Page 15 of His Best Friend’s Heat

Nick

" K eller! Eyes on the ball!"

I blow my whistle as Max Peterson takes a basketball to the face, distracted by something across the gym. Can't blame him though. I'm just as distracted. Have been all morning.

The ache in my chest started the moment I left him this morning and has been getting worse ever since. It's like having the flu, but deeper—a bone-deep wrongness that no amount of Advil can touch. And underneath the physical pain is the guilt, constant and crushing: I bonded him and then I ran.

Like a fucking coward.

"Coach Keller? You okay?" Aiden Martinez approaches, basketball tucked under his arm, concern etched across his face.

"I'm fine," I manage, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "Just fighting something off."

Fighting the consequences of being the worst kind of alpha, the kind who marks his omega and then abandons him the next morning because he's too scared to deal with what he's done.

"You look like you have a fever," Aiden observes, too perceptive for a sixteen-year-old. "Maybe you should go to the nurse?"

The irony isn't lost on me. He's probably feeling just as sick as I am, because I was too much of a coward to face what happened between us.

"I'll be fine," I insist, forcing a smile. "Back to practice. Three-point drills."

As the students return to their exercise, I check my phone. The browser tabs I opened during my prep period are still there: "Supporting your newly bonded partner," "Bond-breaking procedures for omegas," "How to be a good alpha." Like I can Google my way out of the mess I've made.

No messages from him, not since the careful "Hope your day is going well" text I couldn't bring myself to answer. What would I even say? "Sorry I permanently tied myself to you and then ran away like my piece-of-shit father"?

Christ. I'm thirty years old and I've managed to screw up the most important relationship in my life in the span of forty-eight hours.

The rest of class passes in a blur of whistles, instructions, and mounting discomfort. By the time the bell rings, I'm fighting nausea along with the fever and headache. I know what this is—bond-separation, getting worse by the hour. But I deserve every second of it.

"You coming to lunch?" Ryan Sullivan asks, poking his head into the gym as I'm gathering equipment. He teaches history and coaches baseball, and we usually eat together in the faculty lounge.

"Yeah," I nod, though food is the last thing I want. "Be right there."

In the faculty bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and stare at my reflection.

I look like shit—pale except for fever-bright cheeks, dark circles under my eyes.

And there's a change in my scent that any alpha would recognize.

Bonded alphas smell different. It's a biological marker: this one is taken.

Except I've never been the "taken" type before. Nine years of dating and I've never felt the urge to settle down, to claim someone as mine. Until he went into heat and instincts I didn't know I had demanded I mark him, bond him, make him mine in the most permanent way possible.

And then I panicked and left him to deal with the aftermath alone.

The faculty lounge is crowded when I arrive, teachers taking advantage of the brief lunch period to socialize and decompress. Ryan waves me over to our usual table, where he's already halfway through a sandwich.

"You look like death warmed over," he observes cheerfully. "Wild weekend?"

If only he knew. "Something like that."

"Let me guess—another first date disaster?" He grins, taking a swig of his energy drink. "What was wrong with this one? Too clingy? Too boring? Too smart for her own good?"

The casual way he talks about my dating history—always women, always omegas, never quite right—grates on me in a way it never has before. Because now I know why none of them ever felt right. They weren't him.

"Nothing like that," I mutter, unwrapping my sandwich without enthusiasm.

"Well, something's up with you," Ryan persists. "You're never this quiet. And you smell different."

Of course he'd notice. Alphas always do.

"I'm fighting something off," I say, the same excuse I gave my students. Not technically a lie.

Ryan shrugs, accepting the explanation. "Speaking of fighting things off, did you see the new office admin? That omega they hired last week?" He whistles low. "I wouldn't mind helping her through a heat cycle, if you know what I mean."

The comment—crude, objectifying, exactly the kind of alpha bullshit my father would have said—makes rage flare in my chest. Protective instincts I've never felt this strongly before demand I defend, protect, stand up for every omega who's ever been talked about like they're just walking heat cycles.

But especially for him. For my omega, who I left alone this morning after bonding him.

