Page 42 of Omega in Love
He nods once, jaw tight. "I know."
JFK erupts the moment we step off the jetway, an immediate assault on all senses.
"Brookes! Over here!"
"Mr. Daniels, are you here to testify against Senator Blaine?"
"Brookes, are you here for New York Fashion Week? Tell us what designer you're walking for?"
"Are these men your security or your lovers? Are they your pack? Brookes, look this way!"
The questions fire like bullets, each one making Brookes’ scent spike sharper, roses turning thorny with anxiety. Cameras flash in a disorienting strobe that makes my trigger finger twitch and my jaw clench. Dante moves immediately to Brookes’ right, his movements fluid and practiced, while Levi shifts to his left, creating a human barricade. I position myself at his back, completing our triangle of protection as we navigate through the terminal's chaos. My eyes scan constantly, cataloging faces, movements, potential threats beyond the obvious press frenzy.
What I don't expect is Brookes’ reaction.
Instead of shrinking. Instead of the panic I've seen freeze him before, the thousand-yard stare, the shallow breathing, the rose scent turning sour with fear, he straightens his spine. Lifts his chin. His scent, still anxious, yes, but there's something else threading through it. There's determination in his demeanor, steel beneath silk, a quiet resolve that catches me off guard.
He doesn't run. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't give them a single word or reaction to feed on. Just walks, head high, between us, moving with purpose and dignity that silences something worried inside me.
The pride that fills me is so intense it almost hurts, pressing against my ribs, making my scent deepen with it.
We make it to the waiting SUV, Dante efficiently clearing a path with nothing more than his presence and the occasional firm "Step back," while Levi keeps his massive body between Brookes and the most aggressive photographers, those who push too close getting a glimpse of what happens when his gentle demeanor hardens. I maintain our six, watching for anything beyond the usual media chaos, the lone figure lingering too long, the hand reaching where it shouldn't.
Only when the doors close, when the soundproofed interior muffles the shouting and the tinted windows shield us from prying eyes, does Brookes exhale. His hands tremble slightly in his lap, but his voice is steady when he speaks.
"Well, that was bracing," he says with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair.
Levi laughs, the sound relieved and warm like his vanilla scent. "You were incredible, Bloom. Seriously."
"Textbook perfect," Dante agrees, eyes meeting mine in the rearview as he pulls away from the curb, his approval evident in the slight nod he gives me.
I say nothing yet, just reach across the space between us and take Brookes’ hand. His fingers curl around mine instantly,seeking comfort now that the performance is over, now that he doesn't have to be strong for the cameras. I give his hand a gentle squeeze, my thumb brushing over his knuckles.
"I'm proud of you," I say simply, because it's true.
His eyes, when they meet mine, are bright with unshed tears, but his smile is genuine, transforming his face. "I didn't panic. I. . .made it."
"No," I agree, holding his gaze steadily. "You didn't. And yes, you did."
The drive to Pack Hudson's building passes in exhausted silence. By the time we pull into the private underground garage, the adrenaline has worn off, leaving Brookes slumped against my shoulder, his scent of roses fading into something softer, more delicate with fatigue. His weight against me is light but trusting, and I resist the urge to pull him closer, to shield him from whatever might come next. Instead, I remain still, offering the steady support he seems to need right now.
The garage itself is immaculate, polished concrete floors, recessed lighting, and security cameras positioned at optimal angles.
The penthouse is exactly as described, three floors below Charlotte's, with reinforced doors, security protocols that satisfy even Dante's paranoia, and views of the city that would cost millions anywhere else. The space is open, modern, with high ceilings and neutral tones that somehow manage to feel both luxurious and comforting. I immediately note the strategic advantages, clear sightlines, minimal blind spots, multiple exit routes.
"Home sweet temporary home," Levi announces, dropping the bags by the door with a gentle thud, his warm vanilla scent filling the space with something that feels oddly like reassurance.
Dante is already moving through the rooms, checking locks and security measures with practiced efficiency. I can see the tension in his shoulders easing incrementally with each confirmation that the space meets his exacting standards.
Brookes wanders to the floor-to-ceiling windows, pressing his palm against the glass. The city sprawls beneath us, a tapestry of lights against the darkening sky. "We made it," he says softly, more to himself than to us. The words hang in the air, weighted with everything they don't say about what it took to get here.
I move to stand beside him, close enough that he can feel my presence but not so close as to crowd him. From this angle, I can see his reflection in the glass, the elegant line of his profile, the slight downward curve of his shoulders. "The hardest part is over," I offer quietly.
He turns to me, expression unreadable for a moment before his lips curve into a small smile. The fading daylight catches in his eyes, turning them amber at the edges. "No, the hardest part was deciding to come at all." He glances at Dante and Levi, who are pretending not to listen while unpacking, their movements deliberately casual, though I know they're absorbing every word. "But I'm glad I did. And I'm glad. . ." he pauses, swallows, the movement delicate in his throat. "I'm glad you're all here. Thank you for loving me. For holding my hand through my crazy."
Something in my chest tightens at his words. I don't reach for him, don't move closer, but I let my gaze hold his, steady and unwavering.
"Always," I tell him, and for once, I don't need to say more. The single word carries everything I mean, promise, protection, presence, love. Everything I am prepared to give him, for as long as he needs it. Forever.
