Finally, his voice rumbles low above me. “Hayes is stuck in a meeting with his father right now, and Ford’s on a job. But I’ll message them both. I’ll let them know what’s happening.”
My pulse kicks faster. “No. Don’t… don’t pull them away. I don’t want to?—”
“Lo.” His tone cuts through the spiral, steady and unyielding. “You’re more important than whatever else they’re doing. They’ll want to know. Stop fighting us.”
I can’t argue with that, not really. But the knot in my chest won’t untangle.
I press my forehead to his chest, whispering, “What if he’s out there right now? Watching?”
Beck’s hand slides up my spine, soothing a wild animal. “Then let him watch me take you inside the station. Let him see you’re not alone. He can glare from the shadows all he wants, but if he gets close,” Beck’s mouth brushes my temple, his words rough and final, “he won’t make it past me.”
My knees nearly buckle at that, the sheer weight of his promise. He senses it, tightening his hold until I feel steadied again.
“Stay with me here,” he says, gentler this time. “The station’s secure. Cameras, locks, people coming in and out. Safer than anywhere else in this town.”
I pull back enough to see his face, the firehouse behind him, the engine gleaming red. It should feel ridiculous, hiding in a fire station like some runaway kid, but the way he’s looking at me makes it feel safe.
“Beck…”
“Don’t argue.” He presses his forehead to mine, a rare, aching softness in his eyes. “Let me keep you safe, Lo. Let me be the Alpha you deserve.”
Something in me unclenches. The last lock on the door to my soul finally gives way. I nod. Tiny. Barely there. But enough.
Beck exhales slowly. Then he takes my hand and tugs me toward the open bay doors. “Come on, Trouble. I’ll get you set up somewhere.”
And for the first time since my phone lit up with Dylan’s words, I believe I might actually be safe.
Beck hauls me tighter against his side as we walk into the station, and for a second, I swear I could just… disappear into his body and let the whole world burn down. Preferably with Dylan in it. His scent is everywhere, cedar and bourbon mixed with the smoke of his job and something heavier, like I’m wrapped in a fireproof blanket that also happens to have biceps.
“Breathe, Lo. I’ve got you.”
Easy for him to say. My lungs are staging a rebellion. My pulse is trying to beat itself to death against my ribs. And somewhere in the middle of all that panic, my brain has decided to short-circuit over how good he smells.
Fantastic. Really helpful.
I tilt my face up because he forces me to, because Beck isn’t exactly the type you say no to when he’s in firefighter protector mode. His eyes are storming. Dark, and dangerous, and locked on me like I’m the only thing that matters.
And then he kisses me.
Not the kind of kiss that steals your clothes. Not even the kind that steals your breath. This one just… settles. Gentle. Careful. Like he’s afraid I’ll break apart if he pushes too hard. It’s the softest kiss he’s ever given me, and it caves my knees. His arms sweep around me, holding me against him.
And it’s ridiculous, honestly, because my whole body is still vibrating apart at the seams. But this kiss, just that press of his mouth to mine, tugs me back together.
When he finally pulls away, our foreheads rest together. “I’ve got you, Trouble. Always.”
And damn it. Against every wall I’ve ever put up for myself, I believe him.
The scared, stubborn Omega inside of me that knows nothing but running is finally starting to believe all of them.
CHAPTER 36
Hayes
My father’s office always smells of stale cigar smoke and self-importance. Heavy. Suffocating. The walls are lined with all his speeches that went on too long and did absolutely nothing. You breathe it in and instantly feel smaller.
The oxygen’s already been claimed by generations of Whitlock-approved monologues, the air thick enough to chew. That grandfather clock in the corner ticks, counting down to my execution, and the leather chairs groans when I shift.
My collar feels too tight, my tie is nothing but a noose, and suddenly I’m sixteen again. Sitting here after practice, sweat still clinging to my hair while he dismantles me one choice at a time.
