Chapter 15
Drake picks the worst possible night to remember I exist.
Or maybe the best. Depends which part of me you ask.
Eli tells me at dinner, because of course he does. He's honest to a fault and incapable of hoarding information if he thinks I'll trip over it blind.
"Ragon's forcing a rotation again. He wants Drake with you tonight."
My fork pauses over the sink. "Why?"
"He wants to restore the balance. And because he told Drake to 'be mindful' yesterday, which is alpha for 'pay attention to the person you've been ignoring.'"
My chest tightens. "Do you want that?"
His gaze flicks to me, surprised. "Do you?"
I dry my hands on a towel so I don't fidget. "I miss him. I miss when it was easy. When we didn't have to think about whose scent is on who. But—" I swallow. "I don't want to lose you in the bargain."
"You're not trading one for the other. We're not divvying you up like a schedule. I'm still in your nest. Tonight he just shares."
The word shares lands oddly. Hope and dread in the same syllable.
"He's not going to magically smell like before. He's basically been living in Marie's nest."
Eli's jaw tightens. "I know."
"And what if he only shows up because Ragon told him to? What if it feels pitying? Or dutiful? I don't want that."
"Then if it feels like that, you kick him out. You are allowed to say no."
The idea is so wild I almost laugh. "Culturally, I feel like that's debatable."
"Personally, I will barricade the door for you if you say 'I want him gone.'"
I look at him, at the stubborn set of his mouth, the worry in his eyes, the way his scent is already curling around me like a protective fog.
"Okay. I believe you."
He leans in and kisses my temple, letting his lips linger. "I'll be with you until he knocks. And if you want me back later, I'll come."
"Even if it's three in the morning?"
"Especially then."
We're still in my room when the knock comes later.
Eli and I are sprawled in the nest, me half over his chest, his fingers idly tracing shapes on my back through my shirt. The room smells like him again—tea, linen, warmth. My shoulders are finally starting to unhook.
There's a hesitant tap at the doorframe.
"Vee? You decent?"
Drake's voice.
"No. Never."
Eli's chest moves under my cheek with a quiet laugh. "Come in."
The door opens a crack. Drake's scent hits a second later and my entire body goes rigid.
Under the familiar—citrus, scrub soap, that restless alpha spark—there's something else.
Vanilla. Soft floral. Marie.
Not just a hint.
Layered.
She scent marked him before he came.
My nest, this little patch of air that's finally started to smell like me and Eli again, fills with the echo of another omega's scent in half a breath.
"Hey."
He looks unsure. That's new. Hands in his pockets, curls a little damp from a quick shower, T-shirt rumpled. He hovers just inside the doorway.
"Hey," I say, voice hoarse.
Eli squeezes my waist once, then shifts me gently off his chest. "I'll give you two space. Text me if you need me."
I grab his shirt before he can fully move. "Stay until he actually gets in the nest," I whisper.
"I would never abandon you at the doorway portion of the evening."
He slides out of the blankets and crosses to Drake. For a moment they stand close, alphas measuring each other. Eli claps Drake's shoulder once, firm.
"Don't be an idiot."
"Too late."
Eli leaves, giving me one last look—Are you sure?—and I nod.
The door clicks shut.
It's just me, Drake, and the complicated snarl of our history.
He clears his throat. "So. Can I...?"
He gestures vaguely at the nest.
"Yeah. It's still partially yours, last I checked."
He winces. "Vee."
"Come on. I'm not going to bite."
"You say that now," he mutters, but he kicks off his socks and climbs in.
His weight pulls the nest around us automatically. Years of shared nights teach blankets where to fall. He settles on his back; I end up half-curled against his side by instinct.
Then his scent hits me full-force and my whole nervous system protests.
Too much Marie.
She's thread-woven through him. Neck, chest, hair. Her omega sweetness braided with his brightness until I can't pick out where he ends and she starts.
My body knows he's my alpha.
My instincts know, too.
Except there's this screaming, instinctive wrong under it—territory muddled, nests crossed.
I try to breathe through it.
I fail.
He feels me tense.
"Hey. I'm not going to spontaneously combust. You can relax."
"I'm trying."
Minutes stretch. He talks about work, something about a ridiculous patient, and I try to listen, but my brain keeps circling back to the scent clash.
Marie. Marie. Marie.
Finally, I can't do it anymore.
"I'm sorry," I blurt.
He stops mid-sentence. "For what?"
"This." I pull back enough to look at him, shame burning up my neck. "I can't settle. It's not you, it's just—"
"Wow, the classic break-up speech. Brutal."
"Drake." My voice cracks enough that his teasing expression drops.
"Okay. Tell me."
