Page 15 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

I’m about to turn away from the window when a soft chirp from my phone makes my heart leap. I hurry to pull it from my pocket, fingers feeling clumsy as my heart thumps hard. The moment I lift the lit screen so I can see who it is, my heart drops.

It’s just a weather alert. Of course. Out of habit, I pull up the pack group chat. The latest message from me was this morning:

Making Stone’s favorite tonight. Hope everyone can make it.

Jax’s reply had come an hour later:

Pack business. Will probably run late. Don’t hold dinner.

Professional. Distant. Like messaging an employee rather than his omega.

Ren had just sent a thumbs up emoji.

Stone’s “Might make it” had given me that foolish spark of hope. Should have known better. His messages are always carefully noncommittal now. Always leaving himself an out.

Such simple exchanges. Such telling responses.

The thing is, I do know why Stone goes to the cabin. I’ve seen the weight he carries, the way guilt shadows his eyes whenever he looks at me. He’s trying—they all are, in their own ways. But you can’t force a bond to be something it’s not.

Staring out into the forest beyond, I know that for a fact. The distance between the kitchen and the forest has never felt so small. So tempting. My feet know the way. Could trace that hidden path even in darkness. Three rights, two lefts, past the lightning-struck oak that looks like a grasping hand in the dark. I’ve memorized every step, though I’ve only made the journey a handful of times.

But I won’t go. Not tonight. Something hard and resolute forms in my chest—maybe pride, maybe just exhaustion.

Instead, I force myself to focus on the routine that’s become my armor. Cleanup first. It’s easier to think when my hands are busy, when I can pretend the tremor in my fingers is just fatigue from cooking.

The first plate clinks against the counter too loudly. I leave it there as I get the others to put them all in the fridge. I’d spent hours getting the herb crust just right, remembering how Stone’s eyes had lit up the first time I’d made it. Back when he still looked at me like that—with surprise and something close to pride.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” he’d asked. He’d been genuinely curious then, impressed even.

I hadn’t told him about the countless cooking shows I’d studied,the hours of practice when everyone was asleep. How I’d cut and burned myself learning to handle knives properly, determined to master at least one proper omega skill.

Through the window, the forest seems to whisper. Go. Follow him. Maybe this time…

But I know what I’d find. Stone, seeking solitude in that weathered cabin. And worse—the moment he caught my scent, the flash of guilt that would be in his eyes.

My chest aches with phantom pain. The pack bond stretches thin these days, like a rubber band pulled almost to breaking. Through it, I feel a sudden spike of alarm from Stone, quickly muted as he throws up his mental barriers. For a moment, concern overrides my hurt. What’s happening out there? But then I realize—he’s finally free to feel without hiding it from me. In his cabin, away from the pressure of our failing bond, he can just be.

I can still feel all three of them, but the connections are weak. Fragile. Stone’s presence fades with each step he takes toward the cabin. Jax and Ren are distant points of light, so far away I sometimes wonder if I imagine the faint pulse of their existence.

I am not what they wanted. Not what any alpha wants, if I’m honest. Male omegas are rare enough to be considered special, but special doesn’t mean desirable. We’re curiosities at best, mistakes at worst.

The tears finally break free, sliding hot down my cheeks as I mechanically put the food into the fridge. Three years of trying to prove myself worthy of a bond that was never meant to be mine. Three years of watching them pull away, one missed dinner at a time.

The dining room takes longer to set right than it should. Each chair tucked in feels like an admission of defeat. Each smooth of the tablecloth like erasing evidence that I’d hoped—again, always hoping—that tonight would be different.

The kitchen light flickers as I hit the switch, casting one last amber glow across my domain before plunging it into darkness.Tomorrow I’ll be back here, going through the same motions. Cooking meals that won’t be eaten. Setting places that won’t be filled.

The stairs creak under my weight as I climb them. The sound echoes in the empty house.

Our bedroom—my bedroom now, if I’m honest—waits at the top of the stairs. The pack bed dominates the space, big enough for four but cold with emptiness. Three pillows remain untouched while I curl up alone on mine, trying not to miss their scents.

It’s a sorry excuse for a nest.

I don’t bother turning on the lights. Moonlight streams through the windows, painting silver paths across the hardwood floor.

The sheets are cool against my skin as I slide between them. The tears from earlier have dried, leaving behind a strange sort of clarity. They’re trying to let me go gently, in their own ways. Stone with his cabin, Jax with his distant professionalism, Ren with his brutal honesty.

I’m the fool that can’t let go. Won’t. Because beneath the pain and inadequacy, despite knowing I wasn’t chosen so much as settled for, I love them. Love them with an omega’s complete devotion, inappropriate package be damned.

---