CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Beckett
The living room has never felt smaller.
Cameron's commandeered the big armchair like a throne, remote control in hand, looking satisfied that we're actually watching his horror movie pick.
The opening credits of "The Descent" roll across the screen while everyone tries to find seats that don't put them in direct contact with Reese's pheromone cloud.
Good fucking luck with that.
She's curled in the corner of the main couch, textbook still in her lap like she's actually going to study during this.
Tyler's on her left, maintaining exactly six inches of space between them.
Zane's on her right, not even pretending to keep distance.
His thigh presses against hers, and every time she shifts, he shifts with her.
Gray took the other armchair, positioned where he can watch both the screen and Reese. Because of course he did. Our captain's control might be slipping, but his need to monitor everything remains intact.
Jackson and Eli claimed the loveseat, sitting close enough that their knees touch. They think they're being subtle. They're not. Especially not with the way Jackson keeps shooting glances at Reese when he thinks no one's looking.
Bo's on the floor, back against the couch near Reese's feet. Every so often, his shoulder brushes her calf, and she doesn't pull away.
Which leaves me perched on the arm of the couch, trying to look casual while my entire body vibrates with awareness.
She smells like all of us now - our scents layered on her skin from a day of proximity.
But underneath, her own scent is getting stronger.
Suppressants failing or overwhelmed, I can't tell which.
All I know is she smells like she's been wrapped in our clothes. Like summer rain on hot pavement. Like trouble I'm desperate to get into.
"No talking during the movie," Cameron announces. "No spoilers. No complaining about the gore."
"There's gore?" Tyler asks, already looking queasy.
"It's a horror movie about cave monsters eating people," Cameron says flatly. "Yes, there's gore."
"Fantastic," Tyler mutters, pulling out his phone. "I'll just review our split times instead."
"No phones," Cameron adds. "Full attention or get out."
"Jesus, Cameron," Zane says. "It's a movie, not a religious experience."
"Horror is art," Cameron responds seriously. "Respect the art."
Gray snorts. "It's about women crawling through caves."
"Claustrophobia, isolation, and primitive fear," Cameron corrects. "Classic psychological horror elements."
"Nerd," Jackson mutters.
"Says the guy who reads poetry," Cameron shoots back.
Everyone turns to stare at Jackson, who goes rigid.
"You read poetry?" Reese asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.
Jackson shrugs, not meeting her eyes. "Sometimes."
"What kind?" she presses.
"Various."
Eli smirks. "He likes the Romantics. Byron, Shelley, Keats."
"You weren't supposed to tell anyone that," Jackson growls.
"You left a book of Keats on the coffee table yesterday," Eli points out. "Not exactly a secret."
"I think it's sweet," Reese says, and Jackson's ears turn red.
"Can we watch the fucking movie?" Cameron asks, exasperated.
The lights go off, plunging us into darkness except for the TV screen. Immediately, everything becomes more intense. I can hear Reese's breathing, slightly faster than normal. Smell the way her scent spikes when the first jump scare hits. Feel the heat radiating from her body just inches away.
Fifteen minutes in, she shifts positions, tucking her legs under her. Her knee brushes my thigh, and I nearly groan out loud.
"Sorry," she whispers.
"Don't be," I whisper back, and even in the dark, I can see her bite her lip.
On screen, the women are descending into the cave. The claustrophobia is palpable, walls closing in, darkness pressing down. Reese tenses, and without thinking, Zane puts his arm around her shoulders.
She doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans into him slightly.
Gray's jaw clenches so hard I can hear it from across the room.
Another jump scare. Reese gasps, grabbing the nearest thing - which happens to be my hand hanging off the arm of the couch. Her fingers thread through mine, squeezing tight.
I freeze, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid she'll realize and let go.
She doesn't let go.
Tyler, meanwhile, has given up pretending to watch. He's fully analyzing data on his phone, the screen brightness turned way down. Cameron throws a pillow at his head.
"Ow! What the—"
"No. Phones."
"This is important data!"
"The movie is important."
"To who?"
"To me," Cameron says with such seriousness that Tyler actually puts his phone away.
On screen, the first creature appears. Reese's grip on my hand tightens. I stroke my thumb across her knuckles, trying to be soothing, but the touch sends electricity through my entire body.
"I need a drink," Bo announces suddenly, standing up. "Anyone else?"
"Water," Reese says quickly. "Please."
"Beer," Jackson grunts.
"We don't have beer," Eli reminds him. "Someone forgot to buy it."
"That someone was Beckett," Zane supplies helpfully.
"I was busy," I defend.
"Doing what?"
"Your mom."
"Real mature."
"Boys," Reese says quietly, and we all shut up immediately.
Bo returns with water for Reese, Coke for himself, and nothing for Jackson who glares at him. When Bo sits back down, he's closer to the couch. Close enough that Reese's foot rests against his shoulder.
