All she does is nod into the crook of my arm. I think I hear her inhale the smallest amount against my skin, but then her breathing evens out, and she’s out like a light.
My body releases its tension now that it knows her pain has been stalled by sleep. The realization isn’t as unwelcome as I would have thought, but then again, I am an alpha. I have had moments of extreme distress over Kit being upset or hurt, so it seems to be in our biology. We crave the well-being of the omegas around us, especially our friends.
At least, that’s what I choose to believe for the time being, no matter how good she feels in my arms or how much she soothes my alpha without even trying. Because at the end of the day, I have to remember the truth.
She’s not going to be here forever, and my pack already has an omega.
TWENTY-ONE
The room feels dark and warm as I start to come to. There’s a heavy weight over me, like I somehow found the strength to get out my weighted blanket from under the bed before I had fallen into a fever-like sleep. I groan and snuggle into the weight. The grogginess weighs heavily on my body, and I fidget under the blanket to let my sore bones move in relief, when my elbow hits something. Hard.
There’s a deep holler, and pain shoots down my arm. “Oh my god,” I mumble, cradling my throbbing elbow. “Who’s there?”
“You elbowed me in the face,” someone grunts beside me.
That’s when I realize that the weight that’s grounding me can move, and I suddenly remember everything from before my nap with a startled yelp. I sit up, my cheeks flushing a deep red as I reach over to turn on the lamp. When the room illuminates, my eyes are a bit blurry from the small headache still present, but I turn to find Thatcher holding his hand over his eye.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” I whisper-yell at him and cringe at the fact that I forgot he was here. My body tenses at thememory of how he crawled under my blanket without any protest and gave me comfort when asked. I put my head in my hands in embarrassment. “Oh my gosh, Thatcher.”
He’s still holding his eye, but then he starts to laugh. “The first time I cuddle someone in years, and I get hit in the face.” The sarcasm is said so quietly, I think he meant to keep it to himself, but then he pulls his hand away and looks at me, his gaze full of amusement. At some point, his shirt came off, and I dart my gaze away from the bulging muscles lining his chest.
I shouldn’t admire him. If I do, I won’t be able to stop because he’s so huge. I’ve already wondered what he has beneath his boring T-shirts and… Yep, I knew his pecs were going to be the size of my head, that’s just fabulous. My body curses me for my curiosity with a sharp spasm in my stomach. If I weren’t on blockers, my room would smell like an explosion of flowers and fruit by now.
“Let me check you,” Thatcher says, and I’m not sure what he means by it until his hand goes to my forehead. “You still have a fever. Are your cramps still bothering you, too?”
I don’t trust my voice, so I just give a meek nod.
“Okay,” he says, getting up and leaving the room abruptly. I stare after him, his back muscles burning in my mind as I blink repeatedly at the door. When he comes back, he’s carrying something large and beige. “A heating pad,” he says after accurately interpreting the confusion on my face. He puts it on my stomach, one of his fingers brushing my side slightly before turning it on. “I’m going to make you some soup so we can get your fever to go down.”
When he leaves, I’m still staring blankly at the door, trying to figure out how I got myself into this mess.
Thankfully, he hasn’t asked any more questions since I told him not to, which I think is respectable. He could force me to tell him the truth about why I was being so weird about thepain meds, but he’s not. He’s just staying by my side, helping me in any way he can think of.
I wish I were strong enough to ask him to leave, but I’m not. I’ve been taking care of myself during my flare-ups the entire time I’ve been diagnosed, and it’sniceto finally have help rather than worry or struggle to make sure I’m safe. It’s scary how much I’m enjoying this, but I can’t bring myself to push him away. For the first time in months, my omega is sated and resting in my chest. I can’t risk that because I am afraid of my feelings.
When Thatcher comes back in, he’s carrying a folding tray that’s covered with things. I spot a bowl of orange-looking soup with cream and garnishes, and a cup of something smoldering. The presentation of it alone does something to my insides.
“Wow… you really didn’t have to do this,” I start, but then quickly add on, “Thank you, Thatcher.”
He just grunts, but this one is a little bit happier than his past grumbles, so I let it go. He turns on the TV without saying another word and starts to go through the options.
“This is the streaming service you watch your anime on, right?” He points at the television with the remote. “It sounds like some kind of sushi.”
I huff out an involuntary laugh. “Yeah, that’s the right one.”
He puts on one of my favorite shows, which he must remember from the time we hung out on Valentine’s Day. That fact by itself is enough to make my stomach twist, but then I taste the soup and barely contain the moan that wants to escape. It’s so warm and comforting, like nothing I’ve ever had before.
“Did this really come from a can? What is this?”
He lets out a tiny chuckle. “No. I do meal prepping most weekends to help me get through the week. I had somebutternut squash soup leftover. I know it’s a little weird. I can make you a normal tomato if that’s what you prefer.”
“No, this is fine.”Fine?This ismorethan fine. This isexquisite. It feels like a chilly day outside, and you’re in fluffy socks beside a firepit, warming your hands with the warmest cup of hot cocoa. It is by far the best soup I’ve ever eaten.
I don’t say that, though. I just gobble down as much as I can as we sit there in complete silence, letting the warmth settle in my belly as the cramps subside from the heating pad. Everything about this moment is stamping itself on my psyche, making me feel things that I’d rather not feel in the slightest.
Finally, I can’t handle the intimate quiet between us. It’s so loud, sitting on my skin with something that feels too close to affection, so I say, “Can I ask you a question?”
He looks at me with a tickled expression. “Sure, what’s up?”
