Chapter 28
Saint
I pull into the driveway earlier than usual, the engine ticking quietly as I shut the Jeep off. The appointment with Dr. Alvarez went better than expected. She twisted my arm into positions that I’m not convinced shoulders should go, studied the scans, then leaned back in her chair.
Cleared for full duty.
Starting next week, I’m back on the regular rotation. Twenty-four hours on shift, forty-eight off. The same schedule I ran before the injury. Which means I’ll be spending a lot more time at the house. With Lark.
I've been waiting for this for months. Now it's here and I don't know what to do with it.
My alpha is thrilled. Me, not so much.
I stay in the Jeep longer than I should, forearms braced on the steering wheel. A massive work truck is parked crooked in front of the garage, preventing me from pulling into my normal spot.
Carol’s Glass and Mirrors is painted across the side in bold red letters. I squint at it for a second. What the hell does Lark need with custom mirrors?
I ease the Jeep forward and pull to the side of the drive, letting my two passenger side tires edge onto the lawn so whoever owns the monstrosity can get out later.
When I step inside, Silas is standing in the kitchen with two bottles of water in one hand.
I jerk my thumb toward the driveway. “What’s up with the mirrors and glass truck?”
Silas glances toward the window like he’d forgotten it was there. “Something for the nest. Lark’s been secretive about it. I’ve been trying to sneak waters into the workers, but she won’t let me see anything.”
My alpha roars to life. “She has men up there? In her nest?”
Silas growls at the suggestion. “Fuck no. It’s a mixed crew of omega and beta women.”
That knowledge appeases my alpha, if only just a little. But his interest is piqued at the idea of something happening in the nest.
What is she doing? Is it a surprise for us?
I roll my eyes internally. This asshole goes days on end without speaking to me, and then when he does it’s only ever about Lark.
I shut him down quick, though. What the hell an omega needs with custom mirrors or glass in a nest is beyond me.
But if it keeps her busy upstairs and out of my space, I’m not complaining.
Lark being upstairs keeps her scent mostly contained to the third floor and leaves me in relative peace down here. Because even her diluted scent drifting through the house crawls through my skin.
Caramel. Warm. Sweet. It’s a fucking tracking beacon.
It’s different now. Muddled with Graham’s chocolate and hazelnut. Her scent clings to Silas’s whiskey and honey too, though his doesn’t seem to linger on her quite as strongly.
The mixing of their scents should make this easier. Dull the edge. Make the pull toward her less potent. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes it worse. Because now she doesn't just smell like her. She smells like them. She smells like pack.
My alpha’s out of his mind with it.
Silas studies me for a moment before taking a drink. “Don’t forget,” he says. “You’ve got your date with our omega tonight.”
I go still.
Shit.
I open the fridge and look at the neatly ordered shelves.
“What do you have planned?”
I stare into the fridge like the answer might be hiding behind the milk. Nothing. I’ve got absolutely nothing. Not for lack of trying.
Baseball game? No chance. We’d be packed shoulder to shoulder in those seats.
A hike? Worse. Just the two of us alone on some deserted trail.
Mini golf? Absolutely not. I’d have to stand there watching her bend over that little putter with those tight jeans hugging her ass.
Yeah, no.
I've been through about a thousand options and rejected every single one. Turns out the problem isn't finding a date idea. The problem is that I want to take her on all of them. And I also don’t.
“You have a date prepared, don’t you?” Silas’s voice drops a notch.
I shut the refrigerator door and turn slowly. A growl rumbles up my chest before I can choke it down. “Of course.”
He twists the cap off one of his water bottles and hands it to me. I take it, leaning back against the counter.
He watches me for a second before speaking. “What’s going on with you?”
“I’m standing in the kitchen drinking water,” I say.
Silas doesn’t even blink. “I know this year’s been hard,” he says evenly. “You lost your mom. Then the injury.”
My jaw tightens.
“But I don’t understand how you can walk away from your mate,” he continues. “Your scent match. The omega who was literally made for you.”
I take a drink, mostly to avoid having to answer.
“What’s really bothering you?” he asks. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. Because it’s not.” His voice isn’t sharp. It’s worse than that. It’s calm.
“Maybe I’m just not ready to deal with all this,” I mutter.
Silas studies me like he’s deciding whether that’s a lie or not. “Do you need help?”
The words hit a nerve. Help? Like a counselor?
Fuck that.
The last thing I need is some shrink making me lie on a couch while they wait for me to cry about things no one can fix.
