17. Olive #2
We lock eyes. The air between us hums with the unspoken longing and frustration we keep burying under layers of pride and fear.
His icy eyes dilate, swallowing the color as his chest heaves with a quick breath.
He feels the pull just as intensely as I do.
I can see the raw hunger burning in his gaze, fighting a losing battle against his self-control.
For one breathless second, I think he'll drop the books, cross the room, and pull me into his arms. I want him to. My body hums with anticipation of his weight pressing me down into the couch cushions.
Instead, Victor's jaw clenches so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek. He tears his gaze away from mine. He drops the books back onto the shelf, turns on his heel, and walks out of the room without saying a single word.
He's committing to his boundaries. He's punishing himself, believing he hasn't earned the right to touch me yet. He thinks his past sins make him unworthy of an Omega who fights back.
I sit frozen on the couch, gripping my medical journal so hard my fingers cramp and the pages wrinkle. Frustration boils in my blood, leaving me furious and unsatisfied. I toss the journal onto the coffee table, letting it slide off the edge and hit the rug with a dull thud.
I glare at the empty doorway he just vanished through. "Coward."
Silence fills the room again. I sit on the couch, trying to catch my breath while my body fights my stubborn brain.
Part of me wants to follow him and start an argument, while the other part wants to lock my bedroom door and hide.
My muscles ache from the tension, leaving me stuck in a mess of my own making.
The silence in the living room fries my nerves. I need out. I need a break from the overwhelming luxury of this mansion and the constant reminder of what's missing. The walls feel like they're closing in, reminding me of arguments we haven't finished.
I retreat down the hallway to my bedroom in the east wing.
My perfectly unpacked belongings sit neatly on the shelves and hangers. The walk-in closet holds my scrubs, my casual clothes, and my shoes. Everything is in its exact place.
The stark contrast between my old, independent life and my new, messy reality hits me hard.
Just over a week ago, I was a fiercely independent Beta with a predictable routine and zero complications.
Now, I'm an Omega living in a millionaire athlete's mansion, sharing a bed with multiple men, and losing my mind over an arrogant center who refuses to touch me.
"Fuck this." I pace the length of the hardwood floor near the window. I run my hands through my hair, gripping the strands in frustration.
A soft knock rattles the solid oak door.
Malcolm pushes it open before I can answer. He steps into the room, his towering frame softening as he takes in my agitation. He doesn't rush across the room or crowd my space. He knows better than to trap a frustrated Omega.
He walks over to a sleek armchair near the window, sitting down and resting his forearms on his knees. His long dark braid falls over his chest, catching the afternoon light.
Malcolm watches me. "What's going on in that brilliant head of yours?"
I stop pacing, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. "I'm sick of the tension. I'm sick of the staring. I'm sick of feeling like I'm walking through a minefield in my home."
Malcolm tilts his head, tracking my flushed face with those dark, unblinking eyes. "You mean Victor."
"I mean Victor." My frustration pours out in a bitter wave.
"He acts like a ghost. He lurks in the shadows, he reads self-help books, and he treats me like a bomb he's afraid will detonate.
If he wants to apologize or make things right, he needs to use his words.
I'm tired of guessing and waiting for him to grow a backbone. "
Malcolm sits there, absorbing my anger with quiet patience.
"Victor carries a lot of trauma from his past." Malcolm watches me.
His tone stays devoid of judgment. "He hit rock bottom when you rejected him in the parking lot.
He knows he acted like an asshole. He's punishing himself because he thinks he doesn't deserve you. "
"That's his problem to fix, not mine." The anger in my voice softens a fraction as the truth of his words sinks in. "I have my own problems to deal with."
"It's all of our problem." Malcolm offers a gentle correction.
"A pack isn't whole until all pieces are in place.
We feel the gap just as much as you do. Finn and Lawrence give you comfort, I give you structure, but the pack remains incomplete without Victor stepping up to claim his place beside you. "
I drop my arms, staring down at the carpet. The truth in his words settles in my chest, calming the chaotic thoughts in my brain.
"You have every right to demand the entire pack, Olive." Malcolm locks his dark eyes onto mine with sincerity. "You shouldn't settle for three-quarters of a bond just because one of us is too stubborn or broken to reach out. Take all the time you need. Demand everything you're worth."
He stands up from the armchair, walking slowly toward the door.
"He's fighting his own demons to become a man worthy of you." Malcolm steps out into the hallway and pulls the door shut behind him with a soft click. He leaves the words hanging quietly in the air.
I stand alone in the quiet bedroom. The anger fades, leaving behind a firm resolve. Malcolm didn't hand me an easy answer, but he gave me clarity. I want the whole pack. And if Victor is too stubborn to make the first move, I might just have to force his hand.