Chapter 23 #2
Her face crumples. She buries it in Drake's shirt. "I don't want to go," she whispers, small for the first time.
"No one's decided anything," Jasper says. "We're in information-gathering mode. That's all."
I don't remind him Arden was very clear about some things being non-negotiable.
I step back from the armchair, back toward the hall.
"Do what you need to do. Talk to him. Make plans."
"Vee," Eli says softly. "Where are you going?"
"Shower. I'm going to Finn's tonight."
It's easier than saying: I'm going back to my chair so I can breathe without all of you watching me.
***
Gym night smells like sweat and cheap deodorant and pre-workout powder instead of smoke and citrus and vanilla.
It's kind of a relief.
Jasper drives, because Ragon decided Eli needed to stay home and rest after a brutal week of shifts. We don't talk much on the way there. The radio hums low, some indie playlist Jasper uses to pretend he's less stressed than he is.
"You know you can say no," Jasper says finally, at a red light. "To the sessions. To the class. To any of this."
"I know."
"You willing to tell me if you want to?"
"Maybe," I say, which is more honest than yes.
He huffs a quiet almost-laugh. "Fair enough."
At the gym, he pulls into the same spot Eli did last time. "I'll be here when you're done. Text me if you want to leave early. Or if anything feels off."
"A dangerous alpha is not hiding in the supply closet. Relax."
His mouth quirks.
Inside, the studio is a different world—polished wood floors, mirrors, windows catching the last of the sunset. Pop music thumps low.
Jess waves me over the second she spots me. "Vee! You came back."
"Of course. I need to redeem myself for trying to salsa with two left feet."
"You were fine," she lies cheerfully. "Noah nearly tripped over his own tailbone."
"Rude," Noah says, bumping her hip.
He beams at me, curly hair damp at his temples. Tonight he smells relaxed, open; his alpha is stationed off to the side like last time, arms crossed, eyes tracking him.
We start warming up. Lunges, hip rolls, steps across the floor. My body still knows how to move.
The actual routine clicks better, too. The counts land where they're supposed to. Jess whoops loudly when I nail a turn.
"Look at you. Our little graceful defective."
"Please don't call me that," I say, half-laughing.
An hour later I'm breathless and weirdly light. The class breaks apart. Noah and Jess flank me as we head toward the benches.
"Hey, I want you to meet someone," Noah says suddenly, tugging at my sleeve.
He steers me toward the broad-shouldered man who's been stationed against the wall like a sentinel.
"Jonah," Noah says, pressing up against his side. "This is Vee—the one I told you about who actually laughs at my corny jokes."
Jonah's mouth curves immediately. "The omega that likes to bake. Hi."
"Hi. You're the long-suffering alpha?"
Jonah's eyes crinkle. "The suffering's worth it for this one." His thumb traces the curve of Noah's cheekbone, and Noah tilts his face into the palm.
Noah elbows him, fond. "He's the muscles, I'm the hormonal mess. It works out."
Jonah dips his head closer, nostrils flaring as he sniffs the air near me. Subtle, not creepy. Habit.
His brows pinch. "Are you a beta? You smell sweet, like an omega, but it's thin. Weak. Like you're on blockers or something. You look like an omega too."
"Jonah," Noah hisses, scandalized. "That's rude."
Heat floods my cheeks.
"No. Not a beta. Just a defective omega."
Noah gapes at me. "Hey. We don't talk about my people like that."
I actually laugh. It bubbles up before I can stop it, surprised and sharp. I clap a hand over my mouth.
Jonah's expression softens immediately. "Hey. Sorry. I didn't mean—"
"It's fine. If I'm making you question your nose, you're not wrong."
He studies me for a second longer, concern flickering. He opens his mouth, then glances over my shoulder and shuts it again.
"Anyway. It's nice to meet you. You killed that bridge step, by the way."
"Thanks. You two are ridiculously in sync. It's cute."
"We practice," Noah says, smug. He bumps his hip into Jonah's again and Jonah automatically steadies him with a hand at his waist, like it's gravity.
