Page 15

The white shirt dress I’m wearing buttons down the center from neck to hem, though I purposely left a few of the top ones undone to give a little tease of cleavage. I added a wide woven tan belt that accentuates my waist and threw on my tan gladiator sandals. With my hair down in loose waves and only a little bit of mascara and plum lipstick, it says casual, fun , and also a little flirty which gives me a confidence boost I desperately need right now.

Especially when I catch sight of him in the kitchen.

Flint is standing over the sink, rinsing something off as I enter. I use his distraction to take in the width of his shoulders, the narrow hips and tight ass encased in light-colored shorts, and a black button down with the sleeves rolled up. It’s not anything I haven’t seen dozens of men wear, yet my mouth goes dry at the way he fills them out. He smells like hot cocoa on a cold winter’s day, his scent so much stronger than it was earlier. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to quell the rising heat in my core. It’s like I’m almost drowning all over again.

For a second, I panic. How do normal Omegas act when they come face to face with an Alpha they’re attracted to? My go-to is hostility and sarcasm, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the mood I’m aiming for here. No, I’m trying for a less antagonistic approach that might see me finally getting the answers to all my knotting questions…and maybe an orgasm…or eighty.

“Enjoying the view, sweetheart?”

My gasp is buried under the sound of the running water, and I have only milliseconds to school my expression into my usual self-confident smirk before he glances over his shoulder with one of his own.

“I mean, it is a nice view.”

His chuckle sends a shiver across my body, but luckily he doesn’t notice because he’s turned back to the sink. “We were thinking of going down to the beach shortly. They’re having live music with a steel drum band and fire dancers. Raff is intrigued.”

“Why am I not surprised that the redhead is a pyro?”

“You should see him when we go to teppanyaki.”

A smile curves my lips at the image I conjure of Raff’s face as he watches a chef turn an onion into a volcano. It’s fucking priceless.

When our eyes meet, he’s watching me with a soft look that smooths out his angular features, causing a little niggle of guilt to spark in my heart. He’s as easy to open and read as a child’s board book.

He’s waiting for the bubble to burst, for the Elliott Mitchell he’s used to seeing to make an appearance. Or maybe disappearance would be more accurate. Instead, I repeat my new mantra to be brave and step into the kitchen. I’m suddenly unsure of where to go or what to do or how to occupy my hands. I’ve never purposely sought them out before, and being on unsteady footing has me feeling all kinds of anxious.

“Mind drying these for me? Then we can pull out the charcuterie board and eat a light snack before we head down there. If you’re up for joining us, that is.”

“Sure.” I swallow down the nerves that are honestly a little confusing.

He asked me to help dry the dishes for fuck’s sake, not suck his dick. Though I’m pretty sure I’d be less anxious for the latter, and I’m not sure what that says about me.

Stepping up next to him, I grab the dish towel from the counter and pick up the cutting board from the rack. Domesticity isn’t really my thing—I’m a pro at throwing away takeout containers and paying my cleaning lady to make my apartment sparkle—but there’s something incredibly intimate about standing next to a man that’s so large and masculine, his hands covered in bubbles, as he scrubs and rinses the evidence that clearly proves he put together the charcuterie board himself. It wasn’t one of those pre-packaged ones that I usually pick up from the store.

When my belly flips, I tell myself that they need to eat too. It’s not like they made it just for me.

My heart grins widely.

My conscience rolls her eyes.

My vagina gushes.

Fucking hell.

We don’t say anything else, settling into a comfortable silence as we make quick work of the dishes. When the last knife is dry, I slide it into the block, then wipe off my hands and hang the towel on a hook near the cabinets.

“Hey.” His voice is closer than it was a few seconds ago, also softer and deeper than I’m used to. When I turn, he’s grinning down at me with amusement. “You’ve got something,” his thumb brushes a rogue bubble from the side of my cheek, “right here.”

My breath is stuck in my throat, a whole Alpha pheromone clog making it impossible to breathe without inhaling more of his yummy scent.

“You haven’t run or kicked me in the balls yet. This is progress, sweetheart.”

He drops a quick kiss on my forehead, then steps back. Despite the grin making his lips look more kissable than usual, his hands are fisted at his side, which is the only outward sign he’s not as in control as he appears.

Something about that settles the flare of panic that had risen in my chest, reminding me that I’m here to push my boundaries. To give them a chance. But how do I get him to understand that while also getting them all to understand it’s going to require a helluva lot of patience on their part?

“I’m trying. I’m just…” I take a deep breath in and exhale until my shoulders ease and my body relaxes. “I’m really going to suck at this. You should know that up front.”

His grin falls, those plush lips opening to no doubt refute what I’m saying, but I need him to just listen for a second. I hold up my hand, effectively silencing him.

“I really only want to say this once, so feel free to fill your packmates in because tbh, it’s hella embarrassing. You all need to understand that there’s a whole heaping pile of trauma in my past tied to the dynamic of Alphas and Omegas, along with the fact that I was handed over to the foster care system despite having parents who were perfectly physically healthy, if not mentally. I don’t know what happened to them, and at this point, I don’t care. The older Alpha-Beta couple I was placed with did their best, but I’m pretty sure I was already too fucked in the head at that point. According to some of the therapists from my childhood, there’s a fear of abandonment, a very seriously skewed self-image, and this nagging belief that I’ll never be able to live up to anyone’s expectations of an Omega. And I know that this is all a lot to dump on you, but I need you to understand why, for every two steps forward, there could be two steps back.”