No one can fix that my mom died.
No one can fix the way my shoulder exploded trying to hold three alphas back from running into a burning car where their omega was trapped.
No one can fix the fact that every dollar I saved for my coffee business went to paying my mom’s medical bills.
What good would talking about any of it do? It’s done. Can’t be changed.
Silas sighs and scrubs a hand down his beard. “I love you,” he says. “Graham does too. Lark would… if you’d ever let her get to know you.”
The words make me blink.
“You’re pack. When you hurt, I hurt.” He shrugs a shoulder like he’s annoyed with himself for saying it.
I stare at him. Silas has never once in seven years said anything like that to me. Which means things are worse than I thought. Or better.
I can't tell which.
“But I can’t help you with this,” he adds. “I don’t know how. Other than to support you.” His gaze flicks upstairs for half a second. “And to remind you not to let what’s in front of you slip away.”
I know exactly who he means.
Lark.
Silas pushes away from the counter. “And seriously,” he says, opening the fridge and grabbing two more water bottles, “consider finding someone to talk to.”
I scoff.
He pauses then turns to look at me fully again. “When Lucy was first diagnosed,” he says quietly, “I was frantic. Having someone listen helped.”
Then he walks out of the kitchen. Just fucking leaves me standing there holding a bottle of water. Staring after him. Silas, who I’ve never once seen ask for help. With anything.
What the hell? Did Silas go to therapy?
Turns out I didn’t need to plan a date tonight anyway.
Lark, Silas, and I are all in the kitchen when the door to the garage flies open and Graham bursts into the house. My hand goes immediately to the counter. Then I see his face.
“We did it!” he announces, a giant smile plastered across his face. “We mapped the scent sequence for omegas!”
Lark’s head snaps up from the laptop on the counter. She’d been scribbling notes while reading something on the screen, but the second the words leave his mouth she jumps off the stool.
“Ohmygod,” she screams before launching herself at him. One second she’s across the room, the next her legs are wrapped around Graham’s waist like a damn koala. A purr erupts from his chest, so loud it’s almost embarrassing. Or impressive. I’m not sure which.
Her caramel scent spikes, sweet and warm. I look away. It’s too damned much.
Silas sets down the knife he’s been using to chop onions and wipes his hands on a towel. “So what does that mean?”
Graham walks farther into the kitchen with Lark still clinging to him. She’s smiling like he just won the damned Nobel Prize. When he reaches the counter he shifts her easily and sits her up on it so she’s straddling his hips. She stays right there. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“It means,” Graham says, pushing his glasses up his nose, “we finally have a framework. Now we need data. If we track enough scent-matches and scent-sensitive packs, we should be able to correlate the results and apply them to others.”
Silas leans back against the counter, arms crossed. “Spell it out for me, Graham.”
“It means he can predict matches between omegas and alphas,” Lark says, eyes bright.
And that’s a fucking gut punch. Because she gets him. It’s not just scent for them. She knows him. Understands his research. She’s perfect for him. She translated a complex research framework in about four seconds and made it sound obvious. Graham's eyes go soft looking at her. He knows it too.
For reasons I refuse to examine, watching them understand each other hurts more than watching them touch.
“Not perfectly yet, but eventually. We’ll need as many scent-sensitive packs and scent-matches as possible to build the dataset. There’s still a lot of work ahead, but this is the part that makes sense to me. It’s how I was trained to research.”
He glances around the room. “Obviously, I’ll want us to be part of the dataset. It’s not easy to find scent-matches. We need every data point we can get.”
Lark nods immediately. “Of course.”
Silas grins. “You already know I’m in.”
All three of them look at me.
I wait one beat longer than necessary. “Yeah. Fine.”
That’s enough for Graham. He beams like a kid on Christmas morning. It’s annoyingly hard to stay unmoved by his enthusiasm.
Lark claps her hands once. “We need to celebrate! This is a big day!”
“Let’s go out,” I say before anyone can throw out another idea. “Pack dinner.”
Silas raises an eyebrow. “What about your date?” He knows. Of course, he knows. But he lets it go.
I glance at Lark. “You won’t mind, right?” I say. “I mean… it’s not every day Graham has a scientific breakthrough.”
Something like disappointment flickers across her face. It punches me in the ribs. Then it’s gone.
“Absolutely,” she says brightly. “My giant is one step closer to helping omegas and alphas all over the world.”
I watch her face. She means every word. That’s the thing I’ve figured out about her. She says what she means.
“Let’s celebrate,” I say.