Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Spencer
Mia's apartment is in a nice building downtown, but small enough that I fear every step Freddie takes might echo through the whole apartment. My omega needed a little space to gather her thoughts; she doesn't need to be fretting about Freddie touching every single item she owns.
"Freddie," I warn with a low growl, watching him pick up a framed photo from the bookshelf in the corner. He angles the frame toward the lamp and appraises the image with deep concentration.
After a moment, he looks over his shoulder with wide-eyed innocence. I've known him for too many years now for that look to work on me. "I'm not doing anything,"
"You're doing exactly what I told you not to do."
When I was younger, I never would have guessed my pack would someday include such an unruly beta. Now, I can't imagine life without him. He keeps Zak and me from being too serious all the time. But damn, I wish he would settle down sometimes. Mia might not appreciate him fondling all of her things.
He sets the frame down with exaggerated care–on a completely different shelf than it was sitting on before.
"Why don't you come sit on the couch?" Zak suggests, patting the empty space between us.
Freddie ignores the suggestion, already reaching for a ceramic pumpkin on another shelf. The paint job of the pumpkin is a little messy, with orange creeping up into the area that should be a greenish-brown like the rest of the stem.
"Freddie." I don't like him touching all of these handmade things in her apartment, knowing he's bound to drop something at some point. He's not especially clumsy, but his excitement level can sometimes get the best of him.
"What?" He groans, annoyed that I'm continuing to interrupt him. "I'm just appreciating our omega's taste."
"You're not supposed to be handling her belongings." I set that rule immediately after Mia invited us to go back to her apartment with her. She could have asked to go home alone, and we would have had no choice but to respect that request.
He better not do anything to get us kicked out. Our ability to complete our pack feels tenuous now that Mia has so thoroughly rejected our home.
"I have clean hands." Freddie puts down the pumpkin so he can show me his palms, as if the potential for his hands to be dirty is the problem here.
There's no point in trying to explain again to him that the point is to be respectful. Freddie only respects rules when they align with his personal interests. Sometimes that's a charming part of his personality. Sometimes it makes me want to strangle him a little.
Right now, his personal interest is investigating every inch of Mia's apartment.
He lifts the lid off a glass jar and sniffs. "A sangria candle. Sweet, confident, and a little flirty. Just like Mia." He hums approvingly and takes another deep inhale.
"Put it down," I snap at him, my voice deepening with the command of an alpha.
Freddie releases a long sigh, completely put out by me, but he won't reject a command from the head of his pack.
He carefully places the candle back in its place and stomps his way over to the couch.
The couch groans in protest as he flops down in between Zak and me, sprawling out and dramatically flinging an arm back.
"Fine. I won't touch anything else in the National Museum of Mia."
I take a slow, deep breath in through my nose and exhale through my nose.
Without my attention focused on worrying about Freddie, I'm able to spend more time taking stock of Mia's apartment.
It's warm. That's the first word that comes to mind every time I look around. Warm in color, warm in light, and warm in a way that I can't quite explain but that makes me feel like a little bit of Mia has seeped into every detail of the place. The furniture. The walls.
This place tells the story of an omega with eclectic tastes and a heart for trying new things. There's evidence strewn about that she's tried her hand at a hundred different hobbies.
Camera equipment. Calligraphy pens. Knitting needles.
Several sketchpads in all different conditions of use, some looking more well-loved than others.
She seems to enjoy hobbies that involve working with her hands, something that I can relate to as a lifelong athlete.
My parents started putting me in every sport possible as a young boy to help keep my hands busy.
This apartment really feels like an extension of Mia.
Our house doesn't feel like anything.
The realization feels worse than taking a helmet to the ribs.
I thought it was enough that our house has every amenity imaginable and was decorated by an award-winning designer.
Never in a million years did I imagine I would find my omega one day, only to have her think the house, of all things, comes up short.
Freddie, still pouting from the couch, says, "This place is decorated great, but she can obviously redecorate whatever she wants at our place. Why are we hanging out in a one-bedroom apartment?"
"Shh!" Zak hisses instantly, jerking his chin toward the bathroom.
