Chapter 14 Xaden
XADEN
Keeping busy is good. It stops me thinking about Violet's lips, her body, what it feels like when I'm inside of her.
Dinner rush hits Raven's Table, and for the first time in three years, we're completely sold out.
Every table packed. Every reservation booked.
Waiting list stretching to New Year's. Not bad for a mountain-town restaurant that used to limp through service with twenty covers on a good night.
I adjust my charcoal shirt, sleeves already rolled because the kitchen's hotter than hell.
The dining room hums, silverware clinks, laughter and wine-fueled conversation bouncing off wood-paneled walls.
Servers thread through the chaos, the lighting soft and golden, casting everything in the kind of glow that turns good food into something people remember.
I don't do mediocre. Never have. Never will.
My scent's stronger tonight, dark roast coffee and cedar wood, with smokier notes rising when I'm in my element like this. Pure alpha satisfaction. Because everything's hitting.
All thanks to one small, sharp-eyed omega tapping away at her laptop in the corner.
"Chef?" Maya appears at my elbow with a ticket. "Table seven's allergic to shellfish but still wants the seafood risotto."
"Wild mushroom version. Same saffron base." I don't look up from plating. "Tell them it's better than the original."
She nods and disappears.
Through the pass window, I catch sight of Violet. Cream sweater. Jeans that hug her like they were made for her. She's been here for hours, nursing one glass of wine and nibbling on breadsticks, attention fixed on her screen.
Supposed to be writing an article on rural farm-to-table movements, with us front and center. It's not even published yet, and business has already doubled.
But if I'm honest? I'd keep her close even if she never wrote another word.
"Xaden!" Garrick shoves through the swinging doors, scowl locked in place. Bakery apron still on over his black tee. Flour in his sandy hair despite closing Rise & Shine two hours ago.
His scent carries the usual bread and cinnamon, but there's frustration underneath. Something wound tight.
"Busy night?" he says flatly, stepping aside for a server barreling through with a tray of drinks.
"Sold out." I slide another plate down the pass and grab the next from the window. "Third night running."
"Right." He crosses his arms, tracking a line cook scrambling past. "Tom finished her car."
I pause mid-plate. "Violet's car?"
"Yeah. Liam told her this morning. She's got no reason to stay now."
The words hang heavy between us. I glance through the pass at Violet, still typing away, completely unaware that Garrick's spiraling.
"She's not leaving," I say, plating with more force than necessary.
"How do you know?" His voice cracks slightly. "Car's fixed. She's got money saved. Nothing tying her here except..." He stops. "Except us. And I can't... I won't be the reason she stays if she doesn't want to."
I set down my knife. Look at him properly. "What are you talking about?"
"Her ex." Garrick's jaw clenches. "He controlled everything. Where she went. What she did. Who she saw. And now I'm standing here wanting to tell her not to leave, wanting to convince her to stay, and all I can think is... what if I'm no better than him?"
"That's not the same thing."
"Isn't it?" His scent spikes with distress. "Wanting her to stay because I want her here? That's just another kind of control, isn't it?"
I follow his gaze to Violet through the pass window. She's not on suppressants, and every alpha in the building is feeling it. Including us. Especially us.
"You ever notice omegas with sad eyes and smart mouths tend to make alphas real dumb?" Garrick mutters.
My knife stutters mid-chop on a red bell pepper. I glance at him. "So this isn't about her car being fixed."
"It's about all of it." He leans against the prep table, arms folded tight. "We agreed. No omegas. Too complicated. Too risky. Remember?"
Yeah. I remember. Three years ago when we formed this pack. Three alphas. No complications. No vulnerabilities. Just solid ground under our feet.
"I remember."
"Then she shows up and it's..." He stops. Struggles. Like even saying it might tear something open.
Garrick doesn't do this. Doesn't talk unless he has to. Doesn't explain. Doesn't linger. But here he is, trying.
So I wait.
"It's different." His voice drops lower.
"And I want her to stay. God, I want her to stay.
But it has to be her choice. Really her choice.
Not because her car's broken or because she needs the work or because I'm..." He gestures helplessly.
"Because I'm what? Asking? Begging? That's just pressure.
That's just another way of controlling her. "
And for Garrick, that's as close to a confession as it gets.
I wipe my hands on my apron and move to the pass. The line's running hot, plates sliding down, timers blaring. Violet's still at her table, oblivious to the effect she's having.
