiny bit bolder with every pass. Michael leans over to refill my mug, his knee brushing mine. Theo stretches for the fire stick and his shoulder bumps me. Jeremy tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers grazing my neck.
I shiver.
It’s different from the wild, scent-match shiver the Santos alphas can pull out of me without even trying. It’s a warmth, a gentle zing. My omega leans toward the touch instead of flinching, and the headache that’s been with me all day has faded. It’s still at the edge, threatening, but barely.
Jeremy catches it. His hand lingers a little longer, eyes checking if I’m okay. I don’t pull away. He smiles and lets go.
“Good?” he asks, low.
“Good.”
Leo launches into another story, something about Theo and Michael’s first camping trip being a disaster (Theo says it wasn’t, the rest insist it was a train wreck), and I let myself relax.
I let them crowd me. Michael’s shoulder pressed to mine, Theo’s fingers on my arm, Jeremy’s thigh against my leg.
I let it happen. Maybe because none of it feels dangerous.
It helps. All of it. The aches keep shrinking.
My scent comes in stronger, peaches floating into the cold air.
By the time the fire is down to embers, I feel better than I have in days.
Better than I did with Miles yesterday, even.
Because this isn’t pity from someone who’s hurt me.
This is care. No strings, no conditions.
And no matter how grateful I am to Miles for helping me—even if his actual motives are selfish—it’s just not as potent as from an alpha. I wish it was… life would be much more simple for omegas if we could just pair up and leave the alphas to their own devices. Fuck biology and its wicked whims.
I stare at the pack, watching them function together as a unit.
This could be my life.
The thought lands so clear it almost scares me.
This could actually be my life. Sitting by a fire with alphas who laugh and make me S’mores and touch me gently, looking at me like I’m someone they want.
A future where my name isn’t a thing people say with regret.
A house where I’m not a problem to be solved.
I want to say it doesn’t feel like settling. This could be a perfectly nice place to settle so why should I ask for more? Who am I to ask for more?
“Hey, Jeremy,” Leo says, nudging him. “Didn’t you say you wanted to ask her something?”
“I was getting there.”
“You were taking forever.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes, all fond, and turns to me. “Nothing big. I was wondering if you ended up using those paints?”
My heart stumbles.
“Yeah,” I say. “I did. I made a city skyline. It was…the first thing I’ve made in a long time. It felt good.”
“That’s amazing, Lily.” That look in his eyes is so genuine. “I’d love to see it sometime.”
“That’d be nice.” I try to smile. “But I’m kind of a perfectionist. I’d have to make something better first.”
“I bet it’s beautiful.”
“Maybe,” I say, because it was. Up until Gabriel called me a reject.
Until I tore it apart and broke the easel Jeremy bought me with my bare hands.
The guilt hits. Jeremy spent real money on those paints, picked them out to be kind, and I destroyed all of it because of something that had nothing to do with him.
I wonder if ruining things is the only thing I know how to do right.
But I’ll fix it. I’ll save up, buy new supplies, paint something real. Tell him the truth someday, maybe, once I’m living with him and it doesn’t matter anymore because I’m safe.
“Thank you for sending them,” I say. “It was the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed them.” He squeezes my fingers. “I wanted you to have something that was yours.”
Something that was yours. I don’t think he has any idea what that does to me.
I haven’t had anything of my own in years.
Not a space. A choice. I haven’t had a single thing that was truly mine.
Even most of my clothes are registry-issued.
But Jeremy gave me paints because he wanted me to have something, and maybe if I say yes, more things will be mine too.
The night winds down easy. The fire goes low, the whiskey-hot chocolate runs out, and Leo yawns so hard Michael has to make fun of him for it. Theo stretches and mentions an early morning. Jeremy looks at me.
“Ready to head home?”
Home. He says it so casual, but my brain zeros in. Home. The Santos house isn’t my home. Even if part of me still wants it to be. Why can’t I kill that part?
“Yeah,” I say.
They all hug me goodbye. Real hugs, not awkward. Leo spins me around; Michael holds my shoulders and says he’s glad I came; Theo kisses the top of my head, which startles me because it’s so easy and sweet. Jeremy walks me to the truck, his hand steady at my lower back.
The ride back is quiet. I’m tired, but in a good way. It’s the soft kind that means you had a good night and you just want to curl up someplace warm and sleep.
Jeremy holds my hand the whole way. Somewhere near the halfway point, I say it.
“I had a really good time tonight.”
“Me too.”
“I think…” I stop. Start again. “I think I’d like to come see your place. Not only for dinner. Like, really come. Spend a whole day. See what it’s like.”
His hand tightens on mine. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Maybe next weekend?”
“Next weekend is perfect.”
I don’t say the rest. That I think I might be ready to say yes. I don’t say I might choose you. But I think it, loud and clear, and maybe he hears it, too, in the way I don’t say the words. He doesn’t push. He kisses my cheek in the driveway and waits for me to get inside before he leaves.
The house is dark when I get in. I slip off my shoes, hoping I can make it up the stairs without running into anyone.
The living room light is on.
I freeze. I was supposed to be invisible. Float up to my room, carry the bonfire glow with me, go to sleep actually happy.
But then I hear them. Voices. A low laugh. Miles’s laugh.
I shouldn’t look. I know I shouldn’t. But I do. I drift to the living room doorway, helpless, my omega desperate for their scent even as my brain screams at me to go upstairs.
They’re on the couch. All four of them.