I checked the suppressant patch on my arm. Still secure. Still delivering the correct dose. But my body was fighting it harder than it ever had before, and I knew what that meant.
I was going to need stronger suppressants. Either that, or I needed to stay away from all three of them until my biology settled down.
Except I didn’twantto stay away. That was the problem.
I wanted the morning coffee with Beau. Wanted the lunch conversations with Silas. Wanted the quiet safety of knowing Dane was watching out for me.
I wanted things I’d sworn off five years ago, standing in a white dress while Nathan explained to two hundred people why I wasn’t enough.
The suppressant patch itched against my skin. I pressed my palm against it, willing it to work harder, to do its job, to keep my biology locked down the way it had for five years.
But I could feel it losing the fight.
I called in sick to work the next day. Not because my suppressants had failed completely, but because I needed time to get them back under control. Time to reinforce the walls before I saw any of them again and my omega decided to stage a complete rebellion.
I spent Friday researching stronger suppressant options and trying not to think about how empty my apartment felt. Spent Saturday replacing my patch with a higher dose and pretending the headache that came with it was worth the extra control.
By Sunday evening, the suppressants were holding again. Barely. But enough that I could face Monday morning without my biology overwhelming my common sense.
I dreamed about them that night. Not sexual dreams, though my body was definitely interested in that direction. Just domestic ones. Waking up to Beau’s quiet presence and morning coffee. Laughing at Silas’s terrible jokes while making dinner. Falling asleep feeling safe because Dane was watching over everything.
Pack dreams. The kind I’d had right before my bonding ceremony with Nathan, before he’d rejected me and taught me that biology was a liar.
Monday morning came too quickly. I forced myself out of bed and back to reality. The new suppressants were holding, but I could feel the strain. Could feel my omega pushing against the chemical barriers, insisting this wasn’t sustainable.
I showed up at work looking like I’d spent the weekend in hell, which wasn’t far from the truth.
Beau was waiting at my office with coffee.
He took one look at me and his expression shifted to concern. “You okay?”
“Fine. Just needed a day to catch up on sleep.” The lie was transparent, and we both knew it.
He set the coffee on my desk, and I caught his scent more clearly than usual. My new suppressants were stronger, but for some reason they were also making me more aware of what they were suppressing. Cedar smoke and charcoal wrapped around me like coming home, and I had to physically stop myself from leaning closer.
“If you need anything,” Beau said quietly, “you know where to find me.”
He left before I could respond, which was good because I didn’t trust myself to speak without admitting how much I’d missed this routine. How much one day away from morning coffee with him had felt like losing something essential.
I made it through the morning on coffee and sheer stubbornness. Silas texted around lunch asking if I wanted to meet at The Brew.
For a moment, I considered saying no. Considered avoiding him until my suppressants settled completely, until I could trust myself not to do something stupid like admit I’d spent the weekend thinking about him.
But I was tired of hiding. Tired of running from things that felt good just because feeling good was scary.
I texted back that I’d be there in twenty minutes.
The Brew was busy with the lunch crowd, but Silas had claimed our usual table near the back. He stood when he saw me, his smile warm and genuine and making something in my chest ache with want my suppressants were barely containing.
“You look terrible,” he said cheerfully as I sat down. “I’m buying lunch to go with the coffee. No arguments.”
“I wasn’t going to argue.”
“Really? Because you argued last time I tried to buy you lunch.”
“That was different. Last time you were being condescending about my eating habits.”
“I was expressing concern about your tendency to work through meals.” He flagged down Sarah and ordered two sandwiches without asking what I wanted. “But if you prefer to call it condescension, I can work with that.”
