Page 227 of Captive Omega

They’re all in sweats with bare feet, except Vaughn, who is in his usual black turtleneck. Since they’re looking so disheveled, and I might be wrong, but also a little flustered? I don’t worry about the fact I haven’t brushed my hair, my teeth, or even stopped to check in with a mirror on my way up here.

“It’s not finished,” Garrison warns, holding one hand out to stop me from stepping around him. “But we didn’t expect you to come back so soon.”

“What isn’t finished?” I try to peer around them.

They step aside and I will never in a million years understand how I don’t immediately burst into tears when I see what they did. “It’s a nursery.”

The walls are a soft, buttery yellow with the most beautiful white crib and a star and moon mobile hanging off the top. There are stacks of boxes along one wall, some open, some not, like they were in the middle of putting something together—maybe a dresser?—when I interrupted them.

“We were waiting for the paint to dry before we started the mural. And we still have more furniture to build, so all of that is coming. But you woke up earlier, or we got up too late, so we ran out of time to do more.” Vaughn watches my face closely, as if waiting for me to admit I don’t like it. He will be waiting forever because I love it.

Something is lodged in my throat. I swallow and swallow, but it doesn’t move. “Who built the crib?”

“Joint effort,” Blaine says. “We all have different skills, but?—”

“—the ability to put together flatpack furniture is in none of our arsenals. We have sworn ourselves to secrecy, so you’ll never learn how many hours it took us to build.” Vaughn mimes zipping his mouth, locking a key and throwing it away.

“Hours?” I ask.

Blaine gives Vaughn the side-eye. I tamp down my smile at his less than subtle warning that Vaughn might have said a little too much.

Vaughn’s expression is sheepish as he shuffles from foot to foot. “Uh, did I say hours? I meant seconds. It took us exactly ten seconds to put together a crib with instructions that don’t make sense, and we have two extra screws that we desperately hope won’t mean the baby will fall through it and… well?—”

“We tried,” Garrison takes over. “What Vaughn is trying to say is that we tried.”

The lump in my throat gets bigger. It’s accompanied by a prickle behind my eyes so intense I blink rapidly, yet the urge to cry doesn’t fade even a little.

I left, and they made a nursery for my baby, never knowing if I would even come back.

I clear my throat to dislodge that gigantic lump. “The, uh, the extra screws are spares.”

Vaughn tilts his head. “Huh?”

“It’s so manufacturers don’t have to keep mailing out extras when people accidentally lose one.” They all stare at me. “My dad would always build stuff when I was a kid. Postage is expensive. Cheaper to add a couple spares than pay for postage.”

They visibly deflate.

“Thank fuck,” Vaughn breathes. “I was trying to get Garrison to climb in to make sure that it would hold the baby, but he wouldn’t do it.”

I look at Vaughn, then I take in Garrison’s heavy shoulders, and I have to look away before I laugh. Or cry.

“Why yellow?” I ask, wandering over to the crib.

I spin the mobile, sending gold stars, white half-moons, and fluffy clouds in a slow circle. It’s sweet, delicate even, in contrast to the sturdy crib itself. No chance of a baby falling through, despite Vaughn’s fears.

All the windows are still open and there’s not a hint of paint fumes in the room. I like the yellow, though it was never my favorite color. It feels hopeful and warm.

“Ah. The book said a neutral color was a good option unless you know if you’re having a boy or girl. But if you don’t like?—”

“I love the yellow,” I gently interrupt Blaine, turning away from the crib. “And what book do you mean?”

I have a feeling I know exactly which book he’s talking about when I have a flashback to discovering a pregnancy book tucked within the pages of a newspaper.

“Give me a minute.” Garrison isn’t gone long, returning with the Post-it tabbed book I was expecting. Despite holding my hand out for it, he doesn’t offer it to me.

“You said you didn’t know who the father of your child was. You were wrong. They have three. They have us. Whatever you need, and whatever the baby needs, both of you will always have us.”

Years ago, I swore to myself I would never let an alpha see weakness, let alone my tears. That’s about to change. “I’m going to cry now. I’ve never cried in front of an alpha before, so?—”

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