It’s the only thing I can manage. A lifeline thrown into the storm.
She doesn’t respond at first, just keeps her eyes on the ground, her breath ragged. I hate having to see her like this, that this is what her family has done to her yet again. But I’m here now, and I’m not letting her disappear back into their mess.
“Lo,” I repeat, this time a little louder, my hand reaching out to gently touch her shoulder. “What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”
She flinches, just barely, but I don’t let it stop me. I move in front of her, blocking her view of the world around her, of all the crap she’s trying to escape.
Her eyes snap up to mine, raw and red-rimmed, and I can see the disbelief in them. She’s not sure she’s seeing me at all, or maybe she’s wondering if this is another joke life’s playing on her.
“It was awful, Hayes. Mom and Dad… they’re still just miserable people. Why did I even do this?”
She leans her head against my chest as she sobs. I wish I’d been there, I wish I could have helped her, I wish I could have doneanything…
But I’m here now.
“Come on, Lo. Let’s get you home.”
I’ll have to get back to my duties at some point, but right now the only thing that matters is my Omega. I can’t leave her alone, not like this.
Never like this.
I guide her away from the café, one arm firm around her shoulders, steering her through the side streets so no one can watch her fall apart. She doesn’t resist, just leans against me, every shaky step tugging at something deep in my chest.
The whole way to the truck, I keep murmuring little things. Nonsense, really.I’ve got you. You’re okay. Just a few more steps. Anything to fill the silence that feels too sharp against her ragged breaths.
When I open the passenger door, she climbs in without a word. She’s trembling—not from the cold, but from something deeper. I can smell it before I even get behind the wheel.
Normally, her scent is soft brown sugar with that peach bright note underneath, sweet enough that I’ve lost track of time more than once when she’s near. But now it’s sharper, hotter, the edges fraying, singed with boiling sugar.
I think her suppressants are failing.
Shit.
By the time I start the engine, I can already feel the heat thrumming faintly through the cab, teasing at the edges of my self-control. I grip the steering wheel tighter, forcing my gaze forward. This isn’t about me. This is about her.
“Lo,” I say gently, not looking at her yet. “Your scent’s… different. You feeling okay?”
She swallows hard, her cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window. “It’s nothing. Just… just stress. Suppressants always get weird when I’m upset.”
“Okay,” I murmur, easing us onto the road, though I’m not sure I completely believe her. “We’ll get you home. Rest, water. I’ll stay until you’re steady again.”
Her eyes flick toward me, red and swollen from crying, but still sharp. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” I chance a glance at her, and the sight of her wrecked but still trying to be strong almost undoes me. “But I want to.”
She doesn’t argue after that. Just curls tighter into herself, one hand pressed to her stomach, trying to hold everything in.
By the time we get home, her scent is filling the cab. I feel so much sympathy for her. The suppressants are barely working—it’s like a dam with cracks running all through it.
Getting her through the front door feels like a small victory. I guide her inside, kick it shut behind us, and steer her toward the couch. She’s pale, eyes unfocused, clinging to my sleeve because it’s the only thing tethering her upright.
“Sit,” I murmur, easing her down. “I’ll get water, then you can…”
The words die on my tongue.
Because right then, her scent breaks.
It doesn’t build gently—it shocks through the room, molten and undeniable, a surge of honeyed, fever-sweet pheromones. I drown in her as I breathe her in.
