“Oh my god, it’s the end of the world.” I scrunch my nose. “He has discovered self-help podcasts.”
I flip through the book. There seem to be a ton of exercises for creative projects. I did not enjoy our two therapy sessions. But if I can draw my way through it?
“Alright, well, we’ll start a book club when Beckett’s on the road, but we gotta pack his bags.” Liam hefts a stack of books and walks them to the living room coffee table.
“So,” I say, attempting to redirect the conversation before Pierce can assign us homework. “The game tomorrow is at six?”
“Seven,” Beckett corrects. “There’s a time zone change.”
I nod, trying to commit the schedule to memory. Maybe Pierce can get me a book on hockey basics. Grasping the rules of the game is one thing; life as a pro athlete is way different.
“The schedule is extra crazy because it’s the playoffs.”
“I’m going to have to figure out how to fit the games around my work schedule. But Estelle is really flexible about that.”
Liam slams a book on the counter and we all freeze.
“No omega of mine is working in a fucking diner,” he says, voice tight.
No omega of mine.
Mine.
I am unsure how I’m supposed to be feeling right now. Scared at the outburst? Concerned? Offended? Turned on?
Liam blinks, like he’s just as surprised by his outburst as we are. His neck flushes red. He pushes off the counter, and turns to leave the kitchen.
Pierce is there in an instant, blocking his path. “Nope. We’re not doing that anymore.” He wags a finger in Liam’s face. “If we’re committing to therapy, you stay and talk.”
“Pierce,” Liam warns, his voice low.
“Don’t ‘Pierce’ me. What did we just say about storming out?” He points to the books. “Communicating through conflict, remember?”
For a moment, I think Liam might actually shove past him. But then his shoulders drop slightly, and he turns back and plants himself in the kitchen.
“I apologize for my tone,” he says stiffly. “That came out… wrong.”
“You think?” Beckett mutters.
Liam shoots him a look before running a hand through his hair. He starts pacing, three steps one way, three steps back. They all do that. Pace back and forth. I wonder if it’s an alpha thing.
“I don’t… It’s not that I think omegas can’t work. Or shouldn’t. It’s not about that.” He stops, struggling for words. “It’s not about controlling you.”
“Then what is it about?” I ask quietly.
His eyes finally meet mine, and something raw flashes across his face.
“My mother was an omega,” he says. “I’m not sure you ever actually met her. Our pack was… wasn’t good. Poor. Struggling. She worked three jobs. Cleaning houses during the day, office buildings at night, weekend shifts at a laundromat. She’d come home with her hands cracked and bleeding from chemicals.”
He pauses and locks eyes with me.
“I’ve always wanted an omega. Someone to take care of. I swore if I found someone, she’d never lift a finger. She’d have everything, anything she wanted.”
“Papa used to…” All my alphas stiffen. I think it’s the first time I’ve said his name. “Sorry.”
“Pierce probably has a book for that,” Liam says with a sad, crooked smile. “This isn’t about him. This is about the life I want to create for you. With you.”
I want to hurdle the counter and jump into his arms and make him kiss me so hard I forget all of it.
