“She’s getting better. Slowly. We’re taking her to our show in Buffalo at the end of the week. Thought we might stay for the weekend and take her out to do something fun. Get away from all the shit still going on here.”
After Omen’s apartment was nearly broken into, she moved in with their pack. Partly because they can protect her, but also to help relieve the symptoms of her rejection. The DAU thought placing her there would hide her from her asshole brother, who suddenly targeted her after she took down their father’s cult. Unfortunately, threats against her have continued to show up at the Graves’ house.
“Good plan,” I tell Nebula. “Maybe we’ll get a stronger lead on Benjamin and Jacqueline Montgomery’s locations during that time.”
He hums his agreement, but neither of us is truly hopeful. The two of them have evaded every federal agency for over a month now. It’s unlikely they will slip up now.
“What can you tell me about Emmanuel Alfaro?” I ask, jumping to the original reason for our call.
“Manny? He’s our producer at the label. Why?”
I hadn’t realized he was a music producer. That means they’ve worked closely with him, and their opinions have a stronger foundation. Perfect. “He’s signed up for Heat Helpers.”
“And Foster wants him to help with his heat. I have nothing bad to say about him. He’s a great dude. Very chill, professional. I know little about him outside of work, but I’ve met his sistersonce or twice when they came to visit. Family is important to him, as are bonds. If you’re asking for my opinion on whether he’d be a good fit for the two of you, my answer is yes.”
“Thanks, man. Foster’s heat is soon, so we’ll be out of touch, but I’ll leave his phone with Hannah. So Omen can reach her if she needs to talk.”
We end the call, and I open the Heat Helper app to send a message to Manny, requesting his help. He responds rather quickly, agreeing to the terms Foster set. He’s willing to take part sexually, which means my mate won’t have to take a low-dose suppressant.
The heat suite is booked, a heat helper is set up, and Donovan has a DAU agent ready to cover the apartment while we’re gone. All that’s left is choosing a heat gift, and stocking up on supplies.
I’m scrolling through online boutique stores when the bedroom door opens. A frazzled Foster stumbles in and crawls onto the bed to collapse on top of me. “Our Beta has gone crazy,” he murmurs into my shirt. Threading my hands through his hair, I tug until he groans and looks up at me. “She’s torn all the bedding and pillows out of the guest and living rooms, and she’s washing them.”
“She’s nesting.” Confusion pulls his lips into a frown, so I explain. “Not the same nesting you do. She’s pregnancy nesting. It’s the period before a baby comes that the mother feels a deep-seated urge to clean and rearrange their space to make sure everything is ready.”
“So this is normal? Wait, how do you even know about that?”
I’m surprised he didn’t know, having worked at the hospital for so long, but I guess he didn’t frequently work with late-term pregnancies. “I’ve been reading.”
He grins, an amused look filling his aquamarine eyes. “You’re so gone for her.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Of course, I am. So fucking gone it’s unreal!” He rolls over and flops onto his back, hand behind his head. “How can we help her?”
Closing my laptop, I set it on the nightstand and lean over to flick my tongue across his nipple. He groans, hips jumping from the attention. Pressing wet kisses up his chest and throat, I bump my nose against his and smile. “Let’s go build a crib.”
“Tease!” he hollers, throwing a pillow at my back when I crawl away and leave him panting and turned on in the bed. I smirk over my shoulder as I pause in the doorway, hands gripping the top of the frame. This position stretches all the muscles in my shoulders and arms. It’s one I know has him biting his knuckles.
“Come on, Omega. Our Beta needs us.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Mijo,when are you coming home next?”
Shifting my shoulder to hold my phone against my ear, I fumble with my keys as I try to unlock my apartment. Bags of groceries overload my arms, so of course, this is the moment my mamá called. Her timing is as immaculate as ever.
“I don’t know, Mamá. As soon as I have time.”
Her sigh fills my heart with guilt, but I quickly brush it off. It’s not that I avoid going home. I’m there every other week, at least. Weekly, if work and the weather allow for it. This week she planned to set me up with her friend’s daughter, but a last-minute heat-helping gig canceled my plans to drive down to their house. She’s determined that I find love. My approaching forty has made her even more persistent than usual.
Do I want one or more partners to share my life with? Yes.
Is the woman she’s set me up with likely to be the one? No.
Many of mamá’s friends have children close to my age. I’ve met several of them. The few who have taken an interest in me were only using me to get closer to the bands I work with. Why settle for a Beta music producer when they could hook up with rock stars?
“Es de cariño, Emmanuel.”
