Chapter 21 #2
I should eat something. Drink water. Take care of basic biological needs before the heat progressed to the point where I couldn’t think at all.
Yet I couldn’t make myself leave the nest.
My phone rang this time, not just a text but an actual call. The ringtone I’d assigned to Jace, something bright and cheerful that matched his golden retriever energy. I listened to it ring four times before going to voicemail, hating myself for the relief I felt at not having to explain.
Thirty seconds later, it rang again. Hollis this time, his tone something contemplative that I’d chosen one afternoon at the bookstore while he was helping another customer.
I let it go to voicemail too.
When Cassian’s call came through five minutes later, I knew they’d coordinated.
Knew they’d figured out something was wrong and were systematically trying to reach me.
The thought should have annoyed me, should have triggered all my defensive responses about controlling alphas who couldn’t respect boundaries.
Instead, it made me want to cry with the sheer relief of being cared about by people who noticed when I went quiet.
It was a clarifying reminder that these men were better than any man I’d met before.
And they were probably together. At Cassian’s house for one of their alpha bonding sessions, or maybe already at Hollis’s grandmother’s house working on the renovations we’d started planning. Coordinating their response the way they’d been practicing for weeks.
I reached for the phone with a hand that trembled, my coordination shot to hell. Answered on the last ring before it would have gone to voicemail.
“Talia.” Cassian’s voice was careful, controlled, but I could hear concern underneath. “Are you alright? You missed the contractor meeting and haven’t responded to any messages for three hours.”
Three hours? It felt like ten minutes and ten years simultaneously.
“I’m fine,” I managed, and my voice sounded wrong even to my own ears. Breathy and unsteady and absolutely nothing like fine.
Silence on the other end. Then, very quietly, “You’re not fine. What’s wrong?”
The direct question, the genuine worry, the fact that he was asking instead of assuming, it all combined to crack something in my carefully maintained control. A sob caught in my throat, ugly and desperate.
“Talia.” His voice had changed, dropped into something deeper and more commanding without being aggressive. Alpha instinct recognizing omega distress. “Where are you?”
“Home.” I curled tighter into the nest, clutching Jace’s flannel like it could anchor me. “I’m home, I’m safe, I just need to be alone.”
“What do you need?” Not accepting my assertion about being alone, but not fighting it either. Asking what I needed instead of telling me what he thought I should want.
“I don’t know.” The truth came out on another sob. “My heat started early and I don’t have suppressants and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
Another pause, longer this time. I heard muffled conversation in the background, Cassian probably conferring with the others.
They were together, I realized. Probably at the house, working on renovation plans or painting samples or making decisions about their shared future while I was falling apart alone.
“We’re coming over,” Cassian said, and before I could protest he added, “Just to make sure you have what you need. Water, food, anything that will help. You don’t have to let us stay, but we’re not leaving you alone without supplies when you’re going into heat.”
“I can handle it alone.” The old defense, automatic and increasingly hollow.
“I know you can.” His voice was gentle now, understanding rather than challenging. “You’ve probably handled a lot of heats alone over the years. But you don’t have to anymore, if you don’t want to. That’s the whole point of pack.”
Pack. The word settled into my chest like a key finding its lock.
“Okay,” I whispered, surrendering to the need I’d been fighting since the moment my scent started shifting. “Okay, you can come.”
“We’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t try to come to the door, we’ll let ourselves in with the spare key. Just stay in your nest where you feel safe.”
He remembered. I’d told them about the spare key under the planter weeks ago, practical information shared during a conversation about emergency preparedness. He’d filed it away and now used it in exactly the way I needed, removing even the small barrier of having to answer the door.
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it for more than just the immediate offer of help.
“Always.” The promise in that single word made something warm bloom through the heat’s relentless pull. “We’re on our way.”
The call ended, and I let the phone fall into the nest beside me. Ten minutes. I had ten minutes to decide if I was ready for this, ready to be vulnerable in front of three alphas who mattered more than anyone had in years.
My body had already made the decision, was practically humming with anticipation at the promise of their presence.
My mind was still catching up, trying to reconcile a year’s worth of defensive isolation with the reality of people who’d shown up consistently, who’d asked what I needed instead of assuming, who’d built trust through dozens of small moments instead of demanding it all at once.
I stayed curled in the nest, surrounded by their scents and the promise of care I’d been too scared to accept until my biology forced the issue.
Ten minutes until everything changed, until I stopped running from vulnerability and started trusting that these three men might actually be different from everyone who’d failed me before.
Ten minutes until I found out if pack was real or just another word for the kind of disappointment I’d been avoiding since Vincent proved that trust was just another weakness to exploit.
My body ached and my mind spun and my heart felt like it might crack open with the weight of wanting something I’d convinced myself I couldn’t have.
The house. Hollis’s grandmother’s house with the garden and four bedrooms and the promise of a future we’d all agreed to last Sunday. That’s where they’d probably been when I went dark. Planning our shared life while I tried to handle my heat alone like I always had.
But in ten minutes, I’d know.
In ten minutes, they’d be here, and I’d either let them in or send them away, and whatever happened next would determine if I was brave enough to believe that belonging was possible for someone as broken as I’d become.
So I waited, trembling with heat and fear and desperate hope, for the sound of their arrival.