“I knew he would,” Kit reminds me. “We were never going to go without you. So, eat, take your pills, and join me in a sexy morning shower before we spend our day with other anime nerds like ourselves.”
I let out a snort, the amusement keeping my emotions at bay. “10-4, little whore.”
Kit cackles loudly. “Thatis one of my favorite ones you’ve ever come up with.”
“It rhymed!” I say in defense.
“It did,” he agrees. “But it’s also true. I’myourlittle whore, you better remember that.”
The smile that comes to my face is easy, and he salutes me before leaving the room. When I find myself alone once again, my pill caddy feels heavy in my hand. I open it and use the orange juice that Kit provided to swallow the pill that regulates my hormones.
By muscle memory, I pick up the blocker to take it, but stop abruptly before it enters my mouth. It feels so dense in my palm, and I find myself staring at it like it’s suddenly my worst enemy. I made the choice to start suppressing my scent all those months ago, but now all that’s keeping it away is this tiny daily dose. It does feel so scary as I observe it, willing it to disappear.
Something about this moment feels significant as I hold the small pill. It’s the only thing keeping me from being who I really am around these men. Without any more doses, there would no longer be a wall to hide behind. So, without another thought, I put the blocker back in its spot and close the lid.
I’m ready to go offmy blockers.
I confessed to Rory many weeks ago that I was going to stop taking them, but never actually found the courage to do so. Now, as the caddy snaps back into place, I feel powerful in my skin. There’s no telling when my scent will come back, which is a bit daunting, but the fact that I will soon smell my own lychee scent again has me sighing with relief.
I can’t keep this to myself any longer. I like all of them too much to keep lying to them, no matter how frightening the truth feels. A part of me knew this would happen. Maybe that’s why I agreed to move in with them in the first place. It was always meant to force my hand and push me to do what needed to be done.
There’s no future without them, so it’s time for me to stop creating distance. And as I dig into the amazing breakfast that Kit made for me, I realize that I don’t want to run anymore. I want them to pull me in.
“I can’t believewe’re doing this!” I say, squealing at the sight of everything. It is so colorful and full of life, the excitement and jolliness vibrating in the air. I look around and take it all in: cosplayers dressed up for the costume contest, amazing original drawings in artists’ alley, and a video game tournament in the corner. I am ecstatic in every possible way.
My hand squeezes Kit’s as we walk away from yet another vendor who sold incredible art. I’m so tempted to buy everything I can, but my pockets don’t agree. My omega keeps me centered as we navigate through the crowded space, his face just as bright as mine.
“I really wanted that painting of Scooby-Doo,” he pouts jokingly, flashing a smile a moment later as we move through the packed crowd. I lose my footing and fall into someone, whoimmediately growls. I let out a whine before Thatcher is there, sending his dominance back to the alpha who tried to intimidate me. They walk away, and Thatcher puts his hand on my lower back to guide me forward once more.
“Thank you,” I say to him, but I’m not sure if he hears me over all the noise. He grunts in response, but doesn’t move away. He takes my hand in his, interlocking them in a way that sends flips through my stomach. His hand is a little clammy, probably from the nervousness of actually going through with the motion, but it feels big and secure in mine. I clutch it tighter, letting a small smile free as he leads me through the space, becoming a steady presence for me to follow.
When we take a moment to head to the lobby to eat, Thatcher disappears. And believe me, in a place full of nerds, the stoic alpha stands out at six foot four with his hockey build. Sam only shrugs, seemingly unbothered about the disappearance of his friend, then he gives me a lingering kiss that I feel all the way to my toes.
“There he is,” Kit says as Thatcher finally emerges, his usual grouchy expression etched on his face. I laugh a bit as I watch the crowd disperse for him due to his naturally standoffish aura. He doesn’t notice in the slightest, but when he sees us, his face sparks into the kindest smile, and he makes his way over to us without a hint of leftover grumpiness.
“Where have you been?” I ask playfully.
His cheeks flush as he pulls his hands up, showing the bags he’s carrying.
“What is that?” Kit asks, his brows furrowed.
“Some… stuff,” our alpha replies. He puts it down and pulls out a blanket, the faces all over it matching the characters fromAttack on Titan. He hands it to Kit. “I got you some of the stuffyou wanted.”
My heart skips a beat as I watch Kit take the blanket, his jaw dropped. The blanket in question was something we saw earlier today. It took a long time for us to convince Kit to walk away when he definitively said he couldn’t afford it. It was handcrafted, crocheted to perfection, and probably took the vendor weeks to design and complete. I told him that I would try to make him a knock-off, but his sadness at having to let it go still lingered for a few booths before he decided to move on. Now, seeing it in his possession, I can’t help but grin at the alpha’s kindness.
“You bought this for me?!” Kit screeches.
“You wanted it, so I got it,” he confirms, his hand going to Kit’s for a momentary touch. The omega has other plans, though, and jumps into Thatcher’s arms to give him a huge hug, followed by a million kisses all over his face as a solid show of gratitude. They both laugh as they separate, and Kit instantly puts the blanket around his shoulders.
“And, for Opal…” Thatcher pulls out a ceramic mug with the characters of Studio Ghibli hand-painted all over it. I recognize it instantly and gasp.
“Thatcher, what!” I touch it gently, feeling tears prick behind my eyes. “You didn’t.”
“I did. And these”—he points to the other bag—“are the things Sam told me to get.”
He pulls out art piece after art piece that Kit and I both wanted but couldn’t afford, and we both turn to look at Sam with surprise. The alpha in question is shooting daggers at Thatcher, apprehending him silently. “I told you to pretend they were from you.”
“Well, I thought they should know that our prime is a big softie,” he defends with a laugh.
