I need something to do, and this was the thing.
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame.Shakespeare. Not helping. I press my palm flat against the beam.
Espie kissed my cheek yesterday.
I still feel it. The soft press of her lips. I haven't rubbed my cheek once. Part of me is afraid to. Like if I touch the spot I might smear it out of existence somehow, and I'm not ready to lose it yet. I tell myself not to read too much into it. I'm not managing that.
I look toward the greenhouse. They're both in there, surrounded by pots — terra cotta, ceramic, plastic, all different sizes. They came to me for those. Tentatively, Espie had said, quietly, like they expected me to say no or attach a condition to yes. I didn't. I took the laptop in that night and we sat in the living room while they scrolled through options, pointing at things they liked. I sat with Kev and Ezra and tried to look like I wasn't holding my breath every time one of them pointed at something.
They chose. I keep coming back to that. They asked for what they wanted, trusted us to provide it, and then chose what they liked from the options. That's the whole of it and it's enormous and I don't know how to hold it so I just keep picking it up and putting it down.
Aubrey hands Espie a pot and she says something that makes him smile. His whole face changes when he does that. Six months of nothing, and now this — this person inside him who comes out when she says the right thing. I want to know what she said. I want to stand close enough to hear it.
The hook behind my sternum pulls toward them. I want to go in there. Stand close enough to scent them both, hand themthings, hear what Espie says that makes Aubrey's face go soft like that. Mine, some stupid animal part of me insists. I breathe through it. They're not mine. They're ours. And right now they're choosing to be in the greenhouse together and not with me, and that's fine. That's good. That's what healing looks like.
I look back at the metal beam.
Sera was outside earlier. I thought she'd stay, work beside me the way she does sometimes without either of us needing to say much. Her phone rang, she went inside, and she hasn't come back. She's still in her head. The claim didn't fix it and neither did talking to her and some days I don't know what will.
I'm watching through the kitchen window when she stops pacing. Her phone drops to her side. She casts a long gaze out of the window to our omegas, then she stalks out of the kitchen.
I set down my wrench. “I'm going to talk to her.”
Kev looks at me then. A long look, the kind that isn't a question so much as a calculation running behind his eyes. Then he sighs. “I’m worried, Lex. I thought I’d gotten through to her the other day, but…”
He looks deflated. Buckling with the weight of our pack on his shoulders. “Anything worth it isn’t easy. Let me try. A consolidated front is better than one person alone.”
Kev sends me a tight smile, but he nods. “I hope you can make her understand how important she is.”
I slide the door open.
“And don't make it weird,” Ezra says.
“I make nothing weird.”
“You quote Keats at people.”
“Keats is not weird, Keats is—” I stop. They're both looking at me. “I'll go.” I leave them to it.
Her scent leads me to the end of the hallway and the study beyond, and my cock swells as I take the hit of orange. It's been catching me off guard for days. More addictive by the second. Itake a steadying breath, press two fingers against the study door and push it open.
She's standing at the window with her phone to her ear and her back to me. Her shoulders pull in by half an inch when she hears the door. “I'll call you back,” she says into the phone, and hangs up.
I close the door behind me. The room carries her scent, concentrated, nowhere for it to go, and my cock takes this as a wake up call. I’m going to have a zipper imprint on the underside for hours.
“Important call?” I ask.
She turns and crosses her arms over her chest, eyes flashing. “Chasing down leads.”
Her arms push her breasts up and I notice, which is inconvenient, and she can probably tell, which is worse. “You're always chasing down leads.” I hold her gaze. “There's more though, isn't there. More you’re not telling us.”
She uncrosses her arms and shoves her phone into her back pocket “I have a solid lead. Which I'm going to follow through when the time comes.”
Did I hear her right? That she thinks she’s still not a part of this pack? “Not alone you're not.”
“That's not your call.” Her lips thin, taking this for the challenge it is.
“You're pack,” I say. “That makes it exactly my call. Your problems are our problems. That's how this works. We’ve told you this.”
