Page 29 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)

Twenty-Nine

COLE

S ettling into life with Pack Harper is easier than I could have ever dreamed.

By Wednesday, it feels like I’ve lived here for months instead of less than a week.

The three of them are like a perfectly coordinated dance, each moving around the others with ease and grace.

And, by some miracle, I blend into the movements, too.

Mornings are the lifeblood—Megan prepping her lunch while Charlotte braids her hair and packs her bag with her pointe shoes and dance outfits.

Marcus always goes for a run, timing it so he can say bye to both women before they leave before six to catch the proper public transit.

And then Marcus and I have an hour to ourselves before he has to leave, too.

An hour he’s spent the last two days using to acquaint me with various pieces of furniture throughout the house.

Just the reminder of how he’d bent me over the side of the sectional and took me so slow and deep this morning has my blood heating. An answering pulse through the bond gives me his reaction to where my thoughts have gone.

With a small smile, I load the last of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, grab the shirt Marcus had left on the counter and Megan’s sweatshirt from the ground, and then carefully navigate the stairs to my room.

I press Megan’s sweatshirt to my nose, reveling in her raspberry scent, and then leave both pieces under one of my pillows.

Is it weird and borderline demented I’m smuggling their clothes so I have their scents constantly in my nest? Absolutely. But the warmth and happiness I feel surrounded by the lovely blend of scents is enough to have me not questioning it. At least, not too much.

I stretch out on the covers, luxuriating in the feel of the blankets and their scents and the sun slowly lighting the room. After a minute, I slowly sit up, cursing as the vertigo hits again.

Then I go about my own morning routine.

My testing kit is tucked away in my nightstand, exactly where I move it every afternoon before the others get back home so I have it accessible just in case.

I take it into my bathroom and spread it across the vanity.

The needle hurts worse than typical, but I breathe through it.

As I wait for the results of the rapid test, I quietly take all three of the pills I’m supposed to in the morning, carefully tucked in a bag in one of the vanity’s drawers.

A bag that intentionally looks like a shaving kit and not like a mobile pharmacy.

A niggle of guilt digs its way under my sternum as I set about getting ready.

I run though the logic again in the hopes it keeps the guilt from growing.

My appointment with Dr. Faulks is on Tuesday, a privacy plan carefully arranged with his office staff so I’m in before any other patients and out during an intentionally-scheduled lull.

My last bloodwork with Dr. Wales came back on Monday, and everything was still trending downward.

Not yet entirely stable, but better than it’s been in over a year.

I haven’t had any new symptoms since moving out here—just my typical vertigo and headaches and nausea.

Even the new medication isn’t as bad since discontinuing the bond suppressor.

I start the water for the shower, though a part of me doesn’t want to wash off Marcus’s scent, especially knowing he and Charlotte will be gone most of the night on a date.

I pull my shirt over my nose, breathing in the nutmeg scent left behind by him fucking me senseless this morning, as I wait for the water to warm and the test to finish.

It only takes a minute before the test finishes and beeps. With a sigh, I straighten the shirt and pick up the device. The blast of nerves hits like always, but I breathe through it, reading the number on the screen.

26.

I haven’t managed a 26 since being diagnosed with variant two—the most aggressive form of OBS—over eighteen months ago. The seed of guilt diminishes.

Why panic them when everything is so stable? If these numbers are a trend, then the OBS is likely going into remission. A thread of nervous excitement lights through my blood at the thought.

I strip out of my clothes and stand under the shower’s spray. No reason to make them worry right now. Once I have bloodwork from Dr. Faulks, we’ll sit down and discuss it all.

Naturally, the optimism I’d felt this morning with my marker read of 26 fades into nothing as the worst joint pain day I’ve had in weeks takes me out before noon.

I curl up on the family room’s sectional with my favorite plush blanket that’s still smothered in Charlotte’s scent from the night before and a new fantasy book.

My pain meds take the worst of the edge off, and at least a headache isn’t happening with it, so I’ll count my rarely lucky stars that it’s not the worst combination I’ve had in recent memory.

By the time the sun is setting, casting long shadows on the family room and kitchen, it’s dulled entirely to a deep ache that’s possible to think around.

The front door closing pulls me from the half-awake space I’d slipped into for the last hour or so. Megan doesn’t even look over as she cuts to the small pantry that lines the far wall, grabbing a bar of chocolate from the top shelf I hadn’t realized was there.

