Page 14 of Omega in Love
"Anchoring you," Levi says with that unshakable calm of his, massaging the arch of Brookes’ foot with practiced ease. His large hands engulf Brookes’ slender foot completely. "You've got this twitch in your leg that says you're about to bolt. Sitstill." I hadn't noticed the nervous movement, but now that Levi mentions it, I see the telltale signs of Brookes’ flight instinct activating.
Brookes stares at him like he's grown a second head, momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence. He closes his eyes and bites back a moan as Levi's fingers get to work on what must be tender muscles. His eyes pop open almost immediately, as if remembering he's supposed to be offended, not enjoying the attention.
"You can't just. . .manhandle my limbs like that!" he shouts indignantly, but there's no real heat behind it.
"You didn't seem to mind if that moan is any indication," Dante mutters without looking up from his screen, fingers still typing steadily. His lip quirks upward slightly, the Dante equivalent of full-blown laughter.
Brookes gasps, clutching his pearls in mock-offense, but the tension in his frame has already decreased by at least thirty percent. "Are we flirting now? Is that what this is? Because I need warning. I haven't emotionally prepared."
"You never are," Dante says dryly, finally looking up to fix Brookes with that intense green gaze. "But you rise to the occasion like the drama queen you are." There's something softer in his voice now, something that wasn't there when we first took this assignment.
Brookes flips his nonexistent long hair and preens with all the dramatic flair of a runway finale. "Well, I am known for my flexibility," he announces, batting those long lashes with practiced precision. The morning sunlight catches the angles of his face, highlighting cheekbones that have launched a dozen magazine covers.
"Oh, please," Levi says with a smirk, his large hand continuing its methodical kneading of Brookes’ foot. His thumbs press into the arch with expert pressure that makes Brookes’toes curl involuntarily. "Your idea of stretching is reaching for the remote when it's slightly out of arm's reach. And even then, you usually just whine until one of us gets it for you."
Brookes turns to me then, eyes glinting with mischief, the rich brown of his irises catching golden flecks in the light. His rose scent intensifies slightly with his indignation. "Hero, back me up here. Tell these brutes I am a vision of grace and agility. You've seen me work, right? The catwalk? The poses? The absolutely flawless execution of movement."
I raise an eyebrow, keeping my face deliberately neutral though warmth spreads through my chest. "I've seen you trip over your own shoes, Brookes. Twice in one day. Once over absolutely nothing but air."
He gasps again, clapping a hand to his chest with such theatrical outrage that I can practically hear the pearls clutching. "Et tu, Brute? After all we've been through. The betrayal cuts deep, Elijah Delaire. Deep."
Dante chuckles, the sound rare enough that both Levi and I glance at him. "He's quoting Shakespeare now and he used your real name, Hero. The spiral is real."
I can't help the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Usually, I try to keep the line clean, guard up, focus sharp, it's what makes me good at my job. Right now, with Brookes sprawled across the couch like the crown jewel of this strange little kingdom we've created, it's impossible not to feel it.
Relief. Warmth. A crack in the wall I've kept carefully constructed around my heart since I left my family in New Orleans.
He's here. With us. Physically and emotionally present. Joking. Smirking. Trusting. The shadow that's followed him since the kidnapping has receded, if only temporarily. His body language is open, unguarded in a way I've rarely witnessed.
I see exactly what Levi meant when he caught my eye earlier. The anxious twitch in his leg has stopped. His spine isn't tight with tension. His shoulders have dropped from their defensive position. His eyes, though still shadowed with memories I wish I could erase, aren't haunted in this moment.
This is a bridge being built between his trauma and healing. A beginning, yes, and not the tentative, fragile kind we've seen before. This is him reaching for us. All of us. Not out of fear or dependency, but with that quiet strength that's always been there, beneath the hurt.
He nudges Levi's side with his toes, playfulness returning to those expressive eyes. "If you're going to keep fondling my feet like this, you better put a ring on it." His voice carries that familiar teasing lilt.
Levi hums, those strong fingers never pausing in their ministrations on Brookes’ arch. "Don't tempt me." Three simple words delivered with such unvarnished sincerity that they hang in the air between us, weighted with meaning.
Dante closes his laptop with a soft click and lifts a brow in my direction before he chimes in. "He's been tempting us since day one." Coming from Dante, this admission feels monumental. The man who measures every word, who calculates risk with military precision, openly acknowledging what we've all been circling.
Brookes flushes, cheeks reddening, eyes darting between us, wide with surprise or shock at the ease of Levi and Dante's confessions. For once, he doesn't deflect with a joke. There's no theatrical gasp, no hair flip, no armor of sarcasm. He just smiles, small, soft, genuine. A smile I've seen only in rare, unguarded moments when he doesn't realize anyone's watching. Yes, he feels it too. It's all the proof I need.
I shift onto my back on the yoga mat, folding my arms behind my head. The sky above is clear, vast in its simplicity, the infiniteblue a contrast to the complicated tangle of emotions we've been navigating for months. For the first time in a year, I don't feel like I have to brace for impact.
I can breathe. I can want. I can see the possibility of something more.
Of us.
All of us.
Chapter 7
Levi
Damn, the sun's brutal today. It reflects off the ocean in hard, glittering shards that burn my retinas no matter how I angle my head. The heat is relentless, beating down on the beach like a physical weight pressing against my shoulders. Sweat slides down the back of my neck, soaking into the collar of my shirt, but I barely register it. My focus narrows to a singular point, a tunnel vision that blocks out everything else on this crowded beach. My eyes are locked on Brookes.
He's standing waist-deep in the surf, trying to hold a pose while the wind whips his shirt open and water churns around his legs. The white gauze billows around his slender frame like a sail, occasionally clinging to his damp skin before being snatched away again by the persistent breeze. The contrast of the fabric against his brown skin is striking, exactly what the camera loves, but I can see the strain beneath the beauty.
The photographer barks adjustments in quick succession, his voice carrying over the crash of waves and the distant chatter of onlookers who've gathered to watch the famous Brookes Daniels at work.
