Seb glances up at me, blinks a few times, and nods.Thank fuck. I can see relief dripping from James' face at the sight.
But he's gone right back to staring at the wall.
I catch James' gaze. He nods, curtly, then disappears into the kitchen.
"Zeke?" I mutter, trying to keep my voice calm and low.
"Of course. I couldn't… not any more… not with anyone else. Ever again. But…" His voice is clipped, laced with sharp edges.
His jaw is twitching. I rest my hand on Zeke's shoulder. "We'll figure it all out, okay? But we gotta stick together. It's not anybody's fault."
The room seems to still when his nostrils flare, but he lets his head dip into a curt nod. He's tense under my touch.
Gut churning, I sit down on the bed and open up the Heatseekers app, and start declining the heat requests and cancelling our current bookings.
As my fingers move on autopilot, I almost decline them all, until a line in the last one catches my eye.
'… not actually after your knots, just your medical, psychological, and logistical training…'
I pause. It's not for another six weeks.
An omega who's found her pack, where one of her alphas is a war vet who has PTSD, another has ADHD and a third has a bad back that tends to flare up upon overuse. Her beta got completely overwhelmed during her last heat trying to keep everyone safe and stable, and it didn't end well.
… but who supports you?
I couldn't answer her question.
I think I knew, deep down inside, that the moment I scented her, I would never be able to support any other omega's heat again. Well, other than hers. But… supporting the alphas and betas doing the heat support? Doing for them what we do for each other anyway?
I leave the booking unaccepted and undeclined, and go ahead and finish with the cancellations and declining the other bookings.
One by one, the cancellations acknowledgements roll in. They're thanking us—actually thanking us—for abandoning them.
All but one. The one we were all so excited about.
I look at our "upcoming bookings" tab. Normally, Clarke manages this, so it's comfortably full. Now, it's down to only two—the tentative booking to help the pre-existing pack while they support their omega's heat, and the one that we'd all been looking forward to until we were all overcome by the scent of freesias. The only one who might not have time to find a replacement support pack.
Lauren Treloar.
It's supposed to start the day after tomorrow.
I frown. Clarke's been in contact with her PA—Adeline, I think? —pretty much every day this week. She's professional and incredibly efficient. I don't remember her taking more than fifteen minutes to reply to a message.
I doubt they will be able to find another support pack in time, but at least I have a few favors I can call in. You don't thrive in the industry the way we have without a few people owing you favors.
I grab my own phone and tap out a few messages to packs who owe me and who I'm pretty sure are decent people, in the vain hope they might be free this week. Best we know who's available before we talk to her, anyway.
I glance over at my beta. His features are wrought with growing guilt.
Shit.
I march over to the sofa and snap my fingers in front of his eyes. He startles.
"None of that, love."
He blinks, I wrap my arm around him. This time, he leans in a little and relaxes.
"Can… can you ever forgive me?" His voice is flat.
