Page 11

“You kissed him.”

I’m aware of Meg’s side-eye burning into me from the passenger seat as she drives, and it’s definitely not a question.

“And did you see his face?”

I reply with a laugh.

“Priceless, right? The mighty Dr. Thorndike, completely blindsided.”

I focus on the mountains as we drive, unable to meet her gaze. We’re a little distance from the cottage now, far enough that I can no longer see Nash standing there in the road, looking like I just punched him in the face.

I kissed him without thinking. That’s the terrifying part. The impulse to press my lips against his had been instinctive and unstoppable, a force I couldn’t have stopped if I’d tried. I’d wanted to kiss him, but there is no way I will ever admit that to Meg. Instead, I shrug, lips quirking into what I hope looks like satisfaction.

Meg’s laugh fills the car, bright and triumphant.

“It was hilarious. I wish I’d known you were going to do that. I’d have filmed it. My god, his face.”

I join her laughter, even as a heavy weight presses against my ribs. Because I had seen Nash’s face. Had watched the desperate hope bloom in his eyes, had felt his breath catch against my lips, had witnessed the exact moment something shattered when I pulled away.

I don’t want you.

That was the moment. Just four words. That’s all it took to break Nash Thorndike. I should be jubilant. I’ve walked away, just as I’d always said I would.

“Seriously though,”

Meg leans back in her seat, hair catching the light.

“I need every detail. Was it awful? Being stuck there with him?”

My knuckles whiten as I grip the seat.

“It was exactly what you’d expect.”

“Meaning?”

“Exactly what you’d expect.”

I hesitate, trying to compose my thoughts before continuing.

“Thorndike was... predictable. Arrogant. So damn sure of himself the whole time.”

“Did he try to force anything?”

Meg’s voice has gone quiet, protective.

“No.”

The answer comes too quickly, too defensively, and I have to clear my throat.

“I mean, the whole situation was forced, obviously. But he wasn’t... he didn’t...”

Meg stays silent, giving me the chance to choose my words.

“I did have a heat,”

I say finally, keeping my voice factual.

“There was sex.”

Meg’s expression softens with understanding.

“Oh, . You didn’t have a choice.”

“I did.”

The ferocity in my voice surprises us both.

“But it was okay. I set the terms. I told him it was only about the heat, that it meant nothing.”

Meg eyes me for a moment and then she grins, always trying to use humor to cheer me up. She elbows me in the ribs.

“Tell me it was terrible. I bet he’s the worst fuck you’ve ever had.”

Nash moves on top of me, inside me, filling me so completely I can see stars and he is the only thing that exists. I want him so badly I can’t take it. Except I am. He has taken me completely and all I can do is ride wave after wave of crashing pleasure.

Meg’s still looking at me.

“That bad, huh?”

I sigh.

“No, it was good,”

I admit and her eyebrows rise.

“He’s right about the chemistry thing.”

“Wow.”

And then I lie.

“It was a hate fuck. An interesting experience but I don’t want to do it again.”

I look away because it’s too raw to talk about. I am gone. My time with Nash Thorndike is done and the ache in my chest feels like it is going to destroy me.

Meg studies me, something too perceptive in her gaze. She knows me far too well—usually that’s a good thing, but right now, it isn’t. “Huh.”

We drive in silence for a few minutes, the mountains sliding past us.

“We moved your stuff to a different office,”

Meg says finally.

“The others fixed it up yesterday. We thought of fixing the door but better that we hide you somewhere. You’re on the ground floor now, near the fire exit.”

I nod, throat unexpectedly tight.

“Thanks. That’s... thanks.”

“So,”

she hesitates.

“do you want to go straight back home? Or would you rather have company right now?”

The thought of an empty room in that abandoned office building makes something cold curl through my stomach. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.

“Company,”

I say immediately.

“If that’s okay.”

Meg’s face brightens.

“Good, because we have some celebrating to do. This is huge, . Judge Harlowe’s decision is all over the news. It’s the first legal row back we’ve had.”

She launches into the details of the judgement and the names, cases, legal statutes that were cited. I nod at the right intervals and make mmm mmm sounds, but her words are washing over me like water over stone. I can’t seem to pay attention.

All I can see is Nash’s face in that final moment—not the arrogant man I’ve been fighting, just a man who wanted me desperately and was rejected.

I don’t want you. That’s what I said.

“...and Jules is writing up a press release now,”

Meg is saying as we pull up to her building.

“Nothing too detailed. We’re thinking—”

“Sounds good,”

I murmur, as she parks and turns off the engine. My limbs feel leaden, and even the thought of getting out of the car feels exhausting.

Meg touches my arm lightly.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Just tired.”

I force a smile.

“Almost two weeks of sleeping with one eye open takes a toll.”

Meg squeezes my arm once before letting go.

“Well, brace yourself for some energy, because everyone’s dying to see you.”

I’m not prepared for the wave of noise that hits me when we enter Meg’s apartment. Bodies press forward, familiar faces bright with triumph, voices calling my name. Someone thrusts a drink into my hand while another claps me on the back, hard enough to make me stumble.

“The man of the hour!”

“There he is!”

“ fucking Torres!”

I smile automatically and let myself be pulled into hugs, accepting congratulations with nods and grins. They’re my people. My community. The ones who’ve stood beside me from the beginning. A banner hung across Meg’s living room screams ‘WELCOME HOME LEO’ in bold letters.

“Speech!”

someone calls, and others take up the cry.

“Speech, speech!”

