His admission freezes me in my seat. Of course she told him. My face burns up and I turn away, staring out the passenger window at absolutely nothing, just needing to not look at him right now.
He knows. They all know that I got kicked out, that I’m so pathetic I couldn’t even keep a job.
The shame is suffocating.
“I don’t need your pity,” I manage, and my voice comes out sharper than I intended.
“Good.” Noel’s response is immediate. “Because I’m not giving you any.”
That has me turning toward him.
He’s watching me and he’s right; his expression isn’t pitying. It’s… understanding. Maybe even angry on my behalf.
“But you don’t have to be so stubborn,” he continues. “Or hide when you need help. That’s not weakness, Hannah. That’s just being human.”
My throat tightens. I want to argue, to insist that I’m fine, that I don’t need anyone. But I’m so tired of lying.
“What’s going on?” he asks quietly. “Talk to me.”
I take a breath. Hold it until my lungs burn. Let it out slowly.
“This is really hard for me,” I finally say, and my voice cracks on the words. “I’ve always been the strong one. Always. When Mom died, I was fourteen, and suddenly I had to be the adult for Lily. I took care of her while Dad worked doubles at the diner, made sure we ate and helped her with her homework and didn’t fall apart. I held the bakery together when we had no idea what we were doing. I kept everything running so Dad didn’t have to worry, so he could just focus on keeping us fed and housed.”
Noel doesn’t interrupt. Just listens, his hand resting on the console between us.
“And I was good at it,” I continue. “Being strong and the one who had all the answers. Making sure everyone else was okay.” My hands are trembling. “But now it’s all falling apart, and I don’t know how to not be that person. I don’t know how to ask for help or to admit I’m falling apart.”
“You just did,” Noel says softly.
I glance at him, and there’s something in his expression that leaves me smiling.
He reaches over, places his hand on my thigh. His palm is warm, grounding, real. He squeezes gently. “You’re allowed to need people, Hannah. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you brave for admitting it.”
“Doesn’t feel brave.”
“The bravest thing you can do is let someone help carry the weight.” His thumb strokes small circles against my leg, and the simple touch is almost too much. “You’ve been holding up everyone around you for years. Let someone hold you up for a change.”
No words come.
“Besides,” Noel continues, “it makes more sense for you to stay somewhere in Whispering Grove rather than out of town if you’re building your business. Lily lives over an hour outside of town, in the mountains. You’d be driving constantly, wasting time and gas and energy. Staying with us, you’re ten minutes from downtown. From clients. From everything you need to succeed.”
I stare at him, and my brain is already running through the logistics despite my emotional resistance. He’s right. It’s completely, frustratingly logical.
Lily’s house is beautiful but isolated. Every client meeting, every site visit, every supplier consultation would requiredriving over two hours round trip. I’d be exhausted before I even started working.
“Is that really a good idea?” I ask slowly. “An unmated Omega living with three Alphas under one roof?”
The question hangs in the air between us.
“We’re all well behaved.” His grin flashes in the darkness, but there’s sincerity underneath. “Can’t speak for Corn Dog, but the rest of us have self-control. We’ve got a nest room, fully stocked, completely private. We’ll never enter without your explicit invitation. You’d have your own space, your own sanctuary.”
A nest room? Very modern of them. Very progressive. Which makes me wonder—are they planning to find an Omega for their pack? Is that why they built it? Have they been searching, and I’m just convenient timing?
My stomach twists uncomfortably.
“What have you got to lose?” Noel asks.
Everything, my brain whispers. My control. My independence. My carefully constructed walls that keep me safe from being hurt.