"Don't talk about omegas like that," I snap, the words out before I can stop them.

Ryan blinks, startled by my vehemence. "Whoa, easy. Just making conversation."

"Well, make it about something else." My voice is too sharp, too aggressive. Heads turn at nearby tables. I'm making a scene, but I can't seem to stop myself. "Omegas aren't just walking heat cycles for your entertainment."

"Jesus, Nick." Ryan holds up his hands in surrender. "What's gotten into you?"

What indeed. I've heard him make comments like this a hundred times before, have even laughed along sometimes in that performative way men do. Why is it suddenly intolerable?

Because now I know. Now I understand what it feels like to care about an omega as a person first, to want to protect them from exactly this kind of objectification. To love them for who they are, not what biology makes them.

Love.

The word doesn't surprise me the way it would have a week ago. I've been in love with him for years. I just never had the right context to understand what I was feeling.

"I need to go," I mutter, abandoning my barely-touched lunch. "Prep for next period."

I don't wait for Ryan's response, just grab my things and flee the faculty lounge, heart hammering against my ribs. The bond throbs at the base of my skull, a steady reminder of what I've done, of the connection I've formed and then ran from like a coward.

I make it to my empty classroom and immediately pull out my phone, scrolling through the browser tabs I've had open all morning. "How to support a newly bonded omega." "What to expect in the first 48 hours after accidental bonding." "Bond dissolution procedures."

That last one makes me feel sick, but I keep reading anyway.

Not because I want out—God, no—but because he might.

Because I trapped him in a bond he never asked for and then left him to wake up alone.

He deserves to know his options, even if the thought of losing him permanently makes my chest feel like it's caving in.

I've been researching all morning, trying to find some way to fix what I've broken. Trying to learn how to be the alpha he deserves instead of the fuck-up who bonded him and ran.

My phone buzzes with a text from Jason: "Hey, want to grab coffee after work? Haven't talked to you in a while."

The timing feels like fate. I need to talk to someone, and Jason has always been my sounding board when things get complicated. I text back: "Yes. Desperate. Can you meet now?"

"That bad? Yeah, I can leave early."

I make it through my afternoon classes on autopilot, the guilt and physical discomfort worsening with each passing hour.

By final period, I've given up on actual teaching and set the students to a free play period while I sit on the bleachers, fighting waves of nausea and the persistent knowledge that I'm the worst kind of alpha—the kind who takes what he wants and then runs when faced with the consequences.

When the final bell rings, I should feel relief. Instead, I feel paralyzed. Going home means facing him. Facing what I've done. Facing the possibility that he might never forgive me for bonding him and then abandoning him like he didn't matter.

But I can't keep running. I need help figuring out how to fix this, and Jason has always been my sounding board when things get complicated. And things have never been more complicated than they are right now.

The design studio is quiet when I arrive, most of the staff already gone for the day. Jason is at his desk, headphones on, focused on his computer screen. He doesn't notice me until I'm standing right beside him.

"Nick!" He pulls off his headphones, surprise giving way to concern as he takes in my appearance. "Holy shit, you look terrible. What's wrong?"

"I need to talk," I manage, my voice rough.

Jason doesn't hesitate. "Of course." He grabs his jacket and leads me outside to the small courtyard behind the building, where a few metal tables provide a private spot to talk. "What's going on? You look like you're about to collapse."

The concern in his voice nearly undoes me. I've always been the strong one, the older brother with his life together. Now I feel like I'm falling apart at the seams.

"I did something," I begin, the words catching in my throat. "Something I can't take back."

Jason's expression turns serious. "Are you in trouble? Did something happen at school?"

"No, nothing like that." I run a hand through my hair, struggling to find the right words. "It's him. He...he went into heat. While he was staying at my place."

Understanding dawns in Jason's eyes. "And you helped him through it?"

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"That's...unexpected," Jason says carefully. "But not the end of the world. You're both adults. These things happen."

"There's more." I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "We bonded. Permanently. And then I panicked and left him alone this morning."

Jason's eyes widen. "Holy shit," he breathes. "You bonded him and then left?"