I run my hand nervously through my hair. “Why did I just picture Paula Abdul in my head? Fucking hell , Elliott. Anyways, I know that I’ve been a bitch to every single one of you, yet here you are, still being these amazing, caring men despite all of that. I figure the least I can do at this point is give you a chance to prove me wrong. Not that I think you will, but maybe it won’t be quite the dumpster fire I imagine in my head.”

I’m breathing like I just ran a fucking marathon when all I really did was verbally vomit a list of all the reasons they should just walk away. That would honestly be the smart thing to do, and it would save me a lot of hassle in the long run.

But then he steps forward again, and when I lift my eyes to his, it’s not pity or disgust staring back at me. It’s understanding, and I’m not sure what to do with that.

“I was adopted when I was three. Luckily, I was placed with a loving pack who helped me become the man I am today. I owe them, along with my brothers who provided the stability and brotherhood I desperately craved, everything. So while I can’t fully comprehend the hell you’ve gone through, I do understand a little about how your past is influencing your present.” His arm slowly wraps around my back, pulling me into him. “I could lie and tell you it’ll be easy, but that’s not what you need to hear. It’s probably gonna be damned hard. There will be moments where one or more of us gets frustrated or angry, and we’ll probably hurt each other in the process. But even if what is happening here turns into a dumpster fire, we’ll be standing by with buckets of water to put out the flames so we can fill it up all over again. We won’t give up on you.”

Then he’s hugging me, my head pressed into his chest, wrapping me up in the safety of his arms. For some reason, I go willingly, gripping him so damn tightly that he’ll probably have marks in his shirt from where my fingers are fisted in the material.

His voice is husky when he adds, “I’m also a closet Paula Abdul fan, so I totally saw the video play out in my head too, but that needs to be our little secret.”

My chuckle ends in a snort that has my cheeks flushing scarlet. I bury my face a little deeper into his muscles, hoping to buy myself a few seconds for it to fade. His fingers are idly combing through my hair, and even though I could happily stay here forever, I mentally shore up enough courage to withdraw from the closeness that’s most definitely a new experience for me.

My eyes meet his. “My lips are sealed.”

This time, when he grins, the need to kiss him hits me like a freight train. “C’mon. Let's dig into this food before the heathens get down here and take all the good stuff.”

Stepping back, his arms fall away from me as he heads for the fridge. I admit to myself that I already miss his warmth. What are the odds I’d be able to get him to hug me again? He pulls out the platter filled with meats, cheeses, nuts, fruits, crackers, and who the hell knows what else, and sets it on the table.

“Don’t be shy. There’s plenty,” he says over his shoulder as he grabs a bottle of wine and expertly uncorks it. “We’ll let this breathe for a minute.”

My eyes scan over the selection until they freeze on a pile of macarons tucked into the corner.

“Those are my favorite,” I murmur under my breath.

“We know,” is all he says, shooting me a knowing look as he pulls glasses out of the cabinet.

As I scan the contents of the board again, the realization that every item on here is something I enjoy has tremors rocking the foundation of every firm belief I’ve ever had.

How could they…

Did West tell them…

“It’s just a charcuterie board, Elle. Breathe .” He’s right behind me, his breath fanning across my ear as his scent floods my senses. “We may have picked up on some of the things you liked throughout the years. It’s not a big deal.”

Except it is . Outside of West, Cadie, and even Sy, no one ever pays attention to what I like or dislike. The fact that these men cared enough to do something as simple yet thoughtful as putting my needs first is like a sledgehammer to my heart.

Poor girl is already a goner.

My conscience is gaping at just how well these men know me.

My vagina is gushing. Again.

And my brain is struggling to rein in the very real Omega instincts that are coming online, some of them for the first time ever.

I’ve seriously underestimated this situation, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m in way over my head. Before I can panic and do the one thing I swore I wouldn’t do again— run —footsteps echo down the stairs. A breath later, a hint of coffee and whiskey, followed closely by ginger and cinnamon, floods the small room, blocking my exit.

I’m sure there’s panic lighting up my too-large eyes as they dart to the two men standing a few feet away, frozen like they’re worried that if they so much as twitch, I’ll either escape or attack.

They’re probably partially right because I can feel the urge to retreat racing up my spine. Then calloused fingertips skim along my hand and thread through my fingers. The touch grounds me, lowering my fight-or-flight response in a way that is unexpected. I lick my dry lips, watching the two Alphas in front of me track the motion.

“Elle’s going to join us down at the beach tonight,” Flint says, and I can feel the intensity of his eyes as they study the top of my head. “Right, sweetheart?”

The inner battle is still waging, but Elliott Mitchell is not a coward. I said I was going to do this, and I damn well plan to see it through—even if it nearly kills me in the process. Letting my head tip to Flint’s shoulder, I watch the other Alphas’ eyes go wide. There’s power there, which thankfully brings my confidence back to the forefront. Guess not all of those self-preservation skills are useless after all.

“Wouldn’t want to miss hot sauce over there getting off to the fire dancers.”

And just like that, the tension in the room eases enough that I can breathe again. It’s already been a very long day, but this small sense of accomplishment at my ability to face these men I’ve spent years avoiding is a heady thing.

Phew. Who knew being brave was going to be so damned exhausting?