Page 62 of The Omega Verse

The guys groan, but no one moves. I’m thinking about going in search of a wet towel when I hear a strange snuffling sound under our cooling breaths.

“What on earth?” I lean over the side of the bed to find Banjo with his face in the bakery box, his stubby tail wagging madly. “Banjo! You’re going to make yourself so sick!”

“Yeah,” River says lazily, leaning over me to pat the dog’s cream-splattered head. “But what a sweet way to go.”

Tom

I’m not a guy who pinches himself very often, but as I arrive at the shack after a long, gruelling shift, I have to stop and take a beat. Because what was once my bolthole on the beach - where my only visitors were Banjo, Cass, and a perverted bird or two – is now crawling with rockstars. And to my surprise, it just adds an extra dose of warmth to that happy glow in my chest.

Of course, the first person I seek out is my mate. Cass is standing over my grill on the deck, chatting away to Silva and River, who are sprawled in my twin hammocks. Kobi is smiling at something she said while strumming idly on a guitar, his gaze following her every move. And out in the distance I can see the black smudge that is Jett on his board, tracking his next wave like it’s going to deliver him to the promised land.

I make a mental note to check in with him as I head into my bedroom. Loss is one of the worst stressors on the body, and acute grief can actually stun the heart, causing it to swell until it breaks. Not to mention all the mental anguish to go along with the physical strain. In my opinion, a lot of the healing Jett needs could be provided by the guys out on my deck, but there’s no point in trying to force him to that particular waterhole. He needs to find his way there for himself.

Which means that right now, I just want to grab a beer, claim a kiss or two, and then unwind out on my deck with my pack. And as I shuck off my work boots and strip off my pants, I glance at my freshly made bed and grin. Yep, that sweet smell in the air is from more than the creamy smear I can see on my bedpost.

My cock stirs with interest, but I ignore it as I pull on sweatpants and a Henley and pad into the kitchen for a beer. My fridge is full of salads and sides that make my stomach growl, but I stop long enough to inspect the Cookie’s Bakery box in my rubbish bin. The thing looks like it’s been through a war zone, complete with canine teeth marks on the butchered cardboard.

Shaking my head – and hoping Banjo’s taken his digestive tract out to the beach – I head to the deck. Cass turns as I approach, her eyes soft and warm in the curve of a Scare Crew hoodie. It’s not that cold out, especially over the grill, and I touch the edge in curiosity.

“I have cream in my hair,” she says with an impish grin.

“And I need to nuzzle my mating mark before my head explodes.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” She tips her head back, since her hands are busy with tongs and a knife, and I step closer, breathing her in. I can smell her own honey and vanilla scent mingled with Silva’s almonds and cherries. Then there’s the sweetness of cream, which seems to be thicker than just from some cooking mishap, but I focus on the newest scent. Definitely familiar, and I turn to look at the slowly swinging hammocks.

“Peach ice cream,” I murmur, meeting two sets of gleaming eyes. “Have you guys been snacking before dinner?”

“We had dessert first,” Silva says with his usual cheeky-arse grin. “I brought River over to visit Cass and she served us some pastries.”

“Uh-huh. And the cream on my bedpost?”

This gets giggles from all three of them and I drop my mouth to Cass’ neck, careful to put my bulk between her and the grill. If happiness had a flavour, it’d be the combined scent lifting off her skin and pooling on my tongue. I nuzzle until I’ve had enough to calm the beast under my skin, and she’s clinging to the front of my shirt, her pupils blown. “Tastes like I missed out on a fun visit.”

“It’s not over yet,” Silva drawls from his hammock. “And I’ll probably have room for seconds in a little while.”

“Our mate’s a greedy little shit,” I murmur as I drop a hard kiss on Cass’ lips and stride Silva’s way. Those green eyes light up like the devil as he watches me approach, and I chuckle in anticipation. He’s wearing one of my flannels open to the waist, and I grab those silver chains around his neck and tug him up to me. “I’m going to be feeding you later, don’t you worry.”

“Do I get your cannoli this time?” he asks with a flirtatious glance at my sweatpants. “Because I’m a real fan of your creamy filling.”

I’m tempted to dump his cheeky arse on the deck, but I just tug him closer and bite that shiny bottom lip. He tastes almost as good as Cass, and my punishing kiss softens into something sweeter. “Hey, mate,” he murmurs when we come up for air. “You really were missed, you know.”

I shrug and let him go. I’m well aware that my shifts are eating into the time a newly formed pack would usually spend together, but there’s not much I can do about it with all the accident-prone tourists in town.

“And how are you, River?” I turn to the other hammock and brush a hand over his buzzed scalp, loving the way he leans into my palm. “You look happy.”

“I feel it,” he murmurs, taking my hand and letting me pull him up and out of the hammock. He fidgets a bit as he looks up at me. “I should have asked first, but I kind of fooled around with your mates, alpha.”

I have to bite back a groan at the smile he shoots their way. Yep, they definitely fucked in my bed. “Well, I can’t really blame you, can I? They’re kind of irresistible.”

But River leans into me, his grey eyes searching mine. “I don’t know what I can give anyone, but I am happy here.”

Ah, shit. There goes another of my heartstrings. “You’re welcome with us, River, any way you want it. Jump all in, or take it slow if you need to.”

He snuggles in for a bit, clearly breathing in my scent, then pulls away and walks towards the beach. His head is down, his hands in his pockets, but I don’t think there’s the same anguished curve to his shoulders that he usually carries.

“You are good for him,” Kobi says quietly from behind me, and I turn to touch my beer bottle against his in greeting. He’s wearing one of those Western shirts with snaps and the shirtsleeves rolled back, the fingers of his free hand softly strumming his guitar strings. But when his gaze drifts after River, his eyes are cloudy with memories. “At one stage, I didn’t think he’d survive losing Steven.”

“He’s tougher than that,” I murmur as I take a seat opposite him on one of the plastic chairs I keep stacked out here. I rotate between the hammocks, a couple of outdoor beanbags, and the chairs I picked up at a garage sale, and I shake my head to think that Kobi Grace is sitting out here on my crappy little deck. “But what about you? Doing okay?”

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