Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Brooks
I have been very careful about Laz's nudity since he came home from the hospital.
I have taken notice of the layers he wears, even to sleep in.
I have taken note of the constant long-sleeved shirts, sweaters, and hoodies.
I know for an absolute fact that Laz isn't shy or ashamed of his body.
It's the opposite, actually. Laz has always enjoyed attention and has been secure in the fact that he's so temptingly attractive.
Even now with all the layers, he's intentional with them.
He always looks delicious. But there is something making him feel more comfortable in layers and staying mostly completely covered.
Any touching we've done in the evenings has been fully clothed on his part.
I, myself, have only been partially undressed, now that I'm thinking about it.
I don't mind. Whatever he needs is what we'll do, for as long as he needs.
Obviously. But it does make giving him an oiled massage virtually impossible.
As soon as we got home, I marched him straight upstairs and started the shower for him. He put himself in and I didn't push to stay in the room with him. I tried to make his room as cozy as possible while I waited for him to finish.
Every Omega I've ever known personally enough to know anything about their nesting habits has always maintained a semi-nest-like area in their personal space.
Maybe not a full-on nest, but maybe a few extra blankets and pillows on the bed.
A special armchair in their favorite corner with some favorite things nearby.
At the very least, they have scent beads or scented candles readily available.
Laz has none of those things. His room is almost clinical.
I don't know anything about making a nest, but I remember some things from when we were together before.
He likes cool scents more than warm, spicy ones.
He prefers silk and satin to furry or fuzzy.
He likes cool lighting as opposed to warm.
I can try to recreate that atmosphere. Maybe poorly, but hopefully the thought will be enough to carry it.
I've been trying to ignore how worried I am that Laz doesn't seem interested in anything involving nesting.
I wouldn't expect him to nest without having heat spikes or going into heat, so it's not abnormal.
What's abnormal is the lack of anything personal in his room.
I've offered to paint, get new bedding, new pictures, or décor—anything he might want.
He just shrugs and says what's here is fine.
I'm not going to push that anymore than I've pushed anything else, but I can't help the worry that's beginning to dig into the corner of my mind.
The doctors have assured us that he should eventually resume a normal heat cycle.
They say that once his system has had time to rest and recalibrate, he should be something similar to how he was before he was perpetually in heat for years.
Should being the operative. He should go back to his old self within a certain amount of reason.
He should be able to live a normal life like any other Omega.
None of the things they say should happen are particularly reassuring because they keep using the word “should”.
I can't do anything about it other than worry and hope.
He comes out of the bathroom wearing a pair of slate-gray satin pajama pants and a long-sleeved, fitted, white cotton shirt.
It's more tempting in some ways than if he were wearing much less.
His shape is very defined under the shirt.
I can see details under the fabric that I normally don't get to see if he's wearing a thicker shirt.
And every possible angle and curve is very clearly visible under the slick material of his pants.
All I want to do is touch him. He's so very touchable.
“I'm not sure about the oil,” I gesture toward the bottle warming under the heat of the bedside lamp, “but I can still give you a very thorough rubdown.” I wink at him for effect, and he gives me a small smile.
“Why don't you just lie down with me instead?” he suggests. “I don't think I could pay attention to a movie, but I might like some music.”
“Whatever you want,” I say and lie down on the side of the bed I know isn't his. That's probably the only thing he's particular about.
Laz lies down and curls into my side, resting his head on my shoulder. “I'm sorry I'm so messed up,” he whispers after I turn off the lamp. “I'm trying to do better. I'm sorry I'm scared.”
I bend my head to kiss his hair. “Stop. You're exactly as you should be. Get some rest.”
We never get around to turning on any music. I'd rather listen to his relaxed breathing, anyway.
***
He was right, though. It's a good thing we didn't have music playing because in the early hours of the morning the exact thing he was so terrified of happens. The sound of the lock on the front door being forced open might as well be a gunshot in the quiet of the house.
Laz sits straight up in bed, eyes too wide, breaths coming too quickly. “Brooks,” he hisses. “Oh god. Brooks.”
“Shh,” I hush. “I know. We're okay.” I silently get up out of the bed and give him a hard stare. “Stay right here. You can go into the closet if you think you need to, but do not go running through the house. I will take care of this. Don't worry, just stay out of sight. Understand?”
He nods.
“I am going out into the hall. Stay here. Stay quiet,” I whisper.
He nods again.
The hallway is empty, but I can hear someone walking around downstairs.
I know every footboard in this house. I know which doors are inclined to squeak.
The only person who knows this house as well as I do is Mrs. Richards.
Whoever is downstairs doesn't care how much noise they make, or else they're the least stealthy person on the planet.
By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, they're lumbering around the corner. There's a wide-eyed moment of pause before they make the choice to speak.
“I'm not afraid of you, Valla. I know what you did.”
I laugh. “You should be afraid of me because of what I did.”
He shifts his weight, trying to keep me trapped by the uneven footing behind me. “Being a Valla doesn't make you invincible. Kris owed me money. Lots of money. And I'm going to take it out of that whore Omega you've got hidden up there. I'll take my fill of him, and then I'll make back my money.”
A black haze closes over my vision at the mention of Laz. At least I'm home. I just hope Laz heeds my warning and stays out of sight until this is over and it's safe for him to come out. It's been a long while since my last incident, and this one has been building for a while now.
“Strike a nerve, did I?” he laughs. “Did the slut tell you about me? Did he tell you what he begged me to do to him? I had him for days. And now I'll have him until he's all used up. From what I hear, he's already close to that now.”
I don't really feel my arm move. I don't hear the sound that comes tearing out of my throat. I don't feel the moment that my hand makes contact with him. The last conscious thing that registers before everything is lost in a wave of black rage is the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut.