“I’ll frame the statement carefully,” Luca says, shifting into planning mode, and god, he reminds me of Oliver. “Wilson’s advocacy for the Omegas inside Hearthstone, his position within the care program, and his efforts to support residents who were being failed by the system. No specifics about the bite removal. No details that would open a legal door. Just the truth about who Wilson was in that building and what he did for the people inside it.”
“I’m sure you have a family attorney that can review the language before it goes out,” I suggest.
“Funny enough my Gamma is our lawyer,” Luca adds, a wry edge curling his voice.
Gamma?I’ve only met a few Gammas in my life, a near perfect combination of Alpha and Beta genetics but I don’t press. That’s not my place. I hold the phone to my ear as Luca says, “MyAlpha moves fast when he’s decided something matters. And Nicholas?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Tell Wilson I said thank you. I’ve been trying to tell him for two years through Christmas cards and he keeps not calling me back. Tell him his name comes up in our house every time my little boys do something new, because every milestone they hit is a milestone that exists because Wilson gave me a phone number on a piece of paper.”
“I’ll tell him.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean.
“Good. And Nicholas, one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Wilson showed me his scar because he wanted me to know someone else had survived what I was going through. He could’ve just given me the number and walked away. He didn’t. He stood in a bathroom, pulled down his collar, and let me see the worst thing that had ever happened to him because he thought it would help me believe I could get through mine.” Luca’s voice drops. “That’s who Wilson is. That’s who you’re fighting for. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
He hangs up, leaving me even more determined than I was before to protect the new life I’ve built here. I head back to the guest bedroom, chuckling at the sight of Wilson all but swaddled in nest bedding, Oliver wrapped around him like a koala.
Oliver looks up at me and grins. “Scones please. No, no, get cinnamon rolls.”
I snort, “Oliver, Will’s going to eat them all.”
“Exactly, so get two boxes. Today is about making this Beta smile again. Oh and coffee.”
I just shake my head. “I’ll get the rolls but I’m not getting coffee. I might be your Alpha but I’m terrified of your Beta and he would have my head if knew I fed you that.” A grumble follows me as I slip on my shoes and text Lorenzo.
Going out for breakfast food. Need anything?
Lorenzo: Don’t get Oliver coffee.
I laugh.Noted. He already asked and I already told him no.
26
Oliver
Wilson's collar has been high all week. I track it the way I track everything about him now, the same way I track the weather or the stock levels behind the bar or the precise moment Lorenzo’s patience shifts from infinite to finite.
Wilson’s collar is a barometer. When things are good, when the nightmares stay away and Nicholas’ scent is thick enough in the guest room to keep the dark at bay, the collar sits where a collar sits. Normal. Unremarkable. When things are bad, the fabric climbs. His hand goes to it more often, pressing, adjusting, and pulling it tighter against the scar like we haven’t all seen it.
Well, I haven’t. Not up close.
This week the collar is a fortress.
The article did what it was designed to do. Not the legal damage, because Nicholas’ attorney dismantled the sourcingwithin forty-eight hours and the publication is backpedaling into corrections that will run by Friday.
The real damage is the one you can’t file a motion against. Wilson heard his name spoken next to Hearthstone by a stranger in the club he’s been pouring his life into, and the sound of it rearranged something in his posture that hasn’t fully come back.
He works the floor with the same efficiency but he’s started cataloging the exits again. His gaze lingers on the front door for an extra beat every time it opens. His hand drifts to his collar six, seven, eight times an hour and I’m counting because counting is the only thing keeping me from crossing the floor and pulling his hand away from his own neck and replacing it with my mouth.
And while I’m trying not to spiral out here, Lorenzo is on the phone in the office. He’s been on the phone for most of the day, his voice a low murmur, his posture carrying the rigid economy of a man managing multiple fronts simultaneously. Nicholas is across town in a meeting with his attorney, reviewing the statement draft that Luca Keller’s mate sent over this morning.
Everything is falling into place and yet… I can’t stop watching my Beta fall apart one inch at a time.
Lorenzo pressed his mouth against my ear this morning while Wilson showered. "Oliver, he needs to come through this part on his own. You can't carry him through every crisis. He has to know that he can stand in the middle of something terrible and not collapse."
