I nod quickly. “Yes. Just… make it work for now.”
His shoulders ease. “Alright. We’ll handle it.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. My voice feels small.
I head upstairs, my legs heavy. Each step feels like climbing through syrup; my body drags with exhaustion.
When I unlock the apartment and step inside, it’s quiet, almost too quiet. I shut the door behind me, leaning against it for a long second, closing my eyes.
Today was not at all what I was expecting.
I came into the hospital for a stupid check-up, thinking it would be simple. A scrape, a bruise, some antiseptic, and gauze.
Instead, I walked out with Simon’s taste still on my tongue, his words still echoing in my head, his promise—you can come here whenever you need help—like a brand I can’t scrub away.
Now there’s the café, bleeding money I don’t have, pipes bursting, repairs piling up. My whole life feels like it’s teetering on the edge of a cliff, and I’m too worn out to hold on properly.
I kick off my sandals and drop onto the bed without even changing. The mattress sighs under me.
My body aches everywhere—not just from climbing trees or scraped knees, but from the pack, from heat, from three days of being undone and rebuilt in their arms. My clit still aches faintly, sore in a way that makes me flush.
I roll onto my side, staring at the bare wall, and hug the pillow close. For the first time in days, the room smells like only me. No Alpha musk, no shared heat. Just me.
And it feels lonely.
I press my face into the pillow, trying to drown the thoughts clawing at me. Simon’s hands. Beau’s smirk. Levi’s steady warmth. Their voices, their scents, their bodies wrapped around mine.
I shouldn’t want that again. I shouldn’t miss it. But God, I do.
I close my eyes and breathe out, the exhaustion finally dragging me under.
The grease on my fingers makes the notebook on my lap feel even more out of place, like I should be taking notes on something that matters instead of licking tomato sauce off my thumb.
Norah sits cross-legged across from me, the box of pizza balanced between us, her flower-print pajama pants dotted with little crumbs.
“I swear this is the best thing I’ve eaten all week,” I mumble around a mouthful of melted cheese.
She smirks, reaching for another slice. “That’s because you’ve been living on coffee and those sad croissants you try to pass off as meals.”
I groan, flopping onto my back against the pillows. “Don’t shame me. I’m fragile.”
“You’re something,” she says with a grin. “But definitely not fragile.”
The comfort of it, of being here with her, is almost enough to make me forget everything else. Almost.
But the truth has been pressing harder against my chest all week, and maybe it’s the salt and grease and the fact that I’m finally not alone—I don’t know. Either way, the words spill out before I can stop them.
“I need to tell you something.”
Norah freezes mid-bite, a string of cheese dangling from her slice. Her eyes flick to mine, green and sharp. “Okay…”
And then I do. I tell her everything. I keep my voice low, the words halting, shame laced through every sentence, but Norah listens without interrupting, her expression unreadable.
By the time I finish, my face is hot, and the silence stretches too long. “Say something,” I whisper.
She sets her slice down, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “Okay,” she says. “First, thank you for trusting me with that. Second…” She tilts her head, considering me. “You’re not in trouble, Wren. You’re not broken. You went through heat. They helped. And clearly, you wanted them to.”
I press the heel of my palm against my forehead, embarrassed. “‘Wanted’ is an understatement.”
