A wounded, desperate sound escapes my throat as I clutch my chest, wondering if I deserve this. Vincent tried so hard to make me believe I wasn’t a good enough Omega and I almost fell for it. Sometimes, I still think that way and right now, every vile word showing up on the screen makes me wonder…
I drag in a breath that gets caught in my throat, the room starting to spin around as my stomach flips.
He's coming. He's going to find me. He's going to hurt me. The thoughts loop in my head, getting louder and louder until the voices in my head are screaming that I’m not safe here.
"Hey sis, it's me, Dylan. I'm coming in."
The voice cuts through the panic as I look up, tears streaming down my face, though I don't remember starting to cry. The main light flips on and I flinch but don't look away from the doorway where Dylan appears, his expression shifting from calm to alarmed the moment he sees me.
He crosses the room in three long strides and drops to his knees at the edge of my nest. His hand reaches out, and I realize I'm still gripping my phone with white knuckles. He gently pries it from my fingers, waiting until I fully let go to retrieve it. "He's not here," Dylan says firmly. He sets my phone face down on the floor, out of sight. "Everything in the house is locked. I checked twice. And no one is on the street. Maddox is double-checking the windows right now, okay? You're safe."
But I can't breathe. My chest is heaving, shallow gasps that aren't bringing in enough air, my hands numb, tingling with pins and needles. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize this for what it is. A real panic attack. Not my first, won't be my last.
Dylan doesn't touch me without permission or crowd into my space. Instead, he sits back on his heels just outside my nest and starts humming.
The sound is low and soothing, a melody I recognize from childhood. Some old lullaby Mom used to sing when we couldn't sleep, when the world felt too big and scary. Dylan's voice is deeper than hers was, rougher, too, but the tune is the same.
I focus on it, letting the familiar melody cut through the panic. Dylan keeps humming, and slowly, gradually, my breathing starts to even out. The black spots in my vision recede. The tingling in my hands fades. I can feel my body again and the soft blankets of my nest beneath me.
When he sees I'm calming down, Dylan stops humming and gives me a small, gentle smile. "There’s my little sister," he purrs."I'll go grab some of those snickerdoodle muffins from the diner and bring them back. Maybe some ice cream?"
The mundane normalcy of the suggestion nearly makes me laugh. Or maybe cry. I can't quite tell. My emotions are too raw and too close to the surface. "You're tired," I manage to get out, my voice hoarse and thick from crying. "You should sleep. You have PT in the morning."
Dylan laughs, shaking his head. "Do you not remember how often I took care of you growing up? It was never a chore then, and it's definitely not now."
When our parents died, Dylan had been twenty-two, barely an adult himself. I'd been fifteen, lost and grieving and terrified. He could have handed me off to relatives, could have let the state take me. But he didn't. He'd fought for custody, rearranged his entire life, and put his own plans on hold to raise his little sister.
He'd been there for every nightmare, every breakdown, every hard day. Patient and steady and endlessly loving. And here he is again, years later, doing the same thing. Because that's who Dylan is. That's who he's always been.
"Vincent isn't going to get to you, okay?" Dylan says, his voice dropping lower. There's steel beneath the gentleness of his tone, a promise and a threat all wrapped together. "I won't let him. We won't let him."
I nod because I don't trust my voice not to break if I try to speak.
"I'll get you a new number tomorrow morning, alright?" Dylan continues. "And maybe I can find you something to occupy more of your time now that the school year is ending for summer break."
The reminder that my assistant position at the elementary school is about to go on hiatus makes my stomach clench with new anxiety. The kids will be gone for three months. Three months with nothing to do, nowhere to be, and no reason toleave the house. Three months of sitting in this nest, jumping at every sound, and drowning in my own fear.
I let out a heavy sigh and nod again. "Okay."
From somewhere else in the house, I hear Maddox call out, "I'm coming in!"
I look toward the door, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. My cheeks are sticky with dried tears, my eyes swollen and sore. I must look like an absolute mess.
Maddox appears in the doorway, and Dylan immediately leans up toward him. They meet in the middle, sharing a sweet, brief kiss that speaks of years of partnership and understanding. Something warm and achy blooms in my chest at the sight of them, at the casual intimacy of the gesture.
When they pull apart, Dylan gestures toward me. "I'm going to go grab some sweets. Be back in fifteen, maybe thirty if the owner decides to stop and talk to me."
Maddox grins, already moving toward my nest. "So, I get to stay here with my sister-in-law, surrounded by comfy pillows? Say less."
My lips curve into a small smile. Maddox has been calling me his sister-in-law or even just his sister since the first night I arrived, even though he and Dylan aren't legally married yet. I secretly love it.
Dylan stands and stretches, his back cracking before he gives me one more look, checking to make sure I'm really okay, and then heads toward the door.
"Can you..." I start, then stop, suddenly feeling foolish.
Both of them turn to look at me, patiently waiting for me to finish that question.
"Can you guys sleep in here tonight?" The words come out small, just above a whisper. "Both of you?"
