Page 16 of His Best Friend’s Heat

"I freaked out," I say quickly, defensively. "It wasn't planned. It just...happened. During his heat. I lost control and bit him, and then when I woke up and realized what I'd done, I couldn't face it. Couldn't face him."

"Mated," Jason supplies softly. "You're mated to him."

Hearing it stated so plainly makes it real in a way nothing else has. I'm mated to him. My male best friend is now my omega. And I left him alone the morning after, like he meant nothing.

"I'm just like him, aren't I?" I say, the fear that's been haunting me all day finally finding voice. "Just like Dad. Making permanent decisions based on biology and then running when things get complicated."

Jason's expression softens with understanding. "Is that what you're afraid of? That you're turning into Dad?"

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

"Nick, you're nothing like him," Jason says firmly. "Dad left us because he was selfish and weak. You're here, freaking out because you care about him and you're worried about hurting him. Those are completely different things."

"But I did hurt him," I argue, guilt washing over me anew. "I bonded him and then left him alone. I just...I couldn't face what it meant. What I'd done to him."

"Okay, that was a dick move," Jason concedes. "But you're here now, trying to figure it out. That already makes you different from Dad."

He's right, but it doesn't ease the turmoil inside me. "I don't know how to fix this," I admit, voicing my deepest fear. "What if he can't forgive me? What if I've already screwed this up beyond repair?"

Jason studies me for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. "Can I ask you something? How do you feel about him? About the bond?"

"I love him," I say without hesitation. "I've been in love with him for years. I just didn't understand what I was feeling because I thought I was straight."

"And the bond? Do you regret it?"

I consider the question honestly. "I regret how it happened. I regret that it wasn't his choice. I regret leaving him alone afterward." I pause, meeting his eyes. "But I don't regret being bonded to him. I just wish I'd done it right."

Jason smiles slightly. "Then that's what you tell him."

"What if it's not enough?" The fear is still there, lurking beneath the surface. "What if I've already ruined everything?"

"You won't know until you try," Jason says bluntly. "But Nick, he knows you. He's seen you at your best and worst for nine years. If anyone can handle your bullshit while you figure out how to do this right, it's him."

He's right. Again. I've been thinking about this all wrong—focusing on my fear instead of what he needs. What he's always needed from me.

"I've been researching all day," I admit. "How to be a good alpha to a male omega. How to support someone through a new bond. Even..." I swallow hard. "Bond-breaking procedures. In case he wants out."

Jason's eyebrows rise. "You'd let him break the bond?"

"If that's what he needs to be happy? Yeah." The words hurt to say, but they're true. "I love him too much to trap him with me if he doesn't want to be here."

"And that," Jason says quietly, "is exactly why you're nothing like Dad. He never would have put anyone else's needs before his own."

The simple observation cuts through the tangle of guilt and fear I've been carrying all day. I'm not my father. I'm not perfect, but I'm trying to do right by him, even when it's hard.

"I need to go to him," I say, standing so abruptly that my chair scrapes against the concrete. The decision brings immediate relief, like setting down a weight I've been carrying all day. "I need to prove to him that I can do this right."

Jason smiles, standing to pull me into a quick, fierce hug. "Go get your omega, big brother. And this time, don't run."

The drive back to my apartment passes in a blur of traffic lights and mounting urgency. The bond pulls at me, stronger now that I've stopped fighting it, guiding me back to where I belong. To who I belong with.

I've been thinking about this all wrong. This isn't about whether I deserve him or whether I can be the perfect alpha. It's about showing up, doing the work, and proving that I'm not going anywhere. That I'll fight for us, for this bond, for him.

When I unlock my door and see him curled on my couch, pale and shivering despite the hoodie—my hoodie—he's wrapped in, everything else falls away.

All the guilt, all the fear about whether I can do this right.

None of it matters compared to the simple, undeniable truth: he's mine, and I'm his, and I'm never running from that again.

"Micah," I say, his name rough in my throat. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

We move toward each other like magnets finding their opposite pole, inevitable and natural.

When my arms close around him, the bond-ache begins to subside, replaced by a warmth that spreads through my entire body.

I press my face into his hair, breathing in his scent—that perfect smell that's pure him, now carrying notes of my own scent mixed with it. Marked. Claimed. Mine.

"I shouldn't have left," I murmur into his hair. "I thought...I thought I was protecting you from my panic, but all I did was make everything worse. But I'm not running anymore. I'm going to fight for us."

He pulls back slightly, his hazel eyes searching mine. "We need to talk," he says, his voice catching. "About what happened. About what it means."

He's right. We do need to talk. About everything—the bond, my fears, how I'm going to prove I can be what he needs.

But looking at him, feeling the rightness of him in my arms, I already know the most important truth: whatever it takes to earn his forgiveness, to prove I can do this right, I'll do it. Because losing him isn't an option.

"Yeah," I agree, my voice low. "We do."

And for the first time since waking up this morning, I'm not afraid of that conversation. Because I finally understand what I should have known all along: love isn't about being perfect. It's about showing up, doing the work, and never giving up on the person who matters most.

I'm done running. Time to fight.