Page 74 of Knot Happening

It sounds like Bernie has known Tatum a long time, given everything she knows about the Omega. Tatum’s mother didn’t speak for the longest time, and I started to believe she couldn’t.

Then I heard her whisper a soft, “Thank you.”

Bernie must have been shocked silent, because for a long moment I heard nothing, until Bernie simply said, “Of course.”

After the older woman left, I took a peek at Tatum’s mom. She had a small crease to her brow, and she looked worried, but I couldn’t be sure, because she also stared at the wall without blinking for so long I started to think she might have died…

Overall, it was an uncomfortable experience for me. I don’t love being exposed to emotions.

“Easton?” Tatum frowns as she pulls the door open. Her face is free of makeup, something I normally love on her, but her eyes are red and puffy, and she looks like she’s spent hours crying. There’s a bit of confusion in her blue gaze as she squints at me.

“I brought ice cream,” I say, lifting the gray grocery bags. I had to search the internet on how to comfort a distraught Omega, seeing as I’ve never attempted to do so before, and as an Omega myself my instincts are fucked six ways from Sunday after years of suppressing them.

The search results were geared toward Alphas, but I found an article on how to offer nonphysical forms of comfort.

Ice cream was number one.

“I also brought chocolate.” That was number two.

“Oh my god.” She launches at me, initiating the first hug I’ve had in…a very long time. Her arms wrap around my neck tightly, and she trembles against my chest, nuzzling her nose into the skin she can reach above my neckline. The purr that slips free startles me so badly I choke on my own air. “Oh shit, come in…”

She leads me inside, and I follow her easily as she takes the bags out of my hands and takes them to her kitchen. I’m momentarily distracted by the skin on display below the hem of her crop top. I purposely look away along the counter and do a double take as I look down beside me.

“Do you want wine?” she asks, glancing over at me, oblivious to the way my heart races. Sitting beside a stack of bills is her open purse. Sitting right on top of the horde of hair ties and chapstick, is a light pink package. There is no mistaking that they are suppressants. My eyes narrow on the pack. They’re duds. I recognize the packaging as the kind my uncle sells… How the fuck did she get a hold of those? I can’t ask her that, though, without setting off alarm bells.

“Sure,” I murmur, still off balance after the unexpected hug. I don’t drink wine…

She’s pulling out bowls and spoons before my brain catches up, and I wave her over to the couch with instructions to put a movie on for us. I serve the ice cream, putting the rest away for later, and then take a moment to look at the pack while she is distracted with her selection. Yeah, definitely my uncle's trash. Just one of his many hustles.

I consider tossing it, but they’re nothing more than sugar pills. But if she needs them, and they don’t work, she’ll end up in pain at the very least.

In danger at worst. I’ll keep my eye on her. Swap them out with the real deal, after I get my hands on them.

The rest of the night is quiet. Tatum doesn’t cry, but when she falls asleep with her head in my lap, my hands in her hair, I don’t move for hours.

It’s not until she wakes up, gasping, that I finally get feeling back in my leg.

“You should stay here tonight. I’ll grab you a pillow and blanket so you can sleep on the couch.”

I follow her frantic steps as she disappears into her bedroom. “You spent three hours asleep on my lap, but I have to sleep on the couch?” I tease her, smirking to lighten the mood. Tatum stops mid-raid in her closet and turns to me. At the back of her closet, I catch a glimpse of what must be her nest, and my blood turns to ice, my chest tightening.

That is another Omega instinct that I refuse to give into. I stuff my hand into the pocket of my dark wash jeans and grab my knife. Allowing my fingers to caress the handle gently, I fight the urge to pull it out and twirl it between my fingers. Such a move would probably frighten the beautiful woman before me.

“That's a good point, actually.” She laughs, shakes her head, and then digs through a different drawer. I watch her pull out an oversized shirt, and sleep shorts. “Do you want to sleep in your boxers?”

I bite my lip, because the knee-jerk response of, “Absolutely not,” almost slips out. I sleep fully clothed. With my shoes on. It's not safe to sleep in anything less. An irrational part of me born from years of trauma wants to lash out at her, and tell her she should too, but I know that's not normal.

I could leave. I should.

I really, really should… But… God, she looks so desperately hopeful. So lonely.

The sadness in her soul calls to mine, and I grunt, nodding my head. For this girl, tonight, I'll fight the inner demons that threaten to expose me.

Adorably, she slips into the bathroom in the hallway to change, while I take my time removing my clothes and shoes. Placing the shoes on the floor within reach, I fold my clothing and place them on top.

When I finally sit on the edge of her bed, the nerves and insecurities threaten to destroy my control. I lean forward and rest my arms on my knees, hoping I don’t look as tense as I feel.

Tatum

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