"My father texted me last night," I say. "Twice. I didn't respond." I turn the coffee cup between my hands. "He asked if I was okay. He said I've been different lately. Happier. He wants to know why."
Milo's hand moves toward mine on the table, stops halfway, and then pulls back. He's learning. It costs him something, I can see it in the way his fingers curl into his palm, but he's learning.
"It's been me and him since I was twelve." I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice. "Since my mom died, it's just been the two of us. He moved us across the country for this coaching job. He built his entire life around the team and around me, and I'm the only person he has." I swallow. "If I tell him about this, about us, it changes everything. He's not just my father, he's your coach. He can't unknow it. He won’t be able to separate the two."
Quentin leans forward, his forearms on the table. "What do you need?" The question surprises me because I was expecting either or both of them to pry. “Whatever it is, I think we can manage.”
"I need to not think for an hour," I say, my voice a little softer because in moments like this, I usually retreat to my nest, the one I’m not supposed to have. "I don't need to be fixed and I don't need to be challenged. I just need to sit somewhere soft and not have a single thought in my head. Can you do that?"
"Yeah." Milo's voice is rough. "We can do that."
He stands and tentatively offers his hand, waiting for my choice. I appreciate it, letting him guide me back to the bedroom. The sheets are rumpled from earlier but there’s new ones in place of those that he must have thrown in the wash. The gesture is comforting as I climb in first, pulling the top blanket around my shoulders, settling against the pillows with my eyes closed. The tangle of our three scents is still in this room, calming the edge of my nerves.
Milo takes my left side and Quentin takes my right, pressing against my arm. Neither of them speaks. Having both of them here, I let myself relax, the tension in my shoulders releasing bit by bit, my body sinking deeper into the blankets. My hand finds Milo's beneath the covers and his fingers lace through minewithout asking as Quentin places his hand on my stomach, his fingers splaying out.
When I finally speak, my voice sounds different to my own ears. Softer. Like something has loosened that I've been keeping knotted. "My mother used to nest before she died." My eyes are still closed, my head tipped back against the pillows. "She had a nest in the master bedroom. This huge, elaborate thing with about fifteen blankets and these specific pillows she ordered from a catalog. My dad used to tease her about it, said she was building a fort every night." A ghost of a smile crosses my face. "When I was scared or sad or just having a bad day, I'd climb in and she'd pull the blankets over both of us and everything would just stop. The noise, the pressure, all of it. It just stopped."
My thumb traces a slow circle against Milo's palm.
"I started building mine the year I came to Knotlocke. I didn't plan it. I just bought a blanket that reminded me of hers, and then another one, and then the fairy lights, and before I knew it I had a nest in my bedroom that I couldn't tell anyone about." My breath comes out a little unsteady. "Alphas don't nest. That's what everyone says. It's an Omega thing, a biological thing, and I'm supposed to be protecting nests, not building them." I pause. "But it's the closest I get to feeling her. To feeling like she's still here, somewhere, holding the edges of the world together so I don't have to."
Quentin hums as he presses a kiss to my shoulder and then to my cheek. “What happened earlier? Milo said everything was fine.”
I huff out a laugh. “It was perfect and then Chad called from Kevin’s phone. He knows something is going on and threatened to go to my dad. I’m just not ready. I’m trying to be but I...”
Milo scoots closer, fitting himself against the side of my body. “You can be ready whenever you are ready, Iris. We’ll still behere. We’re going to be like a barnacle on your ass. A fly to your shit. A—”
Quentin raises up a little and throws a punch into Milo’s arm. “Shut the fuck up. You’re ruining the moment.”
I burst out laughing, burying my head in Quentin’s neck as Milo curls in closer against my back.
iris
It’sbeentwodayssince I let the Vark twins see a little more of myself and it’s been for the better. I feel lighter, even more so than usual. Keeping the smile on my face contained is more difficult, though, and every time my father jokingly asks who the new guy is, I feel just a little more guilty.
My portfolio bag bounces against my hip as I cut across the frozen grass, taking the shortcut I've used since freshman year, the one that shaves three minutes off the walk and keeps me away from the main paths where people linger.
A hand catches my arm from behind. "Iris. We need to talk."
Chad’s grip isn't hard enough to hurt, but it's firm enough to stop me mid-stride. His fingers wrap around my bicep, the contact sending a jolt of irritation down my spine that I have to physically clamp down on. My Alpha instincts flare up, the primal part of my brain reading the uninvited touch as achallenge, and it takes more effort than it should to keep my expression neutral as I turn to face him.
He's alone. No Kevin trailing behind him, no audience to perform for. That shifts the calculation immediately because Chad without Kevin is a different animal. The smug showmanship is gone, the bicep flexing and the loud declarations stripped away, and what's left underneath is someone who looks like he hasn't slept since our phone call. His sandy hair is less meticulously gelled than usual, his eyes carrying something that's moved past the entitlement I'm used to.
Resentment. The kind that curdles when someone who's never been told no runs out of ways to reframe rejection as a challenge.
"Let go of my arm, Chad."
He drops it, but he doesn't step back. He stays in my space, close enough that his scent hits me, the Alpha equivalent of a dog raising its hackles. "You hung up on me." His voice lower than usual, stripped of the bravado he'd used on the phone. "You threatened me and you hung up on me."
"I told you the truth. You didn't like it. There's a difference."
"You think you're so fucking smart." He takes half a step closer, closing the gap between us until I can see the vein pulsing at his temple. "Little miss bookkeeper with her spreadsheets and her records. You think that scares me?"
"I think you haven't slept in two days, so yes. I think it does."
His nostrils flare. The muscle in his jaw twitches.Fuck, this is personal to him, isn’t it?I challenged him on the phone and his pride hasn't recovered, and he's standing on this frozen walkway trying to get back the upper hand through sheer proximity.
"I've been patient," he says, his voice dropping even lower. "For over a year, I've been patient. I put in the time, I showed up, I made it clear. And you chosethem." The word comes out forced. "A Beta and an Omega. Over me."
