Chapter 14 #2
The tension in the kitchen is suffocating. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, taste it on my tongue. Every instinct I have to close the distance between us, to pull her into my arms, to show her exactly what I've been holding back for years.
But she's vulnerable. And scared. And she just escaped a man who used her vulnerability against her.
I'm not going to be that man.
I won't.
"I'm sorry too," Jessica says suddenly, setting down the spoon with a clatter.
I blink. "For what?"
"For leaving without saying goodbye." She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, leaving another streak of flour.
"That night, after what happened with Carlos.
I panicked. I packed my bags at three in the morning and I ran and I didn't even think about how it would affect any of you. I just left."
"You were scared."
"I was a coward." She throws my own word back at me, and there's steel in her voice now.
"I knew something was happening between all of us.
I felt it every time I came to this house.
.." She takes a shaky breath. "And instead of facing it, I ran. I went back to Callum because he took lead and didn’t hide his feelings toward me.”
"And what do you want?" I ask, even though I'm terrified of the answer.
She looks at me. Really looks. Like she's seeing past the pack leader, past the hockey coach, past all the walls I've built to keep people out.
"I don't know yet," she admits, and somehow the honesty makes it worse. "But I think I want to find out. I think I'm ready to stop running."
I feel like maybe, after all these years, something might finally be within reach.
"Then find out." I push off from the counter, putting some distance between us before I do something stupid. "Take all the time you need. We're not going anywhere. We'll be here."
"Even after I ran six years ago?"
"Especially after you ran." I reach out and brush a streak of flour from her cheek with my thumb. Her skin is soft under my fingertips. Warm. Alive. "You came back. That's what matters."
Her eyes flutter closed for a moment.
"The cookies need to bake for twelve minutes," she says softly. "Will you stay? Keep me company?"
"I'll stay as long as you want."
She smiles. It's small and wobbly and nothing like the bright grins I remember from years ago, before Callum. But it's real. And it's for me.
"Thank you, Sergio."
"For what?"
"For being here. For not pushing. For..." She gestures vaguely at the kitchen, at the mess of flour and chocolate and half-formed dough scattered across the counter. "For letting me have a breakdown in your kitchen at three in the morning."
"Anytime. Seriously. My kitchen is available for breakdowns twenty-four seven."
She laughs. It's watery and choked but genuine, and the sound does something to my chest. Makes it ache in a way that's almost good.
She turns back to the counter and starts spooning dough onto a baking sheet. I watch her work, memorizing the curve of her wrist, the way she bites her lip in concentration, the small sounds of satisfaction she makes when each cookie is perfectly shaped and spaced.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out without thinking, expecting a text from Nacho asking if I'm okay or Carlos reporting in from his workshop.
It's not.
Callum: Heard Jess is staying with you guys. Take care of her until I get there. She's confused.
The words turn my blood to ice. Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
Until I get there.
She's confused.
Like Jessica is a lost dog that wandered off and needs to be returned to its owner.
Another message appears before I can process the first one.
Callum: You know how omegas can be. Emotional. Irrational. She'll calm down in a few days and realize she made a mistake.
And another:
Callum: Tell her I forgive her. And tell her we're still getting married. I've already rescheduled with the venue.
I stare at the screen, feeling my carefully cultivated control start to crack. Feeling the walls I've built start to crumble.
Rescheduled. Like she's property he temporarily misplaced.
"Sergio?" Jessica's voice cuts through my rage. "Is everything okay?"
I look up. She's watching me, spatula in hand, concern written across her flour-streaked face. Her scent has shifted turning sharp with worry.
I could lie. But I'm done treating her like she's too fragile to handle the truth.
"It's Callum," I say.
Her face goes pale. The spatula clatters against the baking sheet. "What does he want?"
I hand her the phone.
She takes it with shaking hands. Reads the messages. I watch her expression cycle through shock, then anger, then something cold and hard that I've never seen on her face before.
"He rescheduled the venue," she says flatly, handing the phone back to me. "He thinks we're still getting married. He thinks I'm just having a tantrum."
"He's delusional."
"He's Callum." She grips the edge of the counter, knuckles going white. "This is what he does. He decides how things are going to be, and then he makes them be that way. He just takes what he wants."
"He's not taking you." The words come out fierce. Possessive. More alpha than I usually allow myself to be.
Jessica looks at me, and something in her expression shifts. Softens.
"No," she agrees quietly, and there's steel in her voice. "He's not."
She turns back to the cookie sheet and slides it into the preheated oven with more force than necessary. The door slams shut. The timer beeps loudly as she sets it, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen.
"Twelve minutes," she announces. "And then I'm going to eat every single one of these cookies, and I'm not going to share with anyone."
"Fair enough."
"And tomorrow, I'm going to figure out how to make Callum understand that no means no. Even if I have to spell it out in skywriting. Or hire a billboard. Or possibly commit minor property damage."
I almost smile. Almost.
"We'll help you."
"I know." She leans against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, looking at me with an expression I can't quite read. "That's what scares me."
"Why?"
"Because the last person who promised to help me turned out to be the thing I needed help escaping from." She holds my gaze, unwavering. "How do I know this is different? How do I know you won't turn into him?"
I think about all the ways I could answer. Instead, I say the only thing that feels true.
"You don't." I take a step toward her, I can smell her scent under the flour and sugar. "You can't know. Not for sure. You just have to decide whether you're willing to take the risk."
"And if I'm not? If I can't?"
"Then we let you go. No pressure. No strings. No guilt trips." I swallow hard. "No growling at brothers who are just trying to catch you when you fall."
A tiny smile tugs at her lips. "That was pretty intense."
"It won't happen again."
"Are you sure about that?"
No. I'm not sure about anything anymore.
"I'll work on it," I manage.
The timer beeps, loud and insistent.
Jessica turns to pull the cookies from the oven, and the moment breaks. Some wall has come down. Some bridge has been built.
"For what it's worth," she says, setting the hot pan on a trivet, "I'm glad I'm here. Even if it's terrifying."
I watching her use a spatula to transfer cookies to a cooling rack, "I'm glad you're here too."
She picks up a cookie, still warm, chocolate gooey and perfect. Hands it to me.
It's the kind of cookie that fixes everything wrong in the world. The kind my grandmother used to make when I was a kid and scraped my knee or lost a hockey game.
I take a bite and watch her do the same, and for a moment, standing in my kitchen at three in the morning with flour on the floor and chocolate on our fingers, everything feels exactly right.
Then my phone buzzes again.
I pull it out, already knowing what I'm going to see.
Callum: I'll be there Friday. Make sure she's ready.
I delete the message before Jessica can see it. Press delete and watch it disappear like it never existed.
Friday.
We have until Friday to figure out what the hell we're going to do. Three days to prepare.
I take another bite of cookie and start planning.
Because if Callum thinks he's walking out of here with Jessica, he's got another thing coming.
She's pack now.
And I protect what's mine.