I raise my hands in surrender, buying time to gather my scattered thoughts. These are my friends, my fellow fighters. They deserve the fire that has always driven me.

“I don’t know what to say,”

I begin, voice steadier than I feel.

“Except... thank you. For looking after my stuff. For not letting up on the court challenge. For keeping the pressure up while I was gone. For not letting me be one more lost omega.”

Approving murmurs ripple through the room.

“What was it like?”

someone calls from near the kitchen.

“Being stuck with Thorndick?”

An unexpected surge of protectiveness flares in my chest. Thorndick. I used to call him that too but now I don’t really like it. Ugh. He’s really got under my skin.

“Illuminating,”

I say carefully.

“It confirmed everything we’ve been saying all along. They think if they put the right bodies close to each other, nature will do the rest.”

I take a sip of my drink, buying time. The faces watching me are hungry for more, and I know what they want to hear.

“Thorndike was exactly what you’d expect,”

I continue.

“He’s convinced he’s right. He was convinced I’d come around. He’s as awful as you can imagine.”

These people need Nash Thorndike the villain, not the man who’d stood in a kitchen arguing passionately about ethics and evolution. Not the man who let me take the bed, who stood and waited for me to say ‘yes’ even at the height of my heat. Certainly not the man who’d looked at me like I was something miraculous, even while I was walking away.

“But here I am,”

I finish, raising my glass.

“Proof that no one can force us into anything we don’t want.”

The room erupts in cheers. More drinks appear and music starts playing as the celebration settles into its rhythm, conversations breaking out in clusters.

I move among them, smiling when appropriate, nodding at the right moments, but the disconnect only grows stronger with each passing minute. Every time someone disparages Nash, I feel that same protective flare. Every time someone congratulates me o.

“putting Thorndike in his place,”

I remember the expression on Nash’s face.

I’d done that. Deliberately. Cruelly. I didn’t have to kiss him.

And for what? To prove a point we both already knew? To win the argument?

No, I kissed him because I wanted to kiss him.

He’d been standing there, looking at me like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted and he’d smelled like heaven itself and so I’d kissed him.

“You okay?”

Meg appears at my elbow, her eyes too perceptive.

“I feel like I’ve asked you that ten times tonight.”

“Just tired,”

I say again.

“And that’s the tenth time you’ve given me the same answer. You should go home,”

she says softly.

“Get some real rest.”

Relief crashes through me, so powerful it nearly buckles my knees. I wanted company but now it’s all too much. Maybe I just need to sleep, spend some time not thinking about Nash Thorndike.

“Yeah. Maybe I should.”

“Let me grab my keys.”

“You don’t have to drive me—”

“I know.”

She squeezes my hand.

“But I want to.”

The goodbyes take another twenty minutes: hugs and promises to call and reminders of meetings. By the time we make it back to Meg’s car, my composure is hanging by a thread.

“There’s a pillow in the backseat if you want to just lie down and close your eyes,”

She says to me as we pull away from the curb.

“I won’t be offended.”

I take the offer in gratitude, feigning exhaustion, knowing if we talk I might crack or maybe I’ll cry.

I can still smell Nash’s scent on me, despite my overlong shower at the cottage and the fucked up thing about it, is that I love it.

I’m wishing I had a shirt of his to sniff. I’ve got used to being saturated with his scent and now it’s gone and it feels like there’s a hole inside of me. It’s messed up.

Meg, bless her, just drives. I keep my eyes closed, breathing shallow, until we finally pull up outside my building.

“We’ve put you into the corner office on the south side. You want me to come in with you, show you where it is?”

“That’s okay,”

I say, reaching for the door handle.

“Thank you. I know which one you mean. I just want to get to bed.”

“Call me if you need anything,”

Meg replies.

“Anything at all.”

I nod, not trusting my voice, and walk slowly, each step weighted with exhaustion.

I find the new office-slash-bedroom easily and push the door open, only to freeze in the doorway, stunned by what I find inside.

Someone has transformed the empty office space. New bedding covers my mattress—actual sheets and a comforter, not just the sleeping bag I’d been using. A small vase of wildflowers sits on the wooden crate that serves as my nightstand, and there’s a basket with water bottles, food, and—I swallow hard when I spot it—a pack of my favorite chocolate bars tucked on top.

A note sits propped against the vase.

“Welcome home, you amazing man. We’ve got your back.”

I sink onto the edge of my mattress, overwhelmed by everything. My hands tremble slightly as I unwrap a chocolate bar. How can I feel so grateful and so devastated at the same time?

Chemistry.

I know the answer. Hormones are raging through my brain right now: dopamine, serotonin, huge waves and waves of oxytocin triggered by spending so much time with a prime match. Nash was right about that. There’s science behind what I’m feeling.

My brain chemistry is following the same neurological pathways as an addiction.

And like any addiction, the best solution is cold turkey. All I need to do is keep my distance from Nash Thorndike and wait for the shakes.

My phone buzzes and for a moment, adrenaline rushes into me. It might be Nash. I open up the notification but it’s just a text from a journalist looking for an exclusive interview. I ignore it. I can’t face more questions tonight.

I curl onto my side, still fully clothed on my newly-made bed, and stare at the wall. My old room slash office had pictures of beaches on the wall, but this one has motivational posters. The one in front of me reads: Stop Thinking. Start Doing.

I don’t want to Do. I don’t want to Think either. I feel like I just want to Shut Down. I close my eyes.

The flowers’ scent mingles with the musty smell of the building.

I’m back. I’m alone. I don’t have to stay with Nash Thorndike. I’ve gotten exactly what I wanted.