Chapter 39 Jessica
JESSICA
The pub is loud and smells like beer and fried food and Stacey's impending victory.
"That's eighty dollars." Stacey lines up another shot. The cue ball cracks against the eight ball. It drops into the corner pocket with a satisfying thunk. "You want to go double or nothing?"
Nacho stares at the empty table. "How."
"Skill." Stacey chalks her cue stick. "Pure, unfiltered skill."
Pedro shakes his head. "You're a pool shark."
"I prefer 'strategically talented.'" Stacey grins and pockets the cash Nacho hands over. "Who's next? Carlos? You look like you need to lose some money."
Carlos raises his beer from his seat at the bar. "I'm good. I'll just watch you destroy Sergio's ego instead."
Sergio pulls out his wallet. "My ego is fine."
"Sure it is." Stacey racks the balls for another game. "Come on, coach. Let's see if you're better than your brother."
I sit at the bar with Harmony, watching my pack get systematically demolished by my best friend. Harmony nurses a ginger ale, her chamomile scent sweet but tinged with something sharp. Stress, maybe. Or exhaustion from the drive.
"You okay?" I ask her.
Harmony fidgets with her straw. "Just tired. It's been a long day."
"You can head back to the house if you want. Carlos won't mind."
"No, this is nice." She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Watching Stacey win is therapeutic."
On the pool table, Stacey gives Sergio a running commentary on his failures. "See, that's your problem. You're thinking three moves ahead when you should be thinking about the current shot. You're overthinking it."
Sergio lines up another shot. "I'm a coach. Overthinking is my job."
"Not in pool, it's not." Stacey demonstrates with an effortless bank shot. "Pool is about feel. Instinct. Letting your body do what it knows how to do."
"You sound like a motivational poster."
Stacey sinks another ball. "I contain multitudes. Also, you owe me forty dollars."
By the time we leave, Stacey has taken over two hundred dollars from my pack and bought three rounds of drinks with their money. Nacho looks vaguely impressed. Pedro looks like he's taking mental notes for a rematch. Carlos can't stop laughing. Sergio shakes his head but he's smiling.
Harmony is quiet on the drive home, her scent shifting between sweet and sour in waves.
The next morning, I wake up with Sergio’s elbow in my ribs and Nacho’s leg crushing mine. Carlos’s hand on my hip, and he’s snoring in my ear like a chainsaw.
I try to move. Fail. Try again. Manage to extract one arm.
Sergio mumbles from somewhere beneath the pile. "Stop wiggling."
"I can't breathe. Sergio!"
He shifts, pulling me more firmly against his chest. Which dislodges Carlos, who rolls into Pedro, who elbows Nacho, who makes a sound like a disgruntled bear.
Pedro's voice comes out muffled by a pillow. "We need a bigger bed. I always feel squashed. Like I have no room to move."
I manage to sit up and look over. Pedro's on one side of the bed, by himself. It's as if he's moved us all from his space.
Carlos protests. "Really. More space. You need to be confined when you sleep."
"And you need something over your mouth. I keep thinking there's an earthquake. The noise you make and the whole room shakes," Pedro says in his defense.
He's not exaggerating. Carlos's snoring is on a different spectrum at times.
Nacho's voice is flat. "We have two queens pushed together. For five people. That's not a big bed, especially when you get stuck in the middle gap."
Or in my case, rolling off the edge. But I don't say anything. The brothers will just blame Pedro for sleeping like he's kickboxing an invisible opponent, and he'll get defensive about it.
I shove Carlos off my legs. "We should go furniture shopping."
Sergio cracks one eye open. "Now?"
"Not right this second. But today. Before we all develop permanent spine damage."
Carlos rolls off the bed, nearly tripping over Nacho's leg on his way out. "I'll make pancakes first. Fuel for furniture shopping."
By the time we're all fed and caffeinated, Stacey and Harmony emerge from Carlos's room. Stacey looks refreshed and smug. Harmony looks exhausted, her scent sharper than yesterday. Almost bitter, like burnt sugar.
"Sleep okay?" I ask Harmony.
She wraps both hands around her coffee mug. "Not really. The bed was fine. I just couldn't settle."
"Suppressants okay?"
"Running low." Harmony doesn't meet my eyes. "I should probably head home soon. Today or tomorrow."
"You just got here."
"I know." Her scent spikes with something like regret. "But being around this many alphas is hard. My body's getting confused."
I squeeze her hand. "We'll figure it out. But first, furniture shopping. You're coming."
"Why am I furniture shopping?"
"Because Stacey needs supervision and I need moral support."
