Page 7 of Knot Happening Again

Mace nods, seemingly satisfied for now. He claps me on the shoulder, his hand lingering for a moment in a gesture of silent support. Then he turns and lumbers off, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the faint smell of sweat and leather.

I head for the showers, stripping off my sweat-soaked clothes and stepping under the hot spray. The water pounds against my skin, but it does nothing to wash away the weight of my guilt.

As I soap up, my mind races.

How do I even begin to tell Rhys?

How do I look into those warm brown eyes and admit that I've been lying to him since the day we met?

That I abandoned an omega I'd partially marked?

The thought of losing him, of losing the pack we've built together, makes my chest constrict. But the alternative—continuing to live with this secret eating away at me—is unbearable.

I rinse off and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. As I wipe the steam from the mirror, I stare at my reflection. The man looking back at me is successful, respected.

World champion fighter.

Pack leader.

Underneath it all, I'm still that scared kid who ran away from his responsibilities. But it's time to face the music.

I can't keep running forever.

I dress quickly, my mind made up.

Tonight. I'll tell Rhys tonight.

I head downstairs, my heart pounding in my chest. The weight of my decision sits heavy on my shoulders, but I know it's time. Rhys deserves the truth, no matter how much it might hurt us both.

The sound of tires on gravel catches my attention. I glance out the window to see Rhys's sleek sports car pulling into the driveway of the pack mansion.

Three stories of modern architecture sprawl across five acres, all clean lines and floor-to-ceiling windows. The gym wing alonespans half a football field, complete with a professional-grade octagon and state-of-the-art equipment.

The main living area flows from room to room in an open concept design that cost more than most people make in a decade. Italian marble floors, custom furniture, and a kitchen that would make a Michelin chef weep. But it's the little touches that make it home. Troy's music equipment scattered in the den, Maddox's industry magazines on every surface, Mace's protein shake containers perpetually filling the dishwasher, and Rhys's medical journals stacked neatly on his desk in the study.

Five bedrooms occupy the top floor—one for each of us—plus three guest rooms. And an empty omega suite that Rhys insisted on including when we renovated last year.

The one I pretended not to notice as it was being built.

My gaze drifts to the infinity pool stretching toward the city skyline. Even with all this luxury, something vital is missing.

Someone.

Rhys breezes past the entryway, literally running into me in his rush.

"Whoa there, Doc," I say, managing a smile despite my nerves. "Where's the fire?"

Rhys looks up at me, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins. His long auburn hair is slightly mussed, like he's been running his fingers through it all day. "Sorry. I'm a bit scattered today."

"Sorry I'm later than usual," I say, even though the fact that he's still in his coat suggests I'm not the only one.

"Don't be, I just got in," he says, confirming my suspicion as he shrugs off his coat. "One of my patients went into false labor again. Third time this month."

A familiar tension coils in my gut at the reminder of what Rhys does for a living. It's not just that he's a doctor. He's one of the foremost experts in omega care and obstetrics in the country.

The guilt that's been gnawing at me all day intensifies. Here I am, about to confess to abandoning a partially marked omega, while my bond mate dedicates his life to caring for them.

And longs for one to call his own.

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