Page 6 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)
CHAPTER SIX
Malik
The door slammed shut behind us, a sound sharp enough to set my teeth on edge, echoing down the stairwell like a verdict. None of us moved. Not at first.
The light overhead flickered, washed out and weak, casting broken shadows over scent-dampening jackets.
The silence in the hallway wasn’t anger.
Something heavier sat with us. Bewildered, off-balance.
Like we’d rushed in to pull someone from a burning building, only to get shoved out before we could do a damn thing.
We just stood and listened as Kara dragged herself to the door. A deadbolt and chain slid into place on the other side, sounding more like a jury delivering a verdict than anything else.
“She locked it,” Theo mumbled, staring at the door like it might unlock if he just looked long enough.
“I heard,” I muttered back.
Reid still hadn’t budged. Shoulders set, jaw tight, eyes drilling holes in the chipped paint and dented wood, like if he wanted it enough he could turn time back.
“She’s not thinking straight,” Jace cut in, leaning against the far wall, hands shoved in his pockets. “It’s the crash talking.”
“She was clear enough to kick us out,” Ash said. But he didn’t sound like he believed it.
“She’s scared,” I said. “We barged in. Five Alphas deep. While she was at her lowest. Doesn’t matter that we brought blockers, or meds. That kind of fear doesn’t turn off just because we say we’re here to help.”
Reid finally looked at me. Not accusatory. Just hurting. “She asked for help.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“She said please.”
“I know.” I took a deep breath and released it slowly.
When I continued I kept my voice low, hoping that only my pack would hear, “You heard what she said once we got in there, she doesn’t want anyone seeing her like this.
She’s spent eight years building a persona for herself.
Streamer. Strategist. Unshakeable. Now she’s terrified it’s all coming down in front of everyone. ”
“She’s not wrong,” Jace said, eyes dark. “That stream cut too late. Clips are already out there.”
Theo ran a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d be relieved. That someone came. That she didn’t have to do this alone anymore.”
I shrugged. “Maybe she is. She just can’t let herself be.”
Reid exhaled. Sagged almost against the wall, head tipping back to thud softly against the drywall. “I hate this.”
Yeah, he wasn’t alone there.
I could handle the medical side. Heat crashes, rebounds, even trauma spirals.
I knew those patterns, the right protocols.
What I wasn’t trained for? Getting handed someone’s trust for five minutes, then forced to watch them lock you out again.
Not because you did anything wrong. But because holding on just hurt too much.
“She’s not going to be okay alone,” Reid said, voice low and flat. “Not tonight.”
“She told us to go,” Ash replied.
“She didn’t mean it,” Reid snapped.
“She did,” I said, careful to keep my voice steady. “Same way people mean ‘I’m fine’ while they’re bleeding out. The words are real, but the pain behind them’s louder.”
“She needs time,” Jace said. “Rest, hydration, zero pressure. If we go back in, she’ll just shut down harder. Next time? She doesn’t call anyone at all.”
Theo stared at his shoes. “We just… leave?”
I watched him, the way his hands wouldn’t quit moving, how he rocked heel to toe. “We give her space. Not distance.”
Reid frowned, brow furrowing. “What’s the difference?”
“Distance means we vanish. Space means we back off, but she still knows we’re close. That if she reaches out again, someone’s there.”
Jace’s nod was sharp, immediate. “We park in the van. Down the block. Let her have the time.”
“Two hours,” I said. “First one’ll be fallout. Adrenaline dump, panic, all of it. She needs to feel in control before she tries again. But we stay close enough that she knows she’s not alone unless she wants to be.”
Ash raised a brow. “And if she never calls?”
“We check in tomorrow,” I said. “Text, gentle. No pressure. Let her decide.”
Theo hesitated. “I don’t like it.”
“None of us do.”
We left in silence. Reid’s eyes kept flicking back to the door, jaw flexed so tight it had to hurt. Kara’s scent clung to all of us, sour and desperate, even through the suppressants; like the need had sunk into our skin.
Back in the van, the mood was different. Not angry. Not resigned. Just suspended.
Reid slumped into the front seat, arms braced on his knees, hands gripping one another. His eyes rimmed red, but dry. He wasn’t the type to cry. His misery was a quiet, all-consuming thing.
“She said my name,” he whispered. “Before she asked us to hurry.”
No one replied.
He looked at me. “She knew it was me. Even through the haze. Even in heat.”
“I know,” I answered.
“That means something.”
“It does.”
“But it wasn’t enough.”
“It was,” I said, sharper than before. “We did what we could. Water, fever down, vitals stable. Gave her the meds. Safe as we could make it. That’s more than she had before.”
“She’s still alone,” Theo mumbled.
“Her choice,” Jace gently reminded.
“Is it?” Theo pressed. “Or just… habit?”
No one had an answer for that.
The van lights were dim, the world outside washed blue by the streetlights. Kara’s building sat silent and high above us, third floor dark and still.
I kept watching the window. Waiting for a sign. Anything.
Nothing.
I logged her stats anyway. Entered vitals, med doses, rough recovery time into the tablet. I didn’t want to misremember. In case she called again. In case she didn’t.
“She needs a pack,” Ash said.
That landed heavy.
Not a claim. Not a possession thing. Just plain fact.
“She needs a choice,” I said. “And she’s not ready for that tonight.”
The van was quiet. Nothing else to say.
We waited those two hours.
No one got restless, or suggested leaving, or tried to go back inside. We just sat vigil. Watched her window. Sat with the discomfort, let it speak louder than our instincts.
If she never called again, never wanted the help, at least I’d still have the record. I’d know her crash, her numbers, her recovery. Because sometimes, you couldn’t fix it.
Sometimes, all you could do was stay close.
Even if the door never opened again.