“Speaking as the only alpha that is aware of this mess, can I add my two cents?” Ron says from the doorway. He’s holding a tray with a steaming teapot and several mugs. He sets it down on the coffee table, then looks at me pointedly. “You’re being an idiot.”
“Ron!” Shelby snaps, slapping him on the arm.
“What?” he says, unfazed. “It’s true. I’ve thought it this whole time, and I’m tired of not saying it because I keep hoping you two will figure it out. You’re clearly mates.”
“We aren’t—” I start.
He cuts me off with a sharp look. “Ava. Yes, you are. It’s why you can’t stay away from each other, and it’s why you had the… incident at the heat clinic.” His tone shifts then, less confrontational and more careful, like he knows he’s entering dangerous territory. “I hate bringing that up, because I know it was terrible. But your omega rejected that guy because she’s already found her mate. That doesn’t just go away.”
I stare at him, chest tight.
“Look,” he says, gentler now, “you can’t opt out of your heats forever. And you clearly can’t be with other alphas anymore either. So tell him. Give him the chance to take care of you instead of deciding for him.”
We sit in silence for a minute. “Ya know,” Shelby says, breaking it, “we could write up one hell of an NDA. Maybe combine it with some sort of pre-bonding prenup situation.”
Ron blinks at her. “You’re joking.”
Both of us turn to look at him, dead serious. He studies our faces for a second, then exhales and shakes his head. “Okay, clearly you’re not.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Whatever it takes for you to feel safe enough to do this, but it needs to happen.” He reaches out and takes my hand, looking deep into my eyes. “I promise you, that man wants to be with you in your heat. And I’d bet good money he won’t care one bit about a possible pregnancy. My alpha side never did.”
Shelby snorts. “Obviously,” she says. “We have six kids.”
Ron gives her a look. “You act like that wasn’t a group decision. Plus, if you have any more heats, I’d have another baby with you in a heartbeat.”
“Don’t you place that kind of dark magic on me, Ronan McGregory.”
I can’t help but laugh at them. The knot in my chest is starting to loosen and unravel. Am I seriously considering this?
Shelby looks back at me, all business. “How close do you think you are to a heat?”
I frown. “I’m supposed to get more suppressants on Friday; I’m almost out. But I don’t think they’re going to be enough to stop it, and I don’t even know if I’ll make it that long.”
“So,” she says, straightening, “we clear your calendar, and you talk to Mark. Tonight.”
I shake my head. “Not tonight.”
Ron throws his hands up, already gearing up for an argument, but I lift one of mine to stop him. “Let me finish.”
He exhales sharply, but stays quiet.
“I need to call my therapist first,” I say, forcing myself to stay calm. “And I do want to draft that NDA and the prenup. If this somehow goes south, I want my trust fundand my house protected.”
Shelby nods like this is exactly the answer she expected.
“So,” I continue, “I’ll text him tonight. I’ll apologize for walking out, and I’ll ask if we can talk tomorrow. When I’m not spiraling and my heat hormones aren’t driving the bus.”
Ron studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “I don’t love the delay,” he says finally, “but I’ll accept it.”
I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks, Dad, I’m glad I have your approval.”
Shelby lifts her mug in a small toast. “Look at that,” she says. “Boundaries, plans, and legal documents. I’m very proud of you.”
Luckily, I’ve been with my therapist long enough that when I send a message to her answering service that I’m in a bit of a crisis, she calls me immediately. We talk on the phone for over an hour, going through everything that happened tonight and all of my feelings about it, as well as the plan I put in place with Shelby.
By the time I hang up, I’m feeling considerably better and more like myself. I lift Valentino off my lap, and she gives me a very annoyed meow but settles when I successfully transfer her onto the perch in her cat tree. “Mommy is going to take a bath, drink a big glass of wine, and try to find the courage to text Mark,” I croon to her, scratchingbeneath her chin.
In my bathroom, I flick the lights down to their lowest setting. The marble floor is cool under my feet, the space quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside the windows. I light a few candles along the edge of the tub and the vanity, their reflections bouncing softly off the gilt mirrors and old brass fixtures. Then I turn the taps on the large antique clawfoot tub, the pipes groaning faintly as hot water rushes through them.
It takes a minute to find the right temperature. I test it with my wrist, frowning when I realize it’s cooler than I normally like. Not by much, but enough that I notice. Another small warning that my body is already ahead of me.