The instructor calls something to Jonah about locking up. Jess appears at my elbow.
"I've gotta grab a shower. You hanging after or heading out?"
"Jasper's in the parking lot. If I make him sit alone in a car for an hour he'll convince himself I've run off to join the circus."
Jess snorts. "Next week, then. Same time?"
"Yeah. I'd like that."
She squeezes my arm and disappears. Noah and Jonah gather their things, chattering in low, affectionate bickers.
I watch them without meaning to.
At the lockers, Jonah fusses like some domestic fairy. He digs a hoodie out of his bag and drapes it around Noah's shoulders, smoothing the fabric over his arms. He double-checks Noah's water bottle, frowns when he sees it's nearly empty, and walks to the fountain to refill it without being asked.
When Noah bends to tie his shoe, Jonah automatically shifts to stand between him and the hallway. Not blocking. Just there. A wall. A shield.
Noah doesn't roll his eyes. He leans into it. His body language melts softer whenever Jonah's hands are near. It's not dramatic. It's quiet and constant. The way he looks up at Jonah, all open trust and stupid happy love, makes my chest ache in a place I thought had gone numb.
They move like they've negotiated every inch of this dance and still keep finding new ways to make it sweeter.
I don't realize I've gone still until someone steps up beside me.
Chase's presence hits before his voice does, big and solid.
"Careful," he says, low. "Stare any harder and they'll start charging admission."
I startle, then grin despite myself. "You know them?"
He snorts. "Everyone who spends more than five minutes in this place knows them. They're the unofficial advertisement for 'maybe relationships aren't trash, actually.'" He lifts a hand and Jonah spots him, grins wide, and crosses the room to clap his palm against Chase's in a quick handshake.
"Hey, old man," Jonah says. "You lifting or just creeping on cardio bunnies today?"
"Split squats. And it's called people-watching, thanks."
Jonah rolls his eyes and heads back to Noah, who has managed to get his wrist stuck in his hoodie sleeve. Jonah helps him untangle it, patient, lips brushing Noah's knuckles in a quick kiss when he's done.
Chase watches them with the same fond exasperation I do.
"That," he says quietly, tipping his chin their way, "is what it's supposed to look like."
"Messy hoodie?" I say, because deflection is a sport.
He huffs. "Healthy. Thriving. He knows where his omega is every second without having to keep him on a leash. Noah knows his alpha will move heaven and earth before he lets anything touch him. They each give, they each take. Nobody's starving."
I swallow. "You sound like you've thought about this a lot."
"Occupational hazard. You spend enough time around people who treat omegas like accessories or liabilities, you start cataloguing the ones who don't."
I chew my lip. "How do you know so much about it? You don't have an omega."
His mouth does that crooked half-smile. "I'm still an alpha. We come with instincts. A decent one? Feels that shit down to the bone. You see someone in your care start shrinking, you either change something or you give them somewhere else to go where they'll grow again."
"And the ones who don't change?"
He shrugs, big shoulders rolling. "Not worth their salt. Should've been born a chair if they're gonna just sit there while everything under them breaks."
A laugh huffs out of me, shaky. "That's vivid."
"True, though." He tilts his head, studying me. "How's the home front, little omega?"
I wince at the nickname and he notices, but doesn't comment. "Loud. Confused. They brought in a specialist. My behavior—or lack of now—apparently qualifies for an acronym."
His face darkens. "Yeah. Heard OPA had opinions."
"You know about that?"
Chase's jaw tightens. "I work for the registry.
Your incident file crossed my desk." His eyes soften with something like guilt.
"I shouldn't even be talking to you while I'm involved in the case.
They'd have my hide if they knew. But I can tell you that you can put your trust in Arden.
He's thorough. He won't let this slide."
I think of Arden's steady eyes, his calm voice telling Ragon he'd call in the OPA.
"Yeah. I got that vibe."
Across the room, Noah laughs at something Jonah says. Jonah's hand finds the back of his neck, thumb rubbing absent circles.
Chase follows my gaze again. "You want that. Not necessarily them. That feeling."
