Page 3 of Heat Hesitation

Unfortunately, the Bradfords have been trying to introduce us to their daughter Imogen, who just moved to Arrow Cove after graduating from the OFA of Southern California. The moment they mentioned their omega daughter during a video call last week, Asher lost it.

After spending nearly a month wading through the river, searching the woods for the omega he claims was our scent-match, one we barely saw, let alone scented, he shut down. Saying we were worried is an understatement. As time passed, he rejoined us at work, resumed his role as Head of Advertising at Constantine Industries, and started to act like himself again. But I should have known better. He hasn't moved on. He's been pretending.

We're always invited to OFA events, but we've kept the invitations from him, knowing Asher was nowhere near ready to entertain finding another omega. He clings to the idea of that mysterious woman on the ledge.

We haven't forced him to face the reality that even if she was our scent-match, even if she was ours, she's long gone.

A year ago, we were desperate to find an omega that fit with our pack, more than ready to move on to the next chapter of our lives. Now? Now we're… lost. Like we're still out there, wading in that river.

If the girl on the bridge indeed was our scent-match, the idea makes my alpha insane with worry and rage, and I didn't even meet her. I can't imagine what Asher feels. The mere thought of her existence on that bridge is painful, but to have scented her? Seen her? Then lost her?

Beyond that, Asher blames himself for her fall. His bark may have made her lose her balance, her control, and for that, he'll never forgive himself, or give up trying to find her.

So the Bradfords casually, excitedly bringing up their omega daughter reignited his downward spiral.

"Hey, he up?" Theo asks over the rim of his cereal bowl as I enter the kitchen. The man is thirty-two years old and eats like a fucking teenager. Greta, our housekeeper, smacks him upside the head with a newspaper.

"Eat with your mouth closed," she scolds.

"Come on Greta, you love to see my mouth in action."

She giggles, smacking him again, but the blush remains. Doesn't matter that she's more than twice his age, worked for us for a decade, for my family even longer. Theo's ability to reduce any woman to giggles and blushing is unrivaled.

His charm and charisma are lethal—it serves us well when we're trying to absorb a smaller company holding onto their assets with an iron grip. Send Theo in, and the company's ours for takeover; all previous obstacles obsolete. Still, it's annoying at the breakfast table.

"Enzo's up there with him," I reply. "Thank you, Greta," I take the plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon. We often eat in the kitchen despite having a dining room that could easily seat twenty. Eating most meals at the breakfast bar has always made us feel closer and more down to earth.

All four of us grew up in very wealthy packs in the High Hills, and, aside from Enzo, our families employed the use of their giant dining rooms, eating at long, large tables while barely communicating. We all swore we'd never live like that. Enzo, born to a female alpha, an omega man, and two beta men, a rare and unlikely pairing, had a slightly more humble upbringing.

"It's not like we're entertaining the idea of meeting this girl," Theo gripes. "Right?"

"Right. I think just the mention of meeting another omega…"

Theo grunts, slurping another bite.

"Greta's right, man. Where did you learn table manners, anyway?"

He shoots his flirty smirk my way. Why, I have no idea, but my childish packmate helps keep shit light around here, considering how dark it's been for a while.

We finish eating, and eventually, Enzo and Asher find their way into the kitchen. Asher heads straight for the ten-thousand-dollar espresso machine that no one can figure out how to use except Theo, whose bourgeois tastes demanded we purchase it, and Greta, who complained for weeks that she had to take a class just to figure out how to operate the damn thing.

Fortunately for Asher, the coffee is already made, and as he grabs a cup, I debate giving him shit for not showering. He smells like whiskey and despair, paired with his natural pine, woodsy scent; he belongs in a cabin in the woods, not the office.

He's unshaven, unclean, and in no fucking way prepared for a meeting. Enzo takes the seat beside me, having already eaten breakfast. He likely ate, worked out in our gym, ran through the trails in the woods behind our house, showered, and traded stocks, making us another million, all before the rest of us woke for the day.

"Ash, either get upstairs and shower or take the fucking week off." After the first month of his downward spiral, I learned that tough love is the only thing that breaks through. It reminds him we're alphas and that he needs to get his shit together.

He grunts, biting into an apple, taking his coffee mug with him back up the stairs. Whether that means he's going to shower or crawl back into bed, I've no idea.

We're leaving in twenty minutes, with or without him.

Greta, the saint, picks up after us. Just as we're leaving for work and the garage door closes behind us, the backdoor to the SUV opens, and a clean-shaven Asher climbs in. He says nothing as the four of us head downtown.

I take the shortcut, avoiding the covered bridge, and we make it to the offices of Constantine Industries just in time.

We meet Bowen and Jeffrey Bradford, two alpha members of the Bradford pack, in our conference room. We shake hands while they give obligatory compliments on the view.

The offices all boast massive windows overlooking the sprawling city of Arrow Cove. To the north and west, the mountains climb high, cradling the city, creating a beautiful backdrop against the sky, especially when the sun is setting, from nearly any point of view in the cove—a bragging point for the residents of the High Hills and the OFA facilities since both reside up the mountain.

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