Chapter 27
CONNOR
Aparade of days fly by in a haze. Zev and Fowler are off work, and I’m missing shows my alternate gets to skate instead. But there’s nowhere else any of us would rather be for five days of Grace’s heat. It started so suddenly that no one was prepared. To be honest, I’m still not sure I’m prepared.
She’s asleep now, but her scent is less urgent.
It’s always roses, but after five days of heat it’s like a rose garden after a monsoon.
I stare at her hand until my eyes lose focus.
Then I stare at the ceiling, trying to map out the new rules of our relationship.
The fact that his pack might actually be a full pack now, omega and all.
There’s a snort and a muffled curse from the hallway. It’s probably Fowler tripping over the box fan Zev set up for “ventilation.” I hear a cupboard open, then the dull thud of the fridge.
Grace stirs and opens one eye. “What time is it?”
I check my phone and wince. “Ten-thirty. AM. Thursday, unless we lost a day.”
Her lips move in a slow smile. “Is it over?”
I kiss her forehead. Her skin’s less heated, but her scent is still strong. There’s far less slick and desperation, though. “I think so. You seem better now, more back to normal.”
She nods sheepishly. “That was… something.”
Grace sits up, completely naked. Clothes became more obstacle than norm somewhere around day two. I should be better about pretending to not notice, but five days of this has rewired my neurons.
She doesn’t cover up, just rubs her eyes. “I need a shower and all the carbs.”
“Zev’s probably on it.” I brace myself and sit up, too. My spine cracks in three places. “Do you think you can walk?”
She looks at me, something soft but defiant in her face. “Only if you help.”
I slide off the bed and offer my hand. She takes it with a surprisingly strong grip.
Zev is stirring a pot of oatmeal in the kitchen. “Connor, Grace. Good morning.”
Fowler is sprawled on the couch in athletic shorts and nothing else. He raises a can of Red Bull in salute. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s the one who just survived five days of primal omega heat, not Grace.
“I’m not eating that,” Grace says, pointing at the goop in the pot.
“It’s good for you,” Zev protests.
“I want pancakes,” Grace says. “And hashbrowns. And like a gallon of orange juice.”
I’d heard that omegas are ravenous after heats, but damn.
Zev looks at her for a second, then sets down the spoon. “Okay. But showers first, then we’ll go to breakfast.”
Grace gives a thumbs up, but she leans against me, exhausted. I have never been more honored in my entire life.
Grace makes it down the stairs with only a little help, and by the time we get to the car she’s almost bouncing. Zev drives. At the Waffle King, we take a booth in the corner, with Grace wedged between me and the wall. I study the menu, even though I know I’ll order the exact same thing as always.
Grace leans in and whispers, “Thank you. All of you.”
“Of course,” Zev says. “We weren’t going to let you go through that alone.”
“Even if we’re not”—she gestures with her hands—“you know, actually bonded.”
She can call it whatever she wants, but at this point, Grace and we are definitely bonded. There might not be alpha bite marks yet, but that doesn’t negate the bond between us.
“You’re ours,” I say to emphasize my internal point.
She watches me for a second, then changes the subject. “After breakfast, I want to stop at HomeStuff. Is that okay?”
I glance at Zev. “Yeah. Why?”
She smiles a little too innocently. “Well, seems like I need to build my nest.”
There’s a beat where everyone goes quiet. Fowler is the first to recover, grinning like a maniac. “Fuck yes. Nesting trip.”
Yeah. Definitely bonded. But if Grace wants to take the rest of things slowly, then slowly is how we’ll do it.
HomeStuff is a fever dream. I follow Grace as she debates two sets of pillows, both floral, and ends up taking both. Zev handles the basket, which fills with fuzzy blankets, candles, and a stuffed bear that looks like it’s been through the washing machine one too many times.
“Why do you need all this?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Nesting,” she says, like it’s obvious. “It’s instinct.”
I want ask for clarification on where that puts our standing as a pack, but I chicken out.
If nothing else, I wouldn’t be surprised if that clarifying doesn’t happen until after Reverie’s run ends in September.
Instead, I watch her pile up a mountain of comforters and realize that I’d buy her the whole store if she asked.
Fowler wanders off and returns with a lava lamp and three jars of honey. “Emergency supplies.”
Grace nearly chokes laughing.
By the time we get to the checkout, our cart looks like it was raided by a sleep-deprived toddler. Grace insists on carrying the bear herself, cradling it to her chest all the way to the car.
“You’re going to have to haul this up two flights of stairs,” I warn her.
She shrugs, cheerful. “Worth it.”
We head back to the cast apartments. Zev handles the heavier stuff. Fowler and I grab the rest, with me taking far more than Fowler who navigates the stairs with crutches. Grace leads the way, almost skipping, her bare legs peeking out from under the hem of Zev’s sweatshirt.
Inside, Grace dumps her pillows onto her bed and sets to work, arranging them just so, testing each configuration before settling. It hits me that she’ll just have to move all this stuff out in a few weeks when Reverie ends. Then what?
“Do you want help?” I ask.
Grace looks up, eyes shining. “I like doing it myself.”
So we let her. An hour or so later, we all settle into her new bed and nest with Grace.
It’s far cozier than Zev’s bed was during Grace’s heat.
And while she likely won’t have another before Reverie’s over, at least she has a nest now.
Her face has lit up in a way I’ve not yet seen. She needed this.
And it feels so, so right.