Page 15 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Kara

Three days had passed, and I still hadn’t gotten my feet under me. Not really. The coffee was better here, but the air had been thick enough to chew through.

First thing had always been my meds. I fumbled the pill bottle, popped my prescribed suppressant, and washed it down with water that had warmed on the bedside table all night.

Dr. Patel’s legal-grade stuff was practically a joke compared to the horse pills I’d been on before, but lately those were considered “unsafe and unsustainable.” That was the fancy medical speak.

What it meant was that my Omega reactions were barely contained.

I was stuck coasting in a permanent state of heightened awareness, wired, exhausted, rubbing my nerves raw.

It had been even worse because this house was soaked in Alpha pheromones, like someone had sprayed them on the fucking walls.

A soft knock sounded at my door. I jumped. “Quinn? You up?” Theo’s voice was dialed down for once, none of his usual showy volume.

“Unfortunately,” I managed. I yanked a hoodie over my sleep shirt to look at least halfway alive. “What’s up?”

“Malik’s making breakfast before his stream. Thought you might want some.”

My stomach tightened. Three days on suppressants and I was starving. “Give me five minutes.”

Theo’s footsteps echoed down the hall, and I forced myself vertical, stumbling to the bathroom. The mirror was cruel but honest, still pale, still hollow-eyed, but no longer haunted. Kinda looked like progress, if I squinted.

I’d have stayed under the hot spray forever but settled for keeping it to a few minutes.

The scent of coffee, real coffee, not the dehydrated stuff I’d survived on last year, lured me toward the kitchen.

Malik’s low, soothing voice had drifted from the sunroom, his “meditation space,” apparently, muffled by a half-open door.

“…breathe in calm, breathe out tension,” I heard, and if I hadn’t known better, I’d have said he actually meant it. “Feel the energy centering in your core…”

I paused, not really wanting to be caught eavesdropping, but curiosity overrode caution.

Malik sat cross-legged on a cushion, totally Zen, facing a pro camera setup.

The room was filled with plants, everything bathed in soft natural light, the paint probably called “Serenity” or something ridiculous.

If my old gaming den had been a chaos demon, this was its exorcism.

He hadn’t seen me, too focused on his followers. “Today we’re focusing on acceptance,” he said. “Accepting change, accepting challenge, accepting ourselves…”

That was my cue to back away before I ruined his inner peace. The kitchen was deserted when I finally got there. It was just me, a warming lid over a plate, and a note in handwriting so neat it almost stung.

Eat something before your meds.

-M

It was scrambled eggs, which were perfectly fluffy, not dry, with avocado toast, and a side of fresh berries. I blinked fast so I didn’t start crying over breakfast like some loser on daytime TV.

I was halfway through when Jace materialized, silent and expressionless, carrying a steaming mug.

“Coffee?” He set it down next to me, didn’t even wait for a reply.

“Thanks,” I said, caught off guard by the thoughtfulness. “You’re up early.”

He shrugged and poured himself a cup from a machine that looked like it could float a small spaceship. “Never really sleep. Editing.”

“At,” I glanced at my phone, “six-thirty in the morning?”

“Best time. House is quiet.” He leaned on the counter, eyes dark and unreadable over the coffee rim. “You look better.”

“Low bar,” I muttered, not meaning for it to come out bitter. It just did. “What are you editing at this hour?”

“ASMR stuff. Keyboard, page turning, chill game walkthroughs.”

I couldn’t help blinking. “That’s… surprising. Not what I expected from Pack Wrecked.”

He almost smiled. “We contain multitudes.”

Before I could respond, I heard Malik wrap up his meditation stream. “…same time tomorrow, mindful ones. Peace and clarity to you all.”

“He does that every morning?” I gestured vaguely in the sunroom’s direction.

Jace nodded. “Six sharp. Meditation, mindfulness. He’s got a whole channel for it.”

I let that sink in. “I had no idea.”

“Most don’t. People see what they want. FPS. Trash talk. Memes.”

Like I had. That part he didn’t say, but it hung in the air.

Malik entered a few minutes later, calm and put together, the very definition of unbothered. “Morning, Quinn. Sleep okay?”

“Better than yesterday,” I said, plate already empty. “Thanks for breakfast.”

He poured himself some herbal tea. Apparently the “Sleep blend” that he used helped counteract Alpha baseline. “Figured you could use the protein. Meds work better with food.” He glanced at me, eyes assessing. “Withdrawal symptoms?”

No point lying, they’d know. “Manageable.”

My shaky hands were mostly steady now, but my senses still ran at ‘eleven.’ The scents in this house, Malik’s sandalwood and linen, Jace’s ink and snow, they were so distinct it was unsettling.