The water is still running, so hopefully Mia can't hear us over the sound of her shower. She headed to the bathroom the moment we got here, telling us she needed to make herself look normal before she could have a conversation about the house situation.
I'm not sure what normal means for her. Freddie and Zak have both made murmurings about hoping she owns normal pants.
I'm curious to see her hair down and brushed, even for just a moment, to get an idea of how long her hair is.
She's beautiful regardless, and our scent-match no matter what.
I just want to know every detail about her, even down to the length of her hair.
But I'll want to spend the rest of my life staring at her, even if she walks back out here with the rat's nest still fixed on top of her head.
"So, I'm not allowed to touch anything or talk?
" Freddie asks with a grunt of frustration.
If there's one thing he really hates, it's feeling like he's being repressed.
We do our best not to make him feel that way, knowing there have been enough people in his life who haven't understood him, and we don't want to add to that.
We have to draw the line at potentially upsetting our omega more than she already is, though.
"You can talk," I tell Freddie gently, "but let's be considerate of our stressed-out omega, and keep the volume more in check."
He opens his mouth, probably to make the situation worse, but I cut in before he can.
"Mia asked for space to take a shower and think. Let's give her that, okay?"
The reminder quiets the room for all of three seconds.
Zak is the one to break the peace this time, cutting his gaze toward me with his mouth set in a thin line of displeasure. "Seriously, though, what are we going to do?"
He doesn't have to clarify the question any more than that. I know exactly what he's asking.
What are we going to do about our mate hating our house? The nest we offered her? We built the house mostly for ourselves, but we thought we also put plenty of consideration into how our omega would someday feel calling the place home.
My jaw tightens.
I don't have an answer.
And that's not a feeling I enjoy. I'm always supposed to be the one who has the answers.
That's why I'm the head of the pack. Hell, that's also why I'm captain of our team.
On the field, I know what to do when things go sideways. I know how to study the field and adjust our plays. At home, I'm supposed to be just as solid. Ready to address problems amongst the pack before they ever have the chance to do real damage.
This?
This problem has blindsided me.
I look around Mia's apartment again, wishing her home could give me the answers I seek.
How do I make this right for her?
The sound of running water ceases, and we all sit up straighter on Mia's couch. There are other sounds of a cabinet opening, objects clanking together, and low mutterings that sound suspiciously like cursing. Her shower is done, but she doesn't return to us right away.
Zak leans over Freddie, puts his hand on my knee, and speaks quietly. "I can't stop thinking about her face when she looked at the nest."
Neither can I.
That look will haunt me for the rest of my life if I don't find a way to make things right for Mia.
"I hate the house."
Those words keep echoing in my mind. Telling me I'm a failure. I struggle not to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders sometimes, which is the whole reason I do therapy twice a month in the first place.
That reminds me to glare at Freddie again. He deserves all the glares for the breach of privacy he admitted to tonight. He's not the least bit fazed by my disappointment, though.
Instead, he looks lost deep in thought. I'm surprised to see him look like he's concentrating for so many consecutive seconds. His attention span usually bounces approximately every fifteen seconds. We're up to at least thirty as I watch him pretend to stroke a nonexistent beard.
"I have an idea," Freddie announces finally, plenty loud enough for Mia to hear him from the bathroom.
Zak and I both shush him at the same time.
He rolls his eyes at us both, completely undeterred.
"The answer is so obvious," he continues.
"It is?" I raise my eyebrows since the answer is not obvious to me.
His pout disappears, and he crosses his arms behind his head with an annoyingly confident smile.
He looks every bit the cat that got the canary, and I just wish he would spit his idea out already so that Zak and I can talk some sense into him before Mia walks out and hears whatever nonsense idea he's come up with.
"Are you going to tell us?" Zak asks, a tinge of annoyance and impatient in his voice.
"Obviously, we're going to move," Freddie says. "Duh."
My jaw drops as I stare at him for a moment before making eye contact with Zak. Freddie has been more in love with the house than any of us since first moving in, and now he's so nonchalantly suggesting we abandon ship and simply... move? He can't possibly be serious.