Chapter twenty-four #2
Everything’s fine, he said. Like a band-aid slapped over a knife wound. Like saying “fine” can erase “reject.” As if an apology and a closed door can undo the damage.
***
I’m almost asleep when the door bursts open for the second time today.
Miles comes in, hair wild, cheeks pink. “Get up, Stray. Garrett brought takeout.”
“Not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask if you were hungry. You haven’t eaten anything real all day. I know because I was with you. Get up.”
“No.”
He shuts the door, crosses the room, and climbs onto the bed. On top of me. Not all his weight, but enough. His body pressed to mine through the blanket, his face right in front of mine.
“I wasn’t asking,” he says. “Get your ass up and come eat with the rest of us.”
“No.”
He growls. That low omega growl that buzzes through my ribs and makes my omega pay attention.
I try to growl back. Mine’s pathetic. Thin and squeaky, like a kitten trying to scare a dog. Embarrassing.
Miles laughs—a real laugh, loud and bright.
“That’s all you’ve got, Stray? If you’re going to take me on, you’ll have to do better than that.
” He rolls right off me, snatches up the blanket, and yanks it away.
Then he grabs my arm and pulls me up with a strength that shouldn’t catch me off guard anymore, but it does.
I stagger, hair an absolute disaster, still stuck in the leggings and t-shirt I’ve worn all day.
I probably look like a before shot from some makeover show.
“I don’t want to go down there,” I say, meaning every word.
He says, “I know.” Then he’s steering me toward the door, matter-of-fact and relentless. “But you’re going anyway. I’m not gonna let you fade out.”
He herds me down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Everyone’s already at the table, a spread of Chinese food taking up every spare inch.
The smell of sesame oil and soy sauce is everywhere.
My stomach twists in hunger. Garrett’s mid-bite, Cyrus is drinking juice straight from a carton, and Gabriel’s at the head of the table, chopsticks dangling in his hand, looking up when we come in.
“Found the stray,” Miles calls out, giving me a nudge toward the table.
Garrett frowns. “Stop calling her that.”
Miles doesn’t even blink. He sits me down in the empty chair and drops into the one beside me. Then he’s piling food onto my plate: lo mein, orange chicken, fried rice, even a spring roll balanced on top like he’s daring me to say no.
“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” I remind him.
“And I told you I didn’t ask.” He slides the plate closer to me. “You haven’t eaten anything but toast this morning. Try. Just a little.”
Garrett’s watching me, his whole face softening. “Is your stomach upset again?”
I shake my head. “I just don’t feel like eating.”
They all know why but nobody says it out loud. I won’t even look at Gabriel. My shoulders are hunched. I’m folding myself up small, like maybe I can disappear into the chair if I try hard enough. Gabriel knows. His expression is tight, like someone who’s still chewing on the taste of his own words.
Miles nudges the plate again. “Eat.”
So I do. I pick up the fork and eat a bite of lo mein, then another. It’s delicious. Garrett has good taste. My stomach takes it slow, like it’s not sure if I’m going to betray it.
We get through dinner. Miles keeps up a running commentary on the food.
“This orange chicken is a hate crime against actual oranges,” he declares, poking at it with his chopsticks.
“And whoever made this lo mein should be tried in court.” Garrett laughs.
Even Cyrus almost cracks a smile. Miles apparently has strong opinions on Chinese takeout.
Once the containers are cleared away, everyone drifts to the living room. I try to sneak toward the stairs, but Miles catches my arm.
“No.”
“Miles—“
“Sit down.”
He points me at the armchair in the corner and steers me right into it. Then he takes the couch. Garrett puts on a movie. Something about racehorses that I can’t concentrate on anyway. Gabriel takes his spot on the couch. Cyrus drops into the recliner.
Twenty minutes in, Miles has sprawled full-length across the couch, half draped over Gabriel and half tangled with Garrett.
