Page 16 of Omega in Love
He breathes out shakily, the tension slowly bleeding out of his body in increments. I can feel each exhale warming my shirt, his heartbeat gradually steadying against mine.
I lean down, my lips near his ear, close enough that only he can hear the fierce promise in my words. "They don't get to touch you. Not like that. Not ever again. You understand me?"
He nods, the motion barely there, just a slight movement against my chest, but it's enough.
I swear to myself in that moment, silently, furiously, with every fiber of my being, if anyone tries again, if they ever come that close to hurting him, I'll burn the world down before I let it happen. My protective instinct roars through me like wildfire, consuming everything else.
Dante drives like a man possessed, taking corners too fast and accelerating through yellow lights, weaving through traffic with deadly precision. His rage fills the car, a low, simmering heat that raises the temperature by degrees. Hero's not much better, I can see the muscles in his jaw working as he stares out the window, scanning for threats even now.
I keep my focus entirely on Brookes. His breathing has evened out, but his scent is still wrong. The trembling has subsided, but his fingers remain curled tightly in my shirt, anchoring himself.
"Tell me what you need," I murmur, my thumb brushing gentle circles at the nape of his neck, feeling the soft hair there. "Water? Space? Something to eat? Talk to me, Bloom."
The nickname slips out without thought, natural and tender, and I feel him soften just slightly against me. He shakes his head minutely, face still pressed to my chest as though hiding from the world.
"Just don't let go yet," he whispers, "Please."
Tightening my arms around him, one hand continuing its soothing path through his hair. "Not a chance. I've got you for as long as you need."
Hero turns in his seat, his hazel eyes softening as they land on Brookes, concern replacing the cold fury from momentsbefore. "I already called the agency. They're handling the press and damage control. Cam texted, she's got your things packed up and is bringing them to the house herself."
"We're taking you home," Dante adds from the driver's seat, his voice carefully controlled but with an edge that promises consequences. "Then we're having a serious conversation with the shoot's security team about perimeter control and crowd management. What happened back there should never have happened. Not on our watch."
Brookes finally lifts his head, and the sight of his face, ashen, drawn, eyes too bright, makes something in my chest crack open. I have to physically restrain myself from pulling him closer.
"It wasn't their fault," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers twist anxiously in the fabric of my shirt. "There were just too many people?—
"It was absolutely their fault," Hero cuts in, his tone gentle but carrying that unmistakable steel beneath. "Their job is to anticipate variables, to have contingency plans. They failed. Spectacularly."
"They're getting fired," Dante states flatly from the front seat, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. There's no room for debate in his voice, just cold, calculated certainty. "I'll personally make sure of it."
I catch Brookes’ gaze, letting my hand cup his cheek, my thumb brushing away a tear he probably doesn't even realize has fallen. I want him to see the truth in my eyes, the absolute certainty I feel down to my bones. "We'll keep you safe, Bloom. Always. That's not just a job, that’s a promise. From all of us."
Something complicated crosses his face, acceptance melting into gratitude, relief flickering beneath the surface, and something else, something deeper that I can't quite name but makes my heart stutter. Then he lays his head back against myshoulder, his breath warm against my neck, his body finally releasing some of its rigid tension.
"I know," he whispers, the words vibrating against my skin. "I know you will."
The trip to his house passes in a blur of tense silence. When we arrive, I don't put him down, I carry him straight in despite his halfhearted protest that he can walk. I don't care. I need to feel his weight in my arms, need to know he's still here, still solid. Need the reassurance that comes from holding him close, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest against mine, the warmth of his body confirming he's safe now.
Inside, the house is cool and quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the beach. Sunlight filters through the large windows, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floors. Grabbing two large towels from the downstairs bathroom, I make quick work of tossing them over the sofa. Only then, do I set Brookes down carefully on the sofa, staying close, one hand still on his shoulder, my fingers gently kneading away the tension I can feel beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. I'm not ready to break contact yet, and from the way he leans into my touch, neither is he.
"I'll check the perimeter," Hero says, already moving toward the back of the house, his footsteps nearly silent as he disappears down the hallway. His face is a mask of professional focus, but I catch the concerned glance he throws Brookes’ way before he goes.
Dante pulls out his phone, jaw clenched tight. "I'm calling Dez." At Brookes’ questioning look, the hard lines of his face soften slightly. "We need to get ahead of the story." His voice carries that familiar note of protectiveness that's become second nature when it comes to Brookes.
When they've both left the room, Brookes exhales shakily, some of the tension draining from his shoulders.
"Can I get you anything?" I ask, studying his face. The makeup Camilla applied this morning is still perfect. I can see the shadows, the cracks in his composure. The slight tremble of his lower lip that he's trying desperately to control.
"Just sit with me for a minute," he says, patting the seat next to him.
I nod, settling in beside him, my larger frame creating a protective barrier between him and the rest of the world. "For as long as you need." The words come out deeper than I intended, heavy with meaning I'm not sure I'm ready to examine.
We sit in silence for a while, the only sounds our breathing and the distant murmur of Dante on the phone, his voice a low rumble from another room. Brookes slowly relaxes, inch by inch, until he's leaning against me, his head on my shoulder. The scent of roses envelops me, familiar and comforting, mingling with the faint traces of sea salt from the beach.
"I thought I was ready," he finally says, voice small and fragile, like glass about to shatter. His fingers twist nervously in his lap. "I've done a hundred outdoor shoots like that before. I used to thrive on them, you know? But when they started asking about Charlotte, Senator Blaine, about what happened. . .it was like I was right back there, in that room, and I couldn't—" His breath catches painfully in his throat, and I can feel the slight tremor running through his body.
His voice breaks, and I wrap an arm around him without thinking, pulling him closer. My body moves on pure instinct, the need to comfort him as natural as breathing. The weight of him against me feels right, feels like something I've been waiting for without realizing it.
