20. Nelly
Nelly
I'm not sure when I fall asleep.
At some point, the storm noise must blur into the background enough for exhaustion to drag me under. The last thing I remember is Levi's thumbs pressing into the arches of my feet while Beau quietly explained to Nash why I needed the blankets layered "correctly."
Then nothing.
Until thunder booms and I bolt upright with a gasp.
My head is on a swivel. The apartment's dark except for the occasional flash of lightning slipping through the edges of the blinds. For one terrifying second, I have no clue where I am.
Then the scent hits me, and my pulse slows.
Right.
Nash's place.
With the smell of Beau and Levi heavy around me, I almost feel… content. I burrow into the blankets that carry them, and with a bit of privacy, I nuzzle against the fabric. Divine, the combination of the two.
Probably just my pre-heat talking.
A floorboard creaks somewhere down the hallway and heavy footsteps follow. I tense immediately beneath the blankets as I peek an eye out, and a familiar broad shadow emerges from the darkness.
"You okay?" Nash asks.
His voice is rough with sleep. Low, and gruff. It rolls over my skin like warm whiskey and my thighs clench together before I can stop them.
I hate whatever my hormones are doing to me. I hate how aware I suddenly am of every Alpha scent in a ten-mile radius. I hate how badly I want comfort.
I hate that my family was right.
They always told me that, one of these days, I'd settle into my instincts and realize I couldn't live a productive life around them.
"That's what Alphas are for," they always said.
"They're not as driven by instincts as Omegas are.
" And here I am, trapped by my pre-heat on Nash's couch in the middle of a project and a storm for the ages.
"Nelly?" Nash asks as he creeps closer. "Do you need anything?"
I manage to speak from beneath the blankets. "I'm fine."
Lightning flashes again, illuminating him for half a second as I peek back out at him.
Gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, and I get a glimpse of the delicious V that disappears beneath the band.
His chest is bare, with a thatch of hair I bet would feel good against my cheek.
His hair is disheveled from sleep, sticking up at all angles.
The Omega in me practically whines.
No. This can't happen. I can't just attach myself to the nearest Alpha. I can't let my heat overwhelm all of us. I have to find a way to get out of here for a few days. I have to find a private place to do my heat. Maybe the heat clinic a few towns over would take someone last minute.
Because being around Alphas isn't safe as an unbonded Omega.
Not during a heat cycle, anyway.
I yank the blankets tighter around myself. "Where are Beau and Levi?"
Nash rubs a hand down his face. "Went back to their apartments after you crashed out yesterday."
Yesterday? Is it really the next day? "Oh."
There's a pressure in my stomach as I try to make sense of how I'm feeling. I wish Beau was here. Betas don't lose their minds with heats like Alphas do.
Maybe I should go to Beau's apartment, after all.
Nash slowly approaches the couch. "Storm woke you up?"
"Thunder, yeah."
"Yeah, storm's steadily getting worse. Today and tomorrow are supposed to be the worst of it."
And as if to prove his point, another boom rattles the building.
It's getting tiresome, how much I flinch at that kind of stuff.
"You want me to make some tea?" Nash asks.
"No."
"You sure?"
"I said I'm fine."
He goes quiet at that and guilt pokes at me immediately. "I'm sorry, Nash. I just…"
"You're stressed. I get it. I'm snippy when I'm stressed, too. You don't have to apologize."
I sigh heavily. "I feel… gross."
His brow furrows. "Gross?"
"I want a shower, but it feels like too much work."
Nash glances toward the windows as another flash of lightning illuminates his apartment. "That's probably not a great idea right now."
I blink at him as I sit up, rubbing at my eye. "Why?"
"There's still lightning outside."
"So?"
"So, people get electrocuted during storms sometimes."
I snicker. "Nash. I'm not showering in the middle of a field."
"You laugh, but my department literally responded to someone getting struck in their bathtub three years ago."
My eyes widen. "You're kidding."
"I wish I was."
I groan and shove the blankets aside. "I'll take my chances."
"Fine by me," he mutters. "Don't complain if you get electrocuted, though."
I freeze halfway to standing. Something about his tone grates against every raw nerve in my body. Why does he always have to do that? Does Nash not understand that he'd be an amazing Alpha if he just… kept his mouth shut? Or found a new attitude?
"What an Alpha you turned into," I mumble.
"What was that?"
I whirl around on him before I can stop myself.
Everything inside me already feels too big, or too loud, or too emotional.
My family's words echo across my mind, frustrating my senses.
Fear and humiliation at needing help from an Alpha who smells too good to be true fill me to the brim, and I want to lash out.
And now I'm trapped in an apartment that doesn't feel like mine while my body spirals out of control around three men who affect me way more than they should.
"You heard me," I say as my voice shakes. "You were something in high school, sure. But now? You've turned into this bitter, angry, frustrating Alpha who wouldn't know a true mate bond if it bit him in the ass and marked him there."
The second the words leave my mouth, silence crashes between us. Nash just stares at me. Hurt flickers across his face so quickly I almost miss it. But I'm already overwhelmed enough that I can't stop now.
I storm past him toward the bathroom in the hallway.
I waste no time stripping out of my clothes and getting into the shower. I crank it up as hot as it will go, allowing the steam to overwhelm my body. And the instant I feel just a smidge cleaner, something inside me snaps.
Tears spill down my face while hot water pours over my shoulders.
I plop onto the floor of the shower and curl my knees into my chest. My face falls to the tops of them. I handle my heats alone because they always make me so emotional. It's like my brain wants to replay every mistake and every worry I stuff down like some dumbass end-of-life reel.
I'm worried about my heat. I do them alone, and I do them in controlled environments.
The houses I flip? I always scent-proof them.
I lock myself away for a few days and ride it out quietly, and no one is any wiser about what's happening.
It gives me time to collect myself and get through my emotional shit without burdening the heat clinic systems in the bigger cities.
But I can't do that here, in Nash's place.
"I'm a terrible Omega," I whisper to myself.
My breaths are broken as I draw them in. My parents always called me out on the things they thought would work against me as an adult. I'm too loud. I'm too difficult and stubborn. I'm much too independent for my own good. I never take people's advice and I'm terrible at following what I'm given.
Maybe they were right.
I mean, no proper Omega would be snapping at people trying to help her. No proper Omega would be terrified of storms and falling apart over couch cushions. No proper Omega would feel pulled in three different directions by three different men unless there were a reason.
And I bet a proper Omega would know that reason.
Another sob catches painfully in my throat.
I wish Beau was here.
The thought hurts worse than everything else combined. Beau is easy, and gentle. His default is comfort, not bossing people around and making them do his bidding. He's always known how to steady me without making me feel weak for needing it.
Maybe that's what I need to do. I just need to tell Nash that it's safer for me to ride my heat out at Beau's place.
But it's not like any of these apartments are scent-proofed. Not in the way I'd need.
Would I even be safe at Beau's?
Could he fend off the Alphas who might try to get to me?
The water slowly cools around me before I finally force myself to shut it off. The bathroom is filled with steam and silence, and it grates on my nerves. Guess everything is going to agitate me during pre-heat. I get up from the shower floor and reach for a towel, tucking it tightly around me.
Then, I sink down onto the closed toilet lid and drop my face into my hands.
God, what is wrong with me?
My soft sobs are interrupted by an equally soft knock against the door. Not loud, or insistent. Not demanding, or angry. Gentle.
"Beau?" I whisper. "Did Nash go get you?"