Gabriel has his arm around him, hand resting on Miles’s neck, thumb moving in slow circles over his scent gland.
Garrett’s got a hand on Miles’s thigh, tracing patterns, steady and absent.
Both alphas are purring, a low rumble that sinks into the furniture, the floor, everywhere.
I feel it. Even from across the room, through the armchair and the space between us, I feel it. The vibration sneaks in, faint but real, and my omega wants it like nothing else. Every cell in me strains toward that sound, desperate, hungry, reaching for water in the desert.
I don’t move. I don’t let myself. I hold onto the armrests and pretend to watch the movie, eyes fixed but not seeing.
Instead, I watch them. Gabriel can’t stop finding Miles’s neck, fingers brushing the scent gland over and over, like muscle memory.
Garrett’s thumb moves against Miles’s thigh, a promise of ownership and comfort.
Miles melts between them, limbs loose, face tucked into Gabriel’s chest like he’s never been safer.
That’s what being wanted looks like. Easy. Unquestioned. Constant.
Jeremy. Green eyes, easy laugh, how he handed me an axe and said I was doing fine even when I wasn’t.
I picture his pack—the hammock story, the scorecard, Theo asleep in the truck.
I wonder if Jeremy would hold me like that, sprawled on a couch in the middle of the week, purring without even thinking, hand finding my neck like it belonged there.
The Carrs could be this. Less intense, because of the scent match. But warm. Real. Mine. Like what Miles has with this pack. They aren’t matched, and they’re still this content.
Jeremy’s pack likes me. They sent me paints. They asked real questions, laughed at my jokes, called me wonderful like it was true, not a favor.
The more I think about it, the more I want to go.
Every minute in this house, watching what I can’t have, is a minute I could be somewhere I belong.
These alphas are my scent matches, but I’ll never be able to keep them.
Maybe I could be enough for the Carrs. Maybe I’d get to belong somewhere.
Even if it’s not where I really want to be.
I’m still thinking about it when I realize I’ve been staring—not at the TV, but at the pack. At Miles between his alphas, their hands, the purring, the easy intimacy of people who truly belong to each other.
Cyrus is watching me.
His dark eyes are fixed on my face. He saw everything. The longing, my hunger, how I gripped the armrests to keep from moving closer. He saw me watching his pack like a starving person watches someone else eat.
My face goes hot, so hot my ears burn. I turn away, force my gaze to the TV and the horses I couldn’t describe if my life depended on it.
But I can still feel his eyes on me. Quiet, heavy, seeing everything I’d rather hide.
The movie ends. Credits roll. Miles stretches, catlike, and yawns against Gabriel’s chest.
I’m on my feet before the lights come on. Moving toward the stairs before Miles can stop me, or make me watch another hour of something I may never have.
“Lily—“ Miles calls after me.
“I’m tired. Goodnight.”
I’m up the stairs and in my room with the door closed before anybody can say another word. I lean against it and breathe until the wanting fades enough to think straight.
The purr is still in my bones. I feel it, fading fast, a ghost vibration that lingers even now. My omega is curled tight, furious that I dragged her away from the only thing that helps.
I crawl into bed, pull the covers up, and close my eyes.
Jeremy’s face is there in the dark. Soft eyes, warm smile, the paints he sent because he remembered what I liked.
His pack is kind. They would hold me. They would purr for me.
It wouldn’t be this burning, impossible scent match that’s killing me by inches, but it would be real, and it would be mine.
It’s enough… it has to be enough.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell Gabriel I’m ready.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll pick the Carrs and leave this house and stop watching other people’s happiness through a window I can’t open.
Maybe.
I finally found a pack that wants me.
And I still can’t stop grieving the one that doesn’t.
But tonight I lie in the dark and listen to the distant thrum of Gabriel’s purr through the walls, and my body aches for it even though my mind knows better. I fall asleep wanting something I’m never going to have.
Wanting people who were never going to choose me.