Lincoln’s got the green light. He earned it. He’s trying, really trying, in ways I’ve never seen him try for anyone.
And if she picks him? Good. He deserves an omega who actually gives a damn.
Still… a thought worms its way in before I can crush it.
I want to see her again. Not to steal her. Not to compete. Just… to see her, to see if this obsession can turn into something real. I mean, we have been trying to get Lincoln to join our pack. So what if Bayleigh is our omega?
Maybe it isn’t jealousy I’m feeling? Maybe it’s longing? Or wanting?
But how the hell do you do such a thing without being creepy?
I can’t text her, I can’t “accidentally” run into her, and I can’t ask Lincoln to invite me along like some third-wheel puppy.
So I sit here, chewing the inside of my cheek like it’s gum, watching the ceiling fan spin slow circles.
There has to be a normal reason. Something that doesn’t make me look like I’m stalking my best friend’s maybe-girl.
Maybe I could check in about the charity event paperwork, or I could “thank her” for helping at the rink, or hell, I don’t know. Every option sounds worse than the last.
I drop my head back against the couch, groaning.
“Get your shit together,” I tell myself.
But all I see is the way she looked up at me that day, like she was seeing something good in me I haven’t shown anyone in a long time.
And the worst part?
I want her to look at me like that again.
Just once more.
Korbin
I’m sprawled on my bed, back against the headboard, an ice pack melting over my busted knuckles. Water drips down my wrist onto the sheet, but I don’t move it. The ache feels good. Earned.
Every punch from earlier replays behind my eyes—the crack of his nose under my fist, the way Bayleigh’s breath hitched when I ripped him away from her. And the way something inside me snapped clean in two.
I keep telling myself I just did what anyone would do. But that’s bullshit, and I know it. My alpha didn’t see “anyone.” It sawher. Small, frightened, and cornered. And it wasn’t obligation that shoved me forward. It wasn’t even rivalry. It felt personal.
I curse under my breath and press the ice harder into my knuckles, letting the cold bite.
She said yes to going on a date with my brother.
A hot, sharp twist coils low in my stomach. Not anger—not at her, anyway. Just this stupid, unfamiliar feeling I don’t have a damn name for. Lincoln gets the yes. Lincoln gets the date. Lincoln gets to try.
Good.
That’s good.
So why the hell does my chest feel tight?
My phone buzzes a few seconds later.
Milton: You good?
Me: Fine. Just still pissed about that guy.
It’s mostly true. My blood still heats thinking about that asshole putting his hands on her.
