Page 28 of Broken Ice
“Stop sayingyourfull name like that.”
“Is the most desirable Omega in all of the land.”
Emilio was luckily interrupted by the arrival of food, Steve cutting in with a happy little, “There you go.”
By the time they finished eating, Beau was feeling surprisingly warm and smiley. Emilio was actually not bad company now that he’d stopped being an avoidant dick. Not that he was giving the Alpha any credit—their burgeoning friendship was completely due to Beau’s charm and effort.
Still, as they parted ways to get to their cars, Beau had to admit that Emilio was sticking to his promise of treating Beau fairly despite his scent. Now that Beau knew he just smelt ‘overwhelming’ instead of ‘yucky’, he could let go of the fear that he’d be run out of another team for it.
And if he got closer to Emilio in the process, well, that was just for the benefit of the locker room dynamics…notbecause of Beau’s stupid crush.
***
Beau’s next heat struck him two weeks later, just as he was thinking of going to bed.
The shooting pain from the pit of his abdomen caught him by surprise, leaving him breathless.Literally. His body locked up, lungs frozen solid, refusing to draw in air. Beau pawed at his throat, panic rising as seconds ticked by.
I’m gonna fucking die, he thought deliriously.Here, in my Miami apartment, in my rattiest pair of sweats, drowning inland like a fucking idiot.
He scrabbled for his phone. He needed to call someone. His first instinct was to dial his dad, but the absurdity of that hit him hard enough to rock something loose.
His lungs expanded enough to suck in some oxygen. Relief rushed through, making his head spin.
“That would have been such a dumb way to die,” he gasped to himself.
The pain was still going, though. There was a hot poker pressed into his skin. He could imagine how his flesh would sizzle, how it would burn red and melt. How it’d give way, ripping apart, muscles and veins tearing, his uterus pierced through until it was nothing more than a flap of meat.
Beau slid to the floor, grinding his forehead against the couch. He didn’t know why he liked being on the floor when he was in pain. It’d probably be better if he curled up on the cushions, but it just felt natural to go down to the ground, see if he could just sink through it and become a lump of earth.
It took a while for the shrieking of his senses to subside. He was sweating by the time he regained enough sense to unlock his phone.
He sent the obligatory text to the doctor, who would inform the relevant parties. He stared at the screen. There was no one else to inform. No one to ask for help.
Emilio.
The thought clawed through him. It was a ridiculous notion. What the fuck would Beau even say? Hey, remember that horrible heat you spent with me? Want a repeat?
Yeah, right.
Beau clutched his phone and stumbled to his room. He had everything he needed under his bed. One box was filled with nesting material. Another with toys he hadn’t used during a heat in a while—he’d been in too much pain to even think of sticking something inside him. And then there was the one with provisions—water, food, towels.
Another wave of torture inundated him as he reached his bed. He managed to fall onto it, suffocating himself as he bit the sheets to keep himself from screaming.
God, it hurt.Fuck Johnson, and fuck the Warriors, and fuck Alphas, and fuck Emilio for not wanting me.
His stupid eyes began leaking, snot blocking his nose. This was so fucking stupid. He was so fucking stupid.
Reality slipped away. There were moments of respite, but even those were poisoned by disorientation. He didn’t hallucinate, but there were times he thought there was someone with him—his mom, his sister—someone to take care of him.
It was always a punch to the gut when he realised he was alone.
He surfaced briefly at two in the morning. There was a haphazard nest around him, which was a comfort. He grabbed a bottle of water, drinking some of it. The rest was spilt over him by his shaking hands.
Great. Now he was wet, and not in a fun way. He sniffled pathetically.
Lifesucked.
He’d managed to somehow plug his phone into the charger. He vaguely remembered crying with frustration as it took him minutes to slot it in the right place. He crawled to it, clutching it like a safety blanket.
