I nod and take the phone in my hand, holding it near my face. “Jensen. It’s me. It… It wasn’t Branson’s fault. I asked him to bite me. It was my doing, not his.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath and a pregnant pause before a gust of air comes rushing at me down the line.
“Well. Con-fucking-gratulations, I guess. I hope you’re both really happy.”
25
Lucien
It’sbeenhourssincethe call, and I’ve sent Jensen dozens of messages, but he’s left me on read.
It was stupid of me to think he’d be all right with this. I don’t think there’s a person alive who’d love it if their brother messed around with their ex, much less knotted them to within an inch of their lives and mated them on top of all that. Of course he’s upset. He must be furious, and it’s completely my fault.
Maybe I should have asked Branson to invite him over instead of telling him on the phone. Maybe it would have been better to break this news to him in person.
Dammit!Why can’t I stop messing things up?
I hate that I’ve hurt Jensen. He’s one of my closest friends, and I know him well, better than most people. I know he loves his brothers, but the relationship is a little complicated from his side. He has a chip on his shoulder,though he tries hard to hide it. Sometimes he finds it hard to be the only omega sibling sandwiched between an older and younger alpha brother. Even though his parents have never shown any signs of favoritism, he’s always put a lot of pressure on himself to be like his brothers—to be as successful as Branson, and as funny and charming as Wilder.
My mating with Branson probably feels like confirmation to him that he isn’t good enough.
Oh. I feel awful.
No wonder he’s taking this badly.
I text him again.
Lucien: I’m so sorry.
Lucien: I didn’t mean to hurt you. Neither of us did.
Two blue arrows appear next to my message and three dots flicker as he types a message back.
Jensen: Do you regret it? Just tell me that.
It’s a simple question. A fair and reasonable question for someone in his position to ask.
Before replying, I look up at Branson. We’re in the living room. I’m sitting on the sofa, and he’s at the desk in front of the window. His chest and face are bathed in dappled sunlight. He’s within arm’s reach of me, but I can feel the space between us. In the space, in the void, there’s something more. A thick, silky cord that binds us.
Lucien: It’s been a shock.
Lucien: It’s not what I expected, or even what I thought I wanted from my life. You know that.
Beside me, Branson sees something on his screen that amuses him, or makes him happy, and a series of little lines appear at the corners of his eyes. The sun hits his face, bouncing off his cheekbones and his teeth. The cord between us fills with warmth, and I realize there are similar lines etched into my face.
I’m smiling because Branson is smiling.
I’m happy because he’s happy.
I’m smiling because he’s here. Because he’s my mate.
Lucien: But I don’t regret it.
It’s not an easy reply to type or send to a friend whom my actions have hurt, but it’s the truth, and Jensen deserves that.
He takes several long minutes to reply. My heart pounds in hope the whole time. Eventually, a message pops up.
Jensen: That’s something, at least.
