Page 37 of These Bonds that Unite Us
Nexus slips into the room while I am rinsing her hair, the longing on his face strong enough to feel like a vice gripping my heart. He lays a pile of clothes on the edge of the sink before he drags himself away.
My poor, sweet alpha is beside himself dealing with his guilt and anger over what has happened to Omen. He believes she wouldn’t have had to confront her father if he’d stayed after her heat, but I know our girl and she would have gone to New Hampshire to put an end to his reign regardless of whether we were at her side. Not when she knew the Pastor was targeting other omegas out of anger for not being able to find her.
“All done,” I tell Omen as the water starts to spiral down the drain. She’s wobbly as she climbs out of the tub, not bothering to hide herself this time. I keep my eyes on her face as I wrap her in a fluffy gray towel. Using another, I pull as much of the water from her hair as I can. When she starts to sag beneath the weight of her exhaustion, I grab the pile of clothes and help her get dressed.
“These aren’t mine,” she mumbles.
“They’re not. This shirt is mine,” I point out as it slips down her arms to land around her waist. “These obviously belong to Nexus.” She giggles when I hold up the psychedelic mushroom-covered boxer briefs. “The sweatpants are Nebula’s, and this hoodie is Titan’s.”
Looking her over my heart swells with pride knowing she is wrapped in all our scents. “You need our scents and physical contact to feel better. Even if you choose to never forgive us, at least use us to feel better for now.”
She still seems hesitant to agree, which is understandable. We’ve hurt her in ways no omega should ever experience. Ways we may never be able to atone for, but we aren’t going anywhere. We will spend an eternity trying to make things right.
“Alright,” she finally concedes. She must see the determination in my eyes. I offer her a smile and leave her at the edge of the sink while I grab a chair from the bedroom. Her hair needs to be blow-dried before we go downstairs.
The scent of homemade bread drifts up the stairs as I’m finishing up. Her stomach rumbles loudly, the sound echoed a moment later when my own growls in agreement. “Let’s go see what our Alpha has made for us to eat.” She flinches when I claim Nebula for both of us, but I don’t let her reaction deter me.
One reminder, one small act at a time is how I’m going to earn my omega’s forgiveness.
Walking into the kitchen I see the mess Nebula has made. Pans and bowls litter the counters, and the sink is nearly overflowing. Spread out across the island are a big pot of chicken soup, and several loaves of bread, including what looks like–
“Is that banana bread?” Omen asks from beside me. Her green eyes are wide as she takes in our alpha with his forest-green apron and flour-covered hands.
It’s easy to forget she’s never seen this side of him. Cooking and baking weren’t really hobbies he could enjoy while we were living on a tour bus for two months.
“It is, yeah. There is also pumpkin bread, white bread, and garlic rosemary focaccia. I wasn’t sure what you would be in the mood for if you’re even hungry…” He trails off, suddenly uncertain as he looks around. Sure, he went overboard, but this is one of the ways he shows he cares.
“Let’s get settled on the couch,” I tell Omen, taking advantage of her distraction to convince her to staying out of the bedroom for a while longer. “Then I’ll grab us a little bit of everything. The new season of First Glance Pack started last week. We can watch it together if you want.”
She nods slowly, her eyes linger on Nebula as we walk into the living room.
I settle her in the largest corner with several fluffy blankets around her. With the show loading on the TV, I step back into the kitchen. Nebula already has a tray loaded with bowls of soup and slices of bread, so I leave him to carry it while I grab a couple of bottles of water for us.
Standing in the doorway, I watch the uncomfortable interaction between my alpha and our omega. She can’t even meet his eye and he’s barely holding himself back from trying to comfort her. Their instincts demand they give in to the connection between them, but the sea of pain separating them is too vast to overcome after a simple apology.
Before things can grow any tenser, I step back in and curl up next to Omen. The right side of my body is pressed against her beneath the blanket, giving her the physical touch she needs to start to heal. I subtly tilt my head closer, my mind whirling as I try to find her scent. The tiniest hint of sunflower wafts off of her, but it is so diminished I have to strain to catch the honeysuckle notes beneath it.
Pain spreads through my chest, recognizing this is yet another side effect of her chemical rejection. Our girl is falling apart, crumbling like a thousand-year-old statue beneath the weight of the hurricane our rejection has caused in her body. I hope Fate has our paths merged long enough for us to heal the damage we have wrought in her.
As the first episode of First Glance Pack starts to play, we are introduced to a pack of beefy, small-town construction workers and the upscale boutique owner omega selected to bond with them. Omen snacks on different pieces of bread for the first fifteen minutes of the show before she grabs the bowl of soup and devours it. Relief fills me seeing her eat so heartily, especially after she declined anything we offered her the first two days she was here.
After they bond, the pack on the show takes their new omega back to their mid-sized craftsman house. She seems out of her depth surrounded by down-to-earth, hard-working men. When they show her to the empty attic they want to turn into her nest, an idea sparks in my mind. While they draw up blueprints and take her shopping for materials to decorate the interior, I begin an investigation of my own.
“What would your dream nest look like?”
Omen tenses beside me, her lips pressed tightly together.
“Pretend with me? Just for this afternoon, we can forget it all. Let’s exist in a world of our own creation for a bit longer.”
Recognition sparks in her sea green eyes as she turns to look at me, hopefully remembering the night we’d danced beside the fire. The two of us beneath the stars without a care in the world, even if it was only temporary. She studies my face for so long I start to sweat and doubt starts to creep in.
“It would look very monochrome,” she whispers. “All shades of black and dark gray with splashes of gold to break it up. Softtwinkling lights, fluffy blankets, and thick comforters for the winter.”
“That sounds dreamy, starlight.”
She hums her agreement, a sad smile tugging at her lips as she refocuses on the show. We’ve let her down, but we’re also going to build her back up. And I know the perfect place to start.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
