He moves closer, the cadence of his walk purposeful but unhurried. I want to be angry at him, but all the oxygen has been sucked out of my lungs. There’s something about his presence—the way it fills the gaps in a room, like maybe I do have a choice insomethingabout my life, even if it’s just to punch him or not.
He glances at the cards, picking one up. “‘Nesting is an act of courage,’” he reads, then he tosses it back in the box. “Sounds exhausting.”
“It is.” I sink to the floor, my back against a sun-warmed wall, and pull my knees up to my chest. “I thought—never mind. I didn’t think this would feel so final.”
He crouches next to me, just outside the radius of my personal space. If I needed to, I could hit him with one of the pillows, and I get the feeling he’d let me. Instead, I pull the blanket out and fold it over my knees, pressing the softness to my fists until my knuckles ache.
My voice is small and flat when I say, “I’m not sure I want this.”
Zane doesn’t say anything. He just waits. I almost wish he’d give me the speech. How it’s natural to be nervous, and how every omega has doubts. Or better yet, about how my family would never force me to do anything I don’t want to do.
But Zane doesn’t do speeches. He just looks at me, eyes the color of deep water, and waits.
“Did you ever want to be something else?” I ask him. It’s a stupid question, but if I don’t speak, I’m going to start crying, and I am not in the mood for a pity party.
He shrugs. “I wanted to be an astronaut when I was five. And a pirate at seven.”
I bark a laugh, surprising us both.
“I’m serious.” He even lets himself grin around the words. “But everyone always told me I was better at guarding things than at stealing them. Or exploring them.”
“So you settled.”
“No. I did what I was good at.” His voice drops until it’s almost imperceptible. “That’s not settling.”
The silence stretches between us. I want to curl into the blanket and disappear.
“I don’t think I want a pack.” I nearly flinch hearing the admission out loud.
He nods. “Whatdoyou want?”
The question is a trap. If I could answer it, I wouldn’t be here, inhaling lavender and self-loathing.
“I want to not disappoint anyone,” I admit.
“Then don’t.”
I glare at him. “You’re supposed to tell me that it’s okay to do what I want. That my family will understand. That?—”
He shakes his head. “You don’t want anyone’s permission. You want someone to be angry for you so you don’t have to be.”
I’m about to protest, but he’s right, and the words catch in my throat.
He stands, brushes imaginary dust from his knee, and holds out a hand. I hesitate but take it, letting him pull me to my feet.
“I’ll tell them you’re indisposed for breakfast,” he says. There’s a pause, and he meets my gaze dead on. “Unless you want to talk to them. Or run away.”
“Running away isn’t exactly in the cards,” I say, gesturing at the pack agreement. The one with empty names because I’m meant to be preparing to meet alphas and be assigned to a pack. But the idea of running away—that’s not half bad, actually. “Where would I even go?”
He considers. “Cornwall. No one follows anyone to Cornwall in the summer. Too many tourists.”
I snort again, the barest spark of humor returning. “What about my security detail?”
He shrugs, a trace of a smile on his lips. “I hear they’re easy to bribe.”
I look at the nest kit. Maybe I can’t change anything. Maybe I can only delay the inevitable. But for one single second, I let myself imagine a world where I can throw the future pack agreement in the recycling and drive to the sea, windows down, hair in tangles, with Zane in the passenger seat if he wants.
There’s just one barrier to this reverie.
