Page 96 of Pack Plus One

Baby steps.

Jude gives Leah a long-suffering look. “Now you know what we deal with. Still want to stick around?”

The question, though framed as a joke, carries weight. Leah seems to feel it too, her fingers tightening around her mug as four pairs of eyes turn to her with varying degrees of intensity.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she says finally, honest in a way that makes something in my chest twist. “This is all... a lot.”

“No pressure,” I say before anyone else can speak. “Take all the time you need.”

Breakfast comes together quickly after that—a stack of blueberry pancakes (not too tough, thanks to Leah’sintervention), crispy bacon, scrambled eggs with herbs, and a bowl of fresh fruit. Liam sets out plates and utensils while I arrange everything on the table.

“Sit,” I tell Leah, pulling out a chair for her. “Before it gets cold.”

She hesitates, her gaze darting between the table and the staircase leading back to the nest room. Something in her expression suggests she’s calculating, weighing options, making decisions I can’t quite read.

“Actually,” she says finally, “I think I’ll eat in the... other room.”

She doesn’t say “nest,” I notice. As if naming it would make this situation too real, too permanent.

“I can bring you a tray,” Liam offers, already reaching for one.

“No, I can manage,” she says quickly, filling a plate with pancakes and fruit. “Just... I need a minute. To think.”

The admission costs her—I can see it in the tight set of her shoulders, the way she won’t quite meet any of our eyes. She’s not running, not exactly, but she’s retreating. Creating space.

“Of course,” I say before anyone else can protest. “Take whatever time you need.”

Relief flickers across her features. “Thanks. For breakfast. And the... tea.”

“Do you need help getting back?” Caleb asks, his protective instincts clearly at war with his desire to respect her boundaries.

“I think I can manage to walk down a hallway without assistance,” she says dryly, but softens it with a small smile. “Though I appreciate the concern.”

And then she’s gone, padding down the hallway with her plate and mug, the too-long sleeves of my sweater falling over her hands, her gait just a touch more careful than usual—a subtlereminder of exactly how thoroughly we claimed her the last two nights.

Caleb watches her go, his expression unreadable. “She’s still here,” he says, as if reassuring himself. “She didn’t leave.”

“She’s processing,” I say, taking a seat at the table. “It’s a lot to take in. For anyone.”

“Especially after what we did to her,” Jude adds with a wicked grin. “I’m still not convinced she should be walking.”

“Omegas are remarkably resilient,” Liam informs us while serving himself. “Though I do agree that rest would be optimal for full recovery.”

“She’s not ‘our omega,’” I remind them, though the words feel strange in my mouth after last night. “Her heat broke. She’s under no biological imperative to stay.”

“But she is staying,” Caleb points out, finally taking his own seat. “For now.”

“And wearing Mason’s sweater,” Jude adds, stabbing a forkful of pancake. “Which is basically a declaration of intent in beta language.”

“It’s not—” I begin, then stop, because maybe it is. Maybe offering her my most prized possession was more significant than I’m ready to admit.

“For now,” I finally agree, though the temporary nature of her presence sits uneasily in my chest.

We eat in relative silence after that, each lost in our own thoughts. Jude, for once, doesn’t fill the quiet with chatter, and even Liam seems more contemplative than usual. Only Caleb appears genuinely calm, as if Leah’s continued presence in the house—even sequestered in another room—is all the reassurance he needs.

When we’ve finished, Liam and Jude clear the table while I wrap a plate for Leah in case she wants seconds later. Caleb disappears, presumably to shower, and I find myself with amoment to breathe, to process the surreal reality of the past forty-eight hours.

An omega in our home. In our nest. In our lives, possibly, if we don’t scare her away with our collective intensity.