"It's her. Your scent. You smell like her nest. A lot. And my omega is being a jealous little bitch about it."
He blinks. "Oh."
"It's supposed to be comforting. Like, 'oh good, everyone's settling.' But in here, right now, with you on my blanket? It's hard. It feels like I'm rolling around in someone else's space."
He looks at me for a long moment. Then he lifts his arm and sniffs his own shirt like a cartoon character.
"Wow. Okay, yeah. That's a lot of vanilla."
Despite everything, I huff a laugh.
"It's not that it's bad. It's just not mine."
He grimaces. "You want me to what? Roll in dirt? Smell like the garden?"
"Honestly, that might help."
He stares at me, then sighs dramatically. "You want me to shower, don't you?"
Guilt crashes into me. "No. I mean—yes? I don't know. I feel stupid even asking. You're my alpha, you're allowed to smell like whoever you want, I'm just—"
"Vee. Do you want me to shower?"
I swallow. "Yes. Please."
His jaw flexes.
For a second, I think he's going to snap. Tell me I'm being impossible. That this is what sharing looks like.
Then he lets out a long breath.
"Okay. I can do that."
"You don't have to—"
"Shut up. I've been living in Marie's room. I didn't exactly think about how that would hit you. That's on me. Give me ten minutes."
He rolls out of the nest, muttering something about smell-based discrimination, and pads down the hall.
The second he's gone, I sag.
The nest smells like him and her and me and Eli all layered together. It should be comforting.
Instead, it smells like a reminder.
I press my face into my pillow and try not to cry.
This is what I wanted, right?
Drake here. In my nest. Choosing me for a night, even if Ragon nudged him.
Then why does it feel like I'm doing something wrong just by asking him not to bring another omega's scent into my bed?
Water runs.
I listen to every sound.
Ten minutes. Twelve. Fourteen.
He comes back damp and barefoot, T-shirt clinging to his shoulders, hair wet and curling.
He smells different.
Still Drake—citrus sharp, warm salt, a faint medicinal clean—but the sugar-soft vanilla edge is gone, scrubbed away.
My omega sighs in relief so loud I almost hear it.
"Better?"
"Yeah. A lot."
He climbs back in, moving slower this time. When he settles, I edge closer automatically, my body relaxing against his.
"I'm sorry. I know that was..."
"Neurotic?"
"Demanding. Little bit crazy."
He snorts. "Vee, this is literally the least crazy thing you've asked for this month."
I pinch his side. "Rude."
"I mean it." He catches my hand. His expression turns serious. "If I'm going to be in your nest, I can at least make sure I'm not dragging someone else's into it. That's basic courtesy. I just needed you to say it out loud."
My throat tightens. "You're not mad?"
"I was prickled. For a second. My pride did that thing where it's like 'how dare anyone not want me exactly as I am,' and then I remembered you've been eating scraps while I took whole meals somewhere else."
A tiny, wounded sound escapes me.
"Hey." He tilts my chin up. "Look at me."
I do.
His eyes are softer than I expect.
"I've been selfish. I told myself I was helping Marie adjust, and I was, but I also liked being the hero in a story where I wasn't the one who fucked up. So I camped in her nest and told myself you were fine because you weren't screaming for me."
"I thought if I screamed, I'd get in trouble."
His face crumples for a heartbeat. "Yeah. That's the part I forgot. That silence doesn't equal 'I'm okay' for you. Sometimes it means 'I've given up yelling.'"
I close my eyes, a fresh ache blooming.
"Vee. You didn't do anything wrong asking me to wash off another omega's scent before crawling into your bed. You're allowed to want something just yours."
The relief that hits me is ridiculous.
I let out a long breath and lean into him. "Okay. Thank you."
"What are pack for. Besides stealing each other's socks."
I snort, tension easing. "So you are the sock thief."
"Allegedly."
We talk for a while after that. About nothing and everything. Hospital stories. The neighbors' weird blocked scents. Finn's obsession with my basil. The fact that I've started gardening like my life depends on it.
When he finally kisses me, it feels like a return to something I'd gotten used to missing.
His mouth is familiar—warm, insistent, a little clumsy when he's feeling too much. My body responds like it's been waiting for this exact combination of weight and scent and heat.
I climb into his lap without thinking, fingers in his damp hair, knees bracketing his hips.
For a moment, there is no Marie.
No ban. No hardwood floor. No neighbors with healthy dynamics.
Just Drake, my ridiculous, golden-bright alpha, kissing me like he hasn't been allowed to touch me in months.
Maybe he hasn't.
He mutters something into my mouth about how much he's missed this. I make a noise that could mean anything and everything.