"You're not him," I say carefully. "Wanting someone to stay isn't the same as forcing them."
"How do I know that? How do I know where the line is?
" His scent betrays him. Heavy cardamom and frustration bleed into the warm air, layered with something deeper.
Fear, maybe. "She's got options now. She can leave.
And if she chooses to stay, I need to know it's because she wants to, not because she feels obligated or trapped or. .."
"Or because an alpha's pressuring her," I finish quietly.
"Yeah."
His shoulders draw in, body turned just enough toward the pass to keep her in his periphery. Violet's lit up by her screen, all soft edges and glow, like some snapshot moment he's trying too hard not to want but can't stop wanting anyway.
"We agreed no omegas," he repeats. "No complications. No risk of this exact situation."
"And yet here we are."
"Yeah." He looks at me then, and there's something raw in his expression. "Here we are. All three of us wanting the same omega who finally has the freedom to leave. And I can't... I won't take that freedom away by making her feel like she has to stay."
Jerry stumbles past, tray rattling, pupils blown wide. He's caught her scent, like the rest of us.
Garrick doesn't blink. Still locked on her through the pass window. Still trying to figure out how to let go of something he desperately wants to hold onto.
That line in his mouth, the set of his jaw says: mine.
But he won't let himself act on it.
"You're scared," I say, grabbing the saffron mushroom risotto to check the finish.
"I'm trying not to be like him. Her ex. I'm trying to give her the choice he never did." His voice is rough. "Even if it kills me."
"Maybe the choice isn't stay or go," I offer. "Maybe it's asking her what she wants instead of deciding for her."
Before Garrick can answer, the kitchen doors swing open and Violet steps in. Empty wineglass in one hand, her free one curled around her sweater hem.
There's a faint uncertainty in her posture that makes something in my chest shift.
She doesn't belong in a kitchen mid-rush, but she comes straight to me instead of flagging down a server. Like she wanted an excuse. Or maybe she saw Garrick and decided not to let him brood in peace.
"Sorry to interrupt," she says softly. "Could I get the check? I know you're slammed, and I don't want to hold the table when you've got people waiting."
She's not wrong. There's a couple at the bar practically willing someone to choke so they can get a seat.
Still, I don't want her gone.
"You're not holding up anything." I take the glass from her. Our fingers brush, warm and soft, enough to send a sharp flicker of awareness through me. "Corner table's yours as long as you want it. Perk of being my favorite marketing consultant."
"You don't have to..."
"Not a pickup line, it's the truth." I don't look away from her, even though I can feel Garrick cataloguing every word. "This place is packed because of you. That's worth a permanent reservation."
"Xaden's right," a voice cuts in from behind her.
Meredith threads her way into the kitchen dressed in her Friday evening best. Navy blue dress with tiny flowers, usual pearl accessories. Her lavender and apricot scent carries notes of satisfaction.
"Meredith," I greet, polite, though my instincts sharpen. "What brings you here?"
"Isn't it past your bedtime?" Garrick says, but there's less bite than usual. More exhaustion.
"I wanted to let Violet know her work's been the talk of the town all month," Meredith says, brushing right past him.
Violet's cheeks flush. Her scent sweetens like honey in hot tea and it's distracting as hell.
"I'm hardly famous," she says.
The pasta timer goes off behind me.
"Chef!" one of the line cooks barks.
I pivot back into motion, plating fast, steam curling up around my face.
"You realize half this town's here tonight because of you," I say before Meredith can continue.
Meredith nods. "The bakery, the restaurant, Tom's garage, even that boutique on Main. Everyone's seeing a boost because of your articles."
I swipe the sauce brush along the plate's edge.
"Please," Violet says. "I write about food and hope people don't notice I burned toast this morning. These places were already amazing. I just convinced people to stop being lazy and drive up the mountain."
She steps aside just in time for Diego to wheel past with a cart of desserts.
Most people would've been bragging by now. Not her. She keeps shrugging it off like she's just the messenger.
It's attractive. Dangerous and smart.
"Modest and talented." Her scent warms at my words. "Hell of a combination."
Meredith clears her throat, her gaze sliding to Garrick. "I couldn't help but notice someone's been quieter than usual today."
"I'm fine." But his voice says otherwise.
"Dear, you've barely said two words to anyone all day. Even Frank Stern asked if you were feeling alright."