Liam scratches the back of his neck and squints a little. “It was kind of an adjustment when we first moved in, actually. We’re all amped up after a game, especially a win, and when games end late,you’re up for hours. But then he has to get on the ice or fly out early, and I might have an early meeting, or Pierce will have a 6 a.m. client at the gym. And you can’t work out hard and not rest properly. It leads to injuries. And if he has back-to-back games…”
Liam finally takes a breath after his epic ramble and finds Ash just blinking at him. He goes beet red. My god, Liam is nervous.
“Babe,” she says, leaning toward him and putting her hand to her chest. “I’m an omega. You don’t have to work that hard to convince me to take a nap.”
“Come on. Liam has a meeting,” Beckett says to Ash, jerking his head toward the hall before turning that way. As he passes me, he hooks a finger in my belt loop, tugging me along as he carries Ash to his bedroom.
I’m a little too stunned to do anything but follow along.
The room is almost pitch black. He has blackout curtains and lamps on all the surfaces, only one of which is lit right now. Beckett sets Ash gently on the edge of the bed, then kneels to remove her shoes.
Ash has her hands clamped tight to her chest, unsure of what is going to happen next. I’m right there with her.
“Move,” Beckett groans and gives me a shove. “You too, Ash, scoot back.” He kicks off his shoes and crawls to the right side. Ash apparently didn’t move fast enough, so he picks her up gently and nestles her in the center of the bed.
And then he spends way too long fussing. He roughs up the pillows, pulls a fuzzy blanket over us and manhandles Ash like a giant teddy bear, until she’s spooned against him, all cuddled up. Beckett reaches over and ruffles my hair before tucking his arm around Ash.
Her sigh sounds like a purr as he nuzzles into her and almost immediately his breathing goes all soft and even.
“He really is a professional napper,” I whisper. Beckett and Ash both snort.
Within minutes, Beckett’s soft snoring is this soothing vibration that just begs for you to close your eyes. Ash lies still beside him, her eyes wide open, fixed on me across the narrow space that separates us.
Neither of us speaks, careful not to wake Beckett. In the dim light, Ash’s face seems younger, more vulnerable. I can almost see traces of Lynn there.
Slowly, giving her time to pull away, I reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face. I don’t really know how to treat her. She’s Beckett’s girlfriend. Sort of. I haven’t really spent any time with her.
But we’re scent matches.
In my entire life, I have spent exactly zero minutes pondering what a scent match would be like for me. All I know about it comes from books and movies and porn. They all show this insatiable ‘get on my knot right now’ insta-lust. Yeah, that’s there. The protectiveness, sure. The possessiveness, duh. But this feeling twisting my gut, where all I want to do is lay in her lap and hear her tell me I did good… That’s unexpected, and I don’t know what to do about it.
After a moment, she lifts her hand and cups my cheek, her thumb brushing across my stubbled jaw in a gesture so tender it makes my throat tighten.
I close my hand around hers and draw it to my chest, pressing her palm against my heart. We watch each other in silence, a thousand unspoken words passing between us. Her eyes begin to drift closed, then open again, as if she’s fighting sleep.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, barely audible over Beckett’s steady breathing. “Omegas need naps too.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll go when she falls asleep. I watch as her breathing evens out, as the tension gradually leaves her body, and she drifts into sleep.
Chapter fifty-four
LIAM
Nashvilleisrubbingoffon me because the scent of chicken and waffles hitting me in the face as I walk into the Little Red Hen is like heaven on earth.
The only thing that smells better is Ash when she’s wrapped up in Beckett’s hoodie.
The breakfast rush is over, the lunch crowd not yet arrived, which should give us enough privacy. Estelle spots me immediately, nods her head toward the corner booth, and gestures to the coffee cups she’s setting on a tray.
Marilyn, the Scorpions' PR guru, and Chantel, Beckett’s agent, must have just gotten here too. They’re still pulling off their coats. It’s almost April, so Nashville isn’t nasty hot yet.
I weave between empty tables. This place has got that “neighborhood institution” vibe. Sparkling clean, a little rundown, butnot quite vintage or retro yet. Estelle gets to the table just about the same time as me.
Marilyn glances up with her warm yet professional smile. “Liam. Good to see you.” She shifts her designer purse to make room, wedging it between her and Chantel.
“Jesus, Liam. You look like hell. You may have to come to terms with the fact that you have now reached the age where you can’t pull all-nighters.”
“Yeah, nice to see you too, Chantel.” I grin, sliding into the booth. Estelle doles out coffee and slides in next to me. “Estelle,” I nod toward her as a way of introduction, “friend of the pack.”
