Page 56 of Omega's Formula
Instead I’m smiling at the ceiling like an idiot who’s never been hurt before.
The bedroom door is open and I can hear Nolan moving around the kitchen, the clink of mugs, the soft pad of bare feet on tile. Domestic sounds. Comfortable sounds. The kind of sounds I never thought I’d want in my life, never imagined fitting into the carefully ordered existence I’ve built for myself.
I drag myself out of bed, pull on sweatpants, and follow the coffee smell down the short hallway.
He’s at the counter with his back to me, wearing my shirt. It’s too big on him, hanging off one shoulder to expose the constellation of marks I left on his skin, hitting mid-thighover bare legs. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in seventeen directions from sleep and sex and my hands running through it. He’s humming something under his breath, some melody I don’t recognize.
He looks ridiculous. He looks perfect. He looks like someone I could wake up to every morning for the rest of my life and never get tired of seeing.
“Morning,” I say from the doorway.
He turns, and the smile that breaks across his face does something dangerous to my chest, something that feels like cracking open.
“Hey.” He holds out a mug, steam curling up from the dark liquid. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
Our fingers brush when I take it from him. Neither of us pulls away, and the contact sends warmth spreading up my arm that has nothing to do with the hot ceramic.
“How do you feel?” I ask, searching his face for any sign of discomfort or regret.
“Human again.” He leans against the counter, cradling his own mug between both hands. “Sore. Hungry. Like I could sleep for another week and still not catch up.” He grins at me over the rim. “Worth it, though.”
“We should eat something substantial. Real food, not whatever’s left in the takeout containers we’ve been living on.”
“Are you offering to cook?”
“God, no; But there’s a café down the street that does a decent breakfast. Good pancakes, if I remember right. If you’re feeling up for going out.”
His eyebrows lift with surprise. “You want to go out? Together? In public?”
“We’re married, Nolan. It’s not scandalous for us to have breakfast together.”
The wordmarriedhangs between us, heavier than it was a week ago.
Nolan looks away first, but he’s still smiling, a soft private thing that makes me want to cross the kitchen and kiss him. “Breakfast sounds good. Let me shower first. I’m pretty sure I’m not fit for public consumption right now.”
“I don’t know about that.” I let my eyes travel down his body, taking in the marks on his neck, the way my shirt barely covers him. “I think you look perfect.”
He flushes, the pink spreading down his chest, and disappears into the bathroom without another word. I stand in the kitchen drinking coffee and trying to remember the last time I felt this light, this hopeful, this dangerously close to happy.
My phone buzzes on the counter where I left it days ago, forgotten in the haze of heat. I glance at it absently, expecting a compliance notification or spam or one of the dozens of work emails I’ve been ignoring.
It’s Sara.
Alistair arrived early. Meeting moved to 11am. He’s insisting on seeing you in person. Says he has something important to discuss.
The lightness evaporates like morning fog burning off under harsh sunlight.
I’d forgotten. In the haze of heat and Nolan and everything that happened between us, I’d completely forgotten that Alistair Wallace was coming to clear his name. Supposedly, he can provide documentation that would prove the research was legitimately his.
A week ago, I wanted that proof. I wanted confirmation that my company wasn’t built on stolen work, that everything I’d accomplished wasn’t tainted by someone else’s theft.
Now the thought of that meeting makes my stomach turn with something that feels like dread.
I’ll be there, I text back, because there’s nothing else I can say. I need to know. Maybe what he’ll give me is more of the same. Maybe it’ll actually prove that Nolan is telling the truth.
The shower shuts off in the bathroom. A few minutes later Nolan emerges, damp and flushed from the hot water, wearing jeans and a soft sweater that looks worn enough to be a favorite. He looks young like this, hopeful in a way I haven’t seen before. Nothing like the furious omega who accused me of theft at our first meeting.