Nice, but distracting. The part of me that was supposed to be controlled and professional wasn’t okay with any of it.

I tried to redirect before they started diagnosing me. “What’s the streaming schedule today?”

“Jace at nine for quiet block,” Malik said, sipping his tea. “I’m off until community session at seven. Theo goes on at noon. Ash is in the garage most of the day, rig building.”

“And Reid?” The name slipped out, and I hated myself for how fast I’d asked.

Malik’s lips twitched. “Evening tactical stream. Usually starts around eight.”

I nodded, running the math. “And where do I fit in?”

“Wherever you want.” Malik shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing ever. “We’re not dictating your content schedule, Quinn.”

“Right. The business arrangement.” I’d meant to soften it, but it came out sharp, all edge and no padding. “I just need to know when the shared spaces are ours or off-limits.”

They exchanged a look I couldn’t read, practiced, or maybe just used to communicating without words.

“Content calendar’s on the fridge,” Jace said finally, nodding toward a big whiteboard by the pantry. “Blocks are color-coded.”

I walked over, eyeing the neat grid. Jace’s morning sessions were in blue.

Theo’s chaos afternoons in orange. Ash’s build windows in grey, scattered wherever there were open slots.

Malik’s mindfulness or community in green.

Reid’s tactical stuff blazing in red late at night.

And there, in purple, a chunk labeled “Quinn” which was empty.

“You left it open,” I said, not a question.

“Told you.” Malik’s voice was steady. “Your schedule, your rules. We’re just here for the platform and collab.”

There was a weird flicker in my chest, some mix of relief and surprise. Even with everything spinning, there was space on that board waiting to be filled. My choice. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given me that.

“I used to stream evenings,” I said. “But the new med schedule–”

“Afternoons,” Malik suggested, kindly. “Less fatigue, more focus. Transitional adjustment.”

It made sense. I picked up the purple marker and blocked off 2–4 PM. Done. It felt strange, like trespassing on someone else’s careful order, but also… kind of right.

“What about joint streams with you guys?” Marker still in hand, I lingered.

“We figured you’d want to start with one-on-ones,” Jace said, softer now. “See what clicks.”

“Reid thinks you and Theo are a good first match,” Malik added. “Viewers like your banter.”

The idea of going live for three hours with chaos incarnate was both terrifying and… honestly? Kind of appealing. Theo was like a caffeine IV, loud, exhausting, but impossible not to get swept up in.

“Fine.” I wrote in tomorrow’s block, Q + T: Co-op . It was vague, but at least it was noted down. “But I want to see the content plan before the stream.”

“Of course.” Malik nodded, as if that were obvious. “It’s your brand too.”

There was no mocking, no “just go with the flow.” They were actually taking me seriously, and that felt more disorienting than the new house, the new rules, the walking-on-eggshells feeling.

The front door banged open. Theo exploded into the kitchen, breathless, wearing shorts and a neon tank top that looked like a ten-year-old had designed it. He carried a storm of scent: green tea, cut with ozone.

“Morning, losers! And Quinn!” He grinned, eyes scanning the kitchen. “Damn, you’re vertical before noon. Wild.”

“Some of us don’t need to run at dawn,” I shot back.

“You should try it!” He took a huge bite of apple, juice dribbling down his hand. “Best thing for withdrawal, trust me. Gets the toxins out.”

“I’ll stick with the doctor.”

“Boring, but fair.” He leaned in to stare at the board. “Ooooh, streaming together tomorrow? Hell yes. I’ve got so many ideas.”

“Nothing intense,” Malik warned. “Quinn’s still adjusting.”

“No problem,” Theo waved him off. “I was thinking that new horror co-op. Quinn can backseat while I play, then we swap.”

It wasn’t a bad plan. Lower stakes. Easy banter for chat. And Theo’s audience wouldn’t eat me alive on a first collab.

“I’m game,” I admitted.

Theo’s smile was like a sunrise, too bright, a little too much, but I had to admire it. “Awesome! It’s a date!”

“It’s a stream,” I corrected him.

“A stream date,” he insisted, brow waggling. “I’ll bring snacks.”

Before I could get caught up in the joke, heavy steps thundered down the stairs.

Reid walked in, freshly showered, hair wet, sweatpants slung indecently low.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt. If the medication was working, it was news to me because my brain bluescreened at the sight.

His scent was a wall, all cedar and summer storm.

It hit so hard I had to fight to keep my face neutral.

“Morning,” he rumbled, voice gravelly. He went straight for the coffee. “Didn’t expect you up early, Quinn.”