“Megan?” I ask quietly.

Her shoulders drop and her eyes are as wide as saucers as she spins toward my voice. “Oh, I thought you were gone,” she whispers. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

She sets the chocolate on the peninsula and then washes her hands. Her eyes catch on the new flowers I’d had delivered this afternoon. A small smile eases some of the stress from her body.

“Have you eaten?” She’s dropped entirely into caretaker mode, like she can intrinsically tell I’m not feeling the best. Or like she uses it as a way to feel in control, just like Violet does.

“We could order some Chinese food if you’re up for it.

There’s a really good place about ten minutes south. ”

“That sounds good,” I say, more to make her happy than because I actually crave fried rice.

She grabs her phone and starts tapping. But her shoulders are stiff, and the smallest bit of her scent floats toward me, an edge to it telling me she’s upset. I clear my throat.

“Is everything okay?”

Her gaze flashes to me. There’s a long pause, and then the corner of her mouth flicks up in a barely-there smile.

“Yeah, it was just a shitty shift.”

She lifts the chocolate bar as if in explanation and leans a hip against the peninsula’s countertop.

“Ah,” I say with a smile. “I use chocolate like that, too. What happened?”

She shrugs.

“Some cases are just rough. The week after the gala, we had an Omega abuse case come in. That one was…” She blows out a breath and shakes her head, taking another bite of chocolate. “That was way worse than this one. I’ll be fine in another ten minutes.”

“You want to talk about it?” The book drops unceremoniously to the floor as I carefully sit up, moving slow enough my vision doesn’t swim and my stomach stays where it belongs.

Her eyes flick to the bond scar that straddles my left collarbone, desire flashing across her face and through her scent before disappearing. Now, her eyes are just tired—defeated, almost.

“I had a teen overdose.” The words are stark and toneless. “Fentanyl’s been bad for years now. But this one… it wasn’t even her fault. She’d been roofied with a tainted pill. I had to help tell her dad she wasn’t going to survive the night.”

Without thinking about how bad my pain has been all day, I ease to my feet and cross the space. My legs wobble, but I force tension into them. She frowns as I cup her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“It’s part of the job.” She shrugs and tries to duck her head, but I put a finger under her chin, making her look at me.

“So? It’s still hard. It being typical doesn’t make it easy to carry.” Her eyes drop to my lips as her pulse speeds. Swallowing my nerves, I step into her, crowding her against the counter. “How can I help?”

She shakes her head, trying to brush it off. The tension in her shoulders hasn’t lessened, and the edge to her scent is still there, too. Faint enough most probably wouldn’t notice. Maybe I wouldn’t, either, if I hadn’t been smuggling her clothes to my room for the last several days.

“Really, I’m fine.”

“Megan,” I whisper. Her scent pulses out from her, and this time it’s clean and heady. I can’t help but groan. “I know you’re an Alpha, that you like supporting and helping and being the one in charge. But I want to help you. Will you let me?”

Her throat ripples as she swallows.

“How?”

Flashes of Marcus holding me down, demanding pleasure from my body, rip through my mind. Apple floods the space around us, and Megan sucks in a gasp.

Megan, who always has a list, who has plans for her contingency plans, who uses taking care of others as a way to feel in control.

An idea forms in my head. Before I can talk myself out of it, I take a step away from her and then carefully turn us, moving slow enough to not make me sick. When I’m wedged against the counter, I take her hand and guide it around my wrist, encouraging her to hold it tight.

“Use me to make yourself feel better.” My voice doesn’t waver.

She frowns, her gaze flicking down to where she holds me. Without a word, I move my hand until it’s pressed flat against the counter, like she’s holding me there. She bites her lip, and a flush spreads down her neck and onto her chest. Raspberry surrounds us, even stronger, and I smirk.

“I haven’t done that in… a long time,” she says. Relief crashes through me. I hadn’t guessed wrong. “Most don’t like it.”

Now it’s my turn to shrug. “Maybe I won’t. But I’m happy to try it.”

She leans forward and kisses me, long and hard. My dick reacts like it’s been hit with lightning, hard and aching in a moment.

“All right,” she murmurs as she pulls away.

Then she’s guiding me up the stairs and into her room.