Stacey grabs her coat. "I don't need supervision. I'm extremely responsible."
"You took two hundred dollars off my pack last night."
"Exactly. Responsible financial planning." Stacey heads for the door. "Let's go spend some of it on a bed big enough for your chaos pile."
The mattress store smells like new foam and the salesman's visible panic.
He spots us the moment we walk in. Four massive alphas, one omega, and my two friends trailing behind. His face goes through several emotions in rapid succession: confusion, calculation, more confusion, then what looks like mild terror.
He approaches slowly, like we might bolt. "Welcome to Sleep Solutions. How can I help you today?"
"We need a bed." I gesture at my pack. "Big enough for five people."
The salesman, David’s eyes dart between all of us. Count once. Count again. His face goes red. "Five. People."
"Yes,” I say flatly. "In one bed."
David adjusts his glasses. Swallows. Adjusts them again. "Ma'am, the largest bed we carry is a California King. That's 72 by 84 inches. For five adults, you'd need something custom."
"Right. Custom. Can you do that?" Nacho asks.
David taps his calculator like it might save him. "We can special order, but the lead time is six to eight weeks, and the cost would be roughly twelve thousand dollars."
Stacey chokes on her coffee. "Twelve thousand? For a mattress?"
"For a custom mattress built to unusual specifications, yes."
Sergio leans against a display bed, arms crossed. "We'll figure something out."
I turn to face him. "How?"
I'm not sure why, but I have visions of Sergio going back and restraining Pedro, and locking Carlos in the closet at night.
But then we'd still be able to hear Carlos through the door.
He doesn't snore every night, but when he does, let's just say I've seriously considered checking if he's summoning ancient gods or just breathing.
David loosens his tie. "Let me see if my manager has any suggestions."
He escapes toward the back office like a man fleeing a natural disaster.
Stacey drops onto the nearest mattress, her hot pink coat spread around her. "This is the best shopping trip I've ever been on. That guy's having an existential crisis and we haven't even discussed thread counts yet."
Harmony speaks quietly. "Poor guy." She's examining price tags, but her hands are shaking slightly. Her scent is wrong. Too sharp. Too sour.
I cross to her. "You okay?"
"Just warm." But she's pale under the fluorescent lights. "These stores always run hot."
"We can leave."
"No, I'm fine." Harmony steadies herself against a display. "Just need some air maybe."
Pedro appears at her other side, doctor instincts kicking in. "When did you take your suppressants?"
"This morning."
"And yesterday?" Pedro asks.
Harmony meets his eyes. "Yesterday morning. I know. I should have doubled up. Being around this many alphas, the scent saturation, it's harder than I thought."
Pedro says it gently. "You need to leave. Soon. Not trying to rush you out, but your body's struggling."
"I know." Harmony's voice is small. "I'm sorry. I wanted to stay longer."
"Don't apologize." I hug her carefully. Her scent is wildness and worry, chamomile turned acrid. "You drove six hours to be here. That's more than enough."
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out.
Mom: Flight cancelled. Weather in Guadalajara. Earliest I can get out is next week. I'm so sorry, sweetheart.
I stare at the text. Mom was coming to visit next week. Ever since I told her about the pack's proposal during my heat, she's been asking when we're going to make it official. "Soon," I kept saying. "When the timing feels right."
Sergio reads my expression. "Everything okay?"
"Mom's flight is cancelled. Weather."
"When was she coming?"
I look at him. At Pedro. At Carlos examining mattresses across the store. At Nacho watching us with those dark, steady eyes. "Next week. She wanted to be here when we bonded."
The word hangs in the air.
Bonding.
We agreed to it weeks ago, during my heat. But we've been waiting. For what? The perfect moment? The right time? My mother's visit?
Stacey sits up from the mattress, watching us with interest. "You don't need to wait for her. I mean, if you wanted to just do it. Bond. Whenever."
Carlos crosses back to us. "Just do the permanent, life-altering, magical bonding ritual. Casually. Like ordering pizza."
The words surprise me, but they feel right. "Why not? We already agreed to this. Why are we still waiting?"
Pedro starts. "Your mom..”
I show them the text. "Can't make it. And honestly? This is about us. Not about witnesses or ceremonies or perfect timing. Just us."
Sergio crosses the store and cups my face in his hands. "You're sure?"
"Stop asking me if I'm sure."
He kisses me. Slow and deliberate. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright.
"Tonight then."
I agree. “Sure.”
Harmony's voice cuts through the moment. "Wait. I can't be there."
We all turn to look at her.