Theo isn’t answering his phone.
I’ve called three times in the last hour, and each time it goes straight to voicemail. Which isn’t like him. Theo always answers. Theo answers calls from telemarketers just to chat with them about their day.
I pull up our group chat and scroll through the messages. Nothing since this morning, when he mentioned repotting seedlings at the greenhouse. That was five hours ago.
“He’s probably just busy.” Nate’s voice comes from the kitchen doorway. He’s leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching me pace.
“For five hours? Without checking his phone once?”
“Some people don’t live with their phones surgically attached to their hands.”
“Theo does.” I run a hand through my hair, pushing my glasses up. “Something’s off. I can feel it.”
Nate sighs. “Or he’s fine and you’re overthinking. Like always.”
I stop pacing and turn to face him. He looks tired. There are shadows under his eyes that weren’t there a week ago, and hisscent is locked down so tight I can barely smell him. Pine and woodsmoke, muted and distant.
He’s been like this since the bar. Since he told Cara he didn’t need her and then spent the rest of the night staring at his bedroom ceiling. I know because I was awake too, listening to him not sleep through the wall.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“No, we don’t.”
“Nate—”
“I said no.” His jaw tightens. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“There’s everything to talk about.” I close the distance between us, stopping just out of arm’s reach. “Cara’s back. She’s here, she’s trying, and you’re?—”
“I’m what?”
“Hiding.”
His eyes flash. “I’m not hiding. I’m being realistic.”
“You’re being a coward.”
The words land like a slap. Nate’s whole body goes rigid, and for a second I think he might actually hit me. We haven’t fought—really fought—since we were teenagers. But the anger rolling off him right now is palpable, sharp enough to cut through even his tightly controlled scent.
“Say that again,” he says quietly.
“You heard me.” I don’t back down. Can’t. Someone has to push him, and Theo’s too gentle to do it. “You’re scared. You’ve been scared since she walked back into town, and instead of dealing with it, you’re pushing her away. Pushing us away.”
“I’m protecting myself.”
“You’re punishing her. And yourself. And the rest of us who have to watch you self-destruct.”
Nate’s hands clench into fists at his sides. “She left, Lucas. She left and she didn’t come back for ten years. What am I supposed to do, just forget that?”
“No. You’re supposed to let her try. Letbothof you try.”
“And if it doesn’t work? If she leaves again?”
“Then we deal with it. Together. Like a pack.”
The word hangs between us. Pack. The thing we’ve been dancing around for a decade. The three of us, living in this house, sharing this life, waiting for the omega who was supposed to complete us.
And now she’s here. And Nate won’t let himself have her.
