“I have my moments.” Silas took a sip of his complicated coffee drink when it arrived. “Look, I barely know her. You barely know her. We’ve had what, one or two professional interactions each? This isn’t about claiming her or competing for her. This is about being honest with each other so we don’t make things weird.”
“Things are already weird,” I pointed out. “Three alphas interested in the same omega in a town this small? That’s complicated.”
“Only if we make it complicated.” Silas pulled out his phone. “I’m giving you both my number. We communicate. If one of us is planning to ask her for coffee, we mention it. Not for permission, just for transparency. We don’t ambush her with all three of us showing up places. We don’t compete. We just... exist. And let her make her own choices.”
I thought about that. About the alternative, which was all three of us trying to pursue her independently while pretending we didn’t know the others were doing the same thing. That would be worse. That would make her feel hunted instead of respected.
“And if she’s not interested in any of us?” Dane asked, voicing the question I’d been too afraid to speak out loud.
“Then we respect that and back off,” Silas said. “All of us. No exceptions.”
“And if she’s interested in one of us but not the others?” I asked, needing to voice the scenario that made my chest tight with something that felt uncomfortably like jealousy.
The thought of Sable choosing Dane or Silas shouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t feel like losing something I’d never had in the first place. But my alpha didn’t care about logic, and the image of her choosing someone else made me want to argue that I could be better, try harder, be more worthy.
Which was ridiculous. I’d spent three years convincing myself I wasn’t worthy of anyone.
“Then we’re happy for whoever she chooses and we don’t make it awkward.” Silas met my eyes, and I saw something serious underneath his usual humor. “I’m serious about this. I’m not looking to compete. I’m just looking to see if there’s something worth exploring. If there’s not, I’ll live. But I’d rather know we’re all on the same page than spend the next few months stepping on each other’s toes.”
I thought about the way Sable had stood in my kitchen, fixing the coffee machine with focused attention. The way she’d let silence be comfortable instead of rushing to fill it with meaningless words. The way she’d looked at me like she saw something worth seeing underneath the careful distance I maintained.
The way she’d made me want to try again, despite three years of guilt telling me I didn’t deserve to.
“What do you know about her?” Dane asked, gathering intelligence the way he always did. Understanding the situation before committing to a course of action.
“Not much,” Silas admitted. “She’s been in Hollow Haven for five years. Came from Idaho, I think. She’s good at her job. Really good. Doesn’t take shortcuts. Doesn’t defer to alpha posturing. And she wears suppressants strong enough that most people probably don’t even register her as omega until they’re close.”
“Which means she doesn’t want attention,” I said.
“Or she’s had bad experiences with alphas and she’s protecting herself.” Silas’s voice went softer, more genuine. “Either way, she deserves better than three idiots making her life complicated.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Dane said mildly.
“You’re all idiots,” a voice said from behind me, and I turned to see Sarah Pierce, Jonah’s omega, standing there with a coffee pot and an amused expression. “I’ve been refilling your cups forthe past ten minutes and you haven’t noticed because you’re too busy having your alpha feelings meeting.”
“Sarah.” I felt my neck heat slightly. “This is a private conversation.”
“In a public coffee shop. Where I work. And where I’ve known Beau for three years and watched him avoid any kind of emotional connection like it might kill him.” She topped off my mug even though I hadn’t asked, and I noticed she was careful not to spill a drop despite the pointed way she was looking at me. “Sable Wynn is a good person. She’s careful. She’s been hurt. And if you three are serious about being interested in her, you need to understand that she’s not going to make it easy.”
“We’re not trying to make her do anything,” Silas said.
“Good. Because she doesn’t need fixing or saving or protecting. She needs people who see her competence and respect it. People who don’t try to crowd her or pressure her or make assumptions about what she wants.” Sarah looked at each of us in turn, and I felt like I was being evaluated and found wanting. “Can you three do that?”
The question hit harder than it should have. Could I respect Sable’s competence without trying to protect her from dangers that might not exist? Could I be present without being overbearing? Could I want her without making it her responsibility to heal the guilt I carried?
“Yes,” Dane said, confident in his answer in a way I envied.
“We can try,” I added, because trying was all I had to offer.
“Trying is good.” Sarah smiled, and some of the tension left her expression. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing by talking to each other first. Coordination is smart. Just don’t forget that she’s a person, not a problem to solve.”
She walked away before any of us could respond, leaving us with full coffee mugs and the uncomfortable awareness that we’d been called out by someone who knew us too well.
“So,” Silas said after a moment. “We’re doing this? We’re being reasonable adults who communicate and don’t compete?”
I looked at Dane, who was watching me with that same assessing gaze he probably used when evaluating whether someone was a threat. “I’m not looking to compete,” I said carefully. “But I’m not backing off either. Not unless she tells me to.”
The words felt like commitment. Like stepping off a ledge I couldn’t see the bottom of.
