“Okay. Noon. I’ll be there.”
“Nicholas.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
I can almost see his surprised grin through the line. He laughs, a small sound, like my words caught him off guard. “You don’thave to thank me for agreeing to see you, Wilson. You’ll never have to thank me for that.”
The call ends and I drop my phone onto the counter as the screen fades to black. I’m not sure exactly what I just agreed to or how much this is going to fuck me up mentally come noon, but this is for the two people in my life I owe something to. I can get past my own feelings.
A soft shuffle from the hallway steals my attention, Oliver wrapped in the weighted blanket from his nest, trailing it like a ragged cape. His hair shoots every which way, the Omega padding across the kitchen and plopping himself onto my lap.
An unexpected chuckle bursts out of me, vibrating through my chest in a way it hasn’t in so long it sounds foreign to my own ears. Oliver burrows closer, nose tucked under my chin, the blanket pooling around us on the stool.
“Where are you going?” he mumbles, words muffled against my neck.
I stroke a hand through his curls. “Why would you think I’m going anywhere?”
He squints one blue eye open, hair falling across his forehead. “You’re dressed. You showered. You smell like Lorenzo’s soap instead of yours. And you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
He exhales softly. “The one right before you do something that scares you and you’ve already decided you’re doing it.”
I brush his hair back. It’s softer than it looks, just like always, and he leans into my hand. “There’s something I have to take care of. I won’t be long.”
He settles deeper into me. “Cryptic. Bring me a cinnamon roll.”
I grip the edge of the stool. “How do you know where I’m going?”
“I don’t. I really like cinnamon rolls but Lorenzo says I eat too much sugar. So, you buy me one. Please. And thank you.” He presses a kiss to my cheek before hopping off my lap and rushing back into the bedroom.
No doubt he heard the tail end of my conversation and somehow picked up on who might have been on the other line. This is the second time he’s picked up something I wasn’t ready to share and didn’t force me to say anything. I have no idea what I did to deserve these men while I’m about to go ask another one for money I also don’t deserve.
By the time I get outside, my mind is pure chaos, thoughts filtering in and out of how bad an idea this was. No matter my motivation, seeing Nicholas after these past few years, after everything, after not calling or reaching out… this is going to be a tragedy.
I shove my hands in my pockets and settle into a steady stride for the first six blocks but by the seventh, the memories start.
The sensation of being in their space, together. Both Alphas using me and pleasuring.
Nicholas behind me, his chest against my back, his mouth finding the space between my shoulder blades while Sebastian watches from the chair by the window with his legs crossed.
Nicholas’s hands are gentle on my hips, his knot swelling slowly inside of me, his breath uneven against my skin.
It was the only time in that apartment I felt like the body I was living in was worth inhabiting. Looking back, I should have known that Sebastian was never who I wanted but I was so caught up, that it never even occurred to me.
And then Sebastian put his foot down.
“Nicholas is a guest in our bed. He is not your Alpha.” Everything got worse after that.
A shudder tears through me as I try to push those emotions back down, reminding myself I’m just here for money, not to reminisce and definitely not to wonderwhat if.
I finally make it to the street just across from the café on the corner, my heart in my throat and my nerves on edge. I can just see through the windows, a few people at small tables, the barista pulling shots, the pastry case, and the cute chalkboard menu.
Nicholas is at a table by the glass, his glasses sitting low on his nose as he checks his phone. There’s no mistaking the Alpha, the easy suave aura he always carried around still there. Even from here, I can catch the black ink trailing down his forearm where his sleeves are rolled. He’s early. He told me he’d be early and he is, because Nicholas has never once in his life been late for me.
He looks up and scans the street, no doubt searching for me. When he glances toward the sidewalk, his mouth curves in that same small smile I can picture perfectly even from across the road.