I wrap my arms around myself. "I don't know if I remember how to want anything. Not like that."
"Instinct doesn't die. It plays dead. Sometimes for a long time. Doesn't mean it's gone."
"You sound like Arden."
"He's not wrong."
We stand there in the hum of post-class noise, watching two people be soft with each other in a way that doesn't cost anyone else blood.
It feels wrong, how foreign the picture is in my bones.
"Your offer," I say, before I can talk myself out of it. "From the zoo."
He arches a brow. "Which one? I made a few, if I recall. Something about proper alpha treatment, something about a criminally under-guarded neck..."
Despite myself, my mouth twitches. "The pack one. Trying a new one."
His joking ease fades. He straightens, attention sharpening.
"Still stands. Anytime. No pressure. No hard sell. You say the word, I'll bring my alphas by for coffee, you can sniff us, see if we smell like safety or indigestion."
"That's not exactly how it works," I say, but my chest does something stupid at the phrase smell like safety.
"It's a start. I won't lie to you—if you came to us, it'd be work. You'd hate me some days. You'd hate yourself others. Healing's not cute. But you'd never have to wonder if we were on your side."
I watch Noah and Jonah finally head toward the exit, fingers laced. Jonah holds the door open, hand on the small of Noah's back as he passes through.
"That," Chase says again, waving their way, "is what I want for my pack. However that ends up looking. Whoever we end up with." He looks at me. "You deserve that, Vee. Not whatever distributed starvation you've been living on."
I look down at my hands. They're steady, like always now. Too steady.
"I don't know what I deserve. I just know I don't want to bleed for anybody's lesson anymore."
"Good. That's step one."
Jasper texts to check in on me.
"How do packs make two omegas work?" I blurt, thumb still on my phone. "The healthy ones. The ones that don't look like mine."
He doesn't even pause. "They don't shove a new lightning strike into a house with an omega who already carved out home and then demote the one with history.
When it works, it's because both omegas arrive together or they're given equal footing from day one.
Boundaries set in ink. Neutral territory.
Consent at every step. Alphas on the same page. "
"Equal footing," I repeat, tasting it.
"Yeah." His mouth crooks. "When a scent match shows up midstream? The packs that deserve the name hit the brakes. Sometimes they say no to the match. Or they court it slow. They don't make the existing omega shrink to make room. They rearrange the furniture, not the person."
I picture my nest torn up like carpet. "And if they don't?"
"You saw it. You can make anything look stable if you ignore the shake long enough.
Until it cracks." He tips his chin. "What your alphas did might have worked if they'd moved at your pace and stayed unified.
If they'd earned a pass into your space instead of treating your space like the test." He shrugs.
"They did it backwards. You're all paying for it and the price tag's steep.
Might be more than your house can afford. "
Something cold and honest settles low in my stomach.
"Is there a version where it gets better and doesn't feel like chewing glass?"
"There's a version where it gets different. Better happens after enough different that your body stops expecting hurt. That means time. Distance from the thing that set your system on fire. Accountability that isn't just speeches. And a lot of days where you do not let anyone make you the lesson."
My phone buzzes again. Jasper: in the parking lane. hazard lights because I'm dramatic.
"I have to go."
Chase nods once. "Text if you want to smell my people before you decide anything. Or if you just want a gym where nobody calls you defective."
"I called me defective."
"Then stop. I don't hand out many orders, but that's one."
I breathe out a laugh that hurts. "I'll try."
He lifts two fingers in a lazy salute and peels off toward the free weights.
Outside, the night air is cooler. Jasper leans against the car, arms folded, jaw tight.
His eyes flick over my face. "Good class?"
"Yeah," I say, surprising both of us with how easy the word comes.
As we pull away, I glance in the side mirror.
Through the gym's glass doors, I can see Noah and Jonah on the sidewalk, heads bent close, laughing at something only they can hear.
For the first time in a long time, my chest doesn't feel completely empty.
It feels sore.
Like something deep inside has rolled over in its sleep, restless.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.
But awake enough to notice the shape of what it's been missing.