The movie continues, tension building both on screen and in the room. The women are being hunted now, creatures closing in, and Reese is practically vibrating with anxiety.
"It's just a movie," Gray says from his chair, voice carefully neutral.
"I know that," she snaps. "I just don't like... confined spaces."
"You never mentioned being claustrophobic," Tyler says, because of course he's cataloging information even during a horror movie.
"I'm not. Usually. This is just..." She trails off as another woman gets dragged into the darkness on screen.
Without discussing it, Zane and I shift closer, bracketing her between us. Bo reaches up to rest his hand on her ankle. It should feel possessive, territorial. Instead, it feels protective. Right.
"We can turn it off," Cameron offers, which from him is like offering to donate a kidney.
"No, it's fine," Reese says. "I'm fine."
She's not fine. Her scent is spiking with stress and something else - arousal, probably from being surrounded by Alpha pheromones while her suppressants fail. The combination is intoxicating and concerning in equal measure.
"Actually," Gray says, standing abruptly, "I need to review tomorrow's workout. Reese, you should probably look at it too."
It's the worst excuse I've ever heard, but Reese latches onto it like a lifeline.
"Right. Yes. The workout." She starts to stand, but she's tangled between all of us and nearly trips.
I catch her automatically, hands on her waist, and for a moment we're pressed together. She looks up at me, eyes wide, lips parted.
"Careful," I murmur.
"Always," she breathes back.
Gray clears his throat. Loudly.
I let go, and Reese follows Gray to the study. The moment they're gone, the tension in the room shifts but doesn't dissipate.
"She okay?" Bo asks quietly.
"Her suppressants are failing," Tyler says matter-of-factly. "We're overwhelming her system."
"Should we... do something?" Zane asks.
"Like what?" Jackson speaks for the first time in an hour. "Tell her to stay away? Stop training? What exactly do you suggest?"
"I don't know," Zane admits. "But this isn't sustainable."
"No," Eli agrees quietly. "It's not."
On screen, the women are fighting back now, covered in blood, scrambling for survival. It feels appropriate somehow.
"We're going to lose everything," Tyler says suddenly. "The statistics are clear. Mixed designation teams have a 73% failure rate within the first season."
"We're not a statistic," Bo says firmly.
"No," Tyler agrees. "We're worse. We're a bonding pack in denial."
Nobody responds to that. Jackson shifts uncomfortably on the loveseat. Cameron goes very still in his chair.
"We're not bonding," Jackson says, but even he doesn't sound convinced.
"Then explain the scent matching," Tyler counters. "The synchronized movements. The way we all orbit around her like she's our center of gravity."
"Biology," Cameron says quietly from his chair. "Just biology."
"Right," Tyler says dryly. "Because biology explains why Beckett hasn't hooked up with anyone in three weeks. Why Jackson actually makes eye contact with her. Why Gray's about to crack a molar from clenching his jaw."
"Enough," Bo says, using his mom voice. "This isn't helping."
"What would help?" Tyler asks. "Seriously, what would actually help? Because unless someone has a solution that doesn't involve either claiming her or losing her, we're fucked."
The silence that follows is answer enough.
I can hear Gray and Reese in the study, voices low but intense. Whatever they're discussing, it's not tomorrow's workout.
"Movie's almost over," Cameron says, like that matters.
We pretend to watch the ending, but everyone's attention is elsewhere. On the closed study door. On the scent of aroused Omega that's permeating the house. On the future that's becoming more impossible by the day.
When the credits roll, Cameron turns the lights back on. We all blink at each other, disheveled and wound tight.
"Great movie choice," Zane says with false cheer. "Really relaxing."
"You didn't watch any of it," Cameron points out.
"I watched Reese almost have a panic attack. That was enough horror for me."
The study door opens, and Gray emerges alone.
"Where's Reese?" I ask immediately.
"Gone back to her dorm," he says flatly. "She needs space."
"From us," Tyler translates.
Gray doesn't deny it.
"This is getting worse," Bo says quietly.
"I know," Gray responds. "I know, but I don't... I don't know how to fix it."
It's the second time today our captain has admitted to not having answers. It's terrifying.
"Maybe," Eli says carefully, "we stop trying to fix it. Maybe we just... let it be what it is."
"And lose our season?" Gray snaps. "Our futures?"
"Or lose her," Jackson says quietly. "Or lose ourselves trying to be something we're not."
"We're not a pack," Gray insists.
"No," I agree. "But we're not just a crew anymore either."
We sit in silence, the ghost of Reese's scent still clinging to everything. In twelve hours she meets with Quinton. We record our times at dawn. We pretend this tension isn't killing us slowly.
But tonight?
Tonight we're just eight Alphas drowning in our own bad decisions.
Cameron turns off the TV. "Same time next week?"
"Fuck off," three people say simultaneously.
But yeah. Probably same time next week.
Because apparently, we're masochists now.