“Oliver and I have been taking care of him. He’s sleeping in our apartment. He eats when we feed him. He lets Oliver hold him after the nightmares, and he lets me touch the back of his neck when he needs to come back to himself.” Lorenzo’s gaze holds mine. “He’s starting to trust that he’s allowed to wantthings. If you crack that open before he’s ready, you won’t just lose him, you’ll undo everything he’s built in the last few weeks.”
I nod. “I understand.”
“I need you to more than understand.” Lorenzo leans forward again, placing his forearms on the table. “I need you to hear me when I tell you that being an Alpha won’t save you from me if you hurt him. I don’t care about designation. I don’t care about your money or your attorneys or the fact that you could break me in half.” His voice drops. “If you damage what we’re building with Wilson, I will take you apart. And I will be precise about it.”
His words hang in the air between us. I meet his dark, steady gaze. There’s no posturing. He’s stating a fact the way he states the club’s operating costs.
“I hear you.” My voice stays low. “Lorenzo, I’ve spent five years hating that I share a last name with the man who hurt Wilson. I’ve spent five years carrying the guilt of every night I was in that bed and didn’t see what was happening or didn’t let myself see it.” My shoulders fall in defeat. “I’m not Sebastian. I will never be Sebastian. And if I start becoming him, I’d want you to stop me.”
He studies me for a long moment, searching my face, testing my words against what he sees. Then something in his expression resolves. “Wilson doesn’t know any of this.” Lorenzo straightens in his chair. “What you’ve told me stays in this room until he’s ready to hear it from you.”
“Agreed.”
“And the money. The investment stays clean. I don’t care what your feelings are. The club’s finances are separate from whatever happens between you and Wilson.”
“That’s how I built the offer. No strings. No conditions.”
He nods, then extends his hand across the salvaged door. We hold the handshake a beat longer than business demands.
“Oliver is going to be insufferable about this,” Lorenzo says, a faint edge of warmth creeping into his voice. “He’s beenplanning your integration into the pack since the night you had drinks with us.”
“He’s not subtle.”
“My Omega’s never been subtle. It’s one of his better qualities.” He releases my hand. “Thursday, we have another meeting with the county clerk about the code violation. I’d like you there.”
“I’ll be there.”
The office door opens and Oliver's face appears in the gap with glitter catching the hallway light, two coffee cups balanced in one hand. "Are you done with your secret Alpha-Beta bonding ritual? Because Wilson is stress-organizing the stockroom again and I need backup."
Lorenzo stands and buttons his jacket with deliberate fingers. "We're done."
Oliver studies us both, his gaze moving between our faces with an accuracy I find unsettling. His mouth curves slowly upward as he thrusts the coffees through the doorway. "Good. Because I promised Wilson a cinnamon roll and somebody needs to go get it." His eyes find mine, pinning me in place. "Nicholas. You know the place on Fifth and Maple?"
My chest tightens as memories flood back. The coffee shop where Wilson froze on the sidewalk, unable to cross the street. The window table where I watched him walk away into the rain. "I know it," I say, my voice lower than intended.
"They have the best cinnamon rolls. Wilson won't admit he likes them but he ate three the last time Lorenzo brought them home." Oliver grins, teeth flashing white. Little fucker is lying through his teeth, kind of. He’s the one who’s in love with the sugar but somehow got Wilson hooked on them as well. "Grab a box on your way in Thursday?"
The weight in my chest transforms into something warmer, something that pulses beneath my ribs with each heartbeat. Ireach out and take the coffee Oliver offers, feeling the heat seep into my palm. "I can do that."
16
Wilson
He brought cinnamon rolls again. The box is sitting on the bar when I come downstairs, white cardboard with a grease stain spreading across the bottom, the smell of sugar and butter cutting through last night’s lemon cleaner. Third time this week. He doesn’t announce them. Doesn’t wait for a thank you. Just leaves them on the bar before his shift and lets Oliver demolish half the box before I even get there.
I eat two standing at the counter while pretending to read the day’s schedule. Oliver catches me licking frosting off my thumb and grins so wide it fills his entire face.
“Shut up,” I say.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face is saying it.”
“My face is just happy, Wilson. It does that sometimes. You should try it.”
The third cinnamon roll gets wrapped in a napkin and shoved into my jacket pocket for later. Oliver tracks the motion with the satisfaction of a man who’s just won something he’s too smart to name.
Nicholas is everywhere now. At meetings with Lorenzo. On the club floor during his security shifts. Some mornings, he’s back at the bar with Lorenzo, going over legal filings while Oliver pours coffee into mugs labeled in paint pen. Oliver’s says Angel Face. Lorenzo’s says Boss. Mine says Grumpy. Nicholas’s is still blank. Oliver’s waiting for the right word.
