Page 30 of Eight Count Heat
I consider lying. Consider protecting this undefined thing between us by pretending indifference. But we've never lied to each other, not about the important things.
"Yes," I admit. "It did."
He nods once, as if confirming something to himself. "Me too."
The admission costs him. I can see it in the tightness around his eyes, the rigid set of his shoulders.
"So what do we do?" I ask.
"Nothing," he repeats. "She's hiding it for a reason. It's not our place to out her."
"And when her suppressants run out? When she goes into heat around eight unbonded Alphas?"
His expression darkens. "That's her problem."
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like it's about to become all of our problem."
"Then she'll have to leave." He turns to go. "Just like Meredith did."
"And if I don't want her to leave?"
The words escape before I can stop them. Jackson freezes, his back to me.
"What did you say?"
I swallow hard. "I said, what if I don't want her to go?"
He turns slowly, his expression unreadable. "Since when do you care about some Omega?"
"I don't know," I answer honestly. "But I'm curious enough to want to find out."
Something shifts in his eyes. Hurt, quickly masked by anger. "Then maybe you should go to her room instead of mine next time."
"That's not what I meant."
"Isn't it?" He steps closer, looming over me. "You just said her scent affected you. That you don't want her to leave."
"That doesn't negate this," I gesture between us. "Whatever this is."
"And what exactly is this, Eli? Since you seem to have it all figured out."
I don't have an answer. We've never defined it, never needed to. But now, with Reese in the equation, the lack of definition feels like a void neither of us knows how to bridge.
"I don't know," I finally admit. "But I'm not ready to end it. Are you?"
The anger drains from him, leaving something more vulnerable in its wake. "No."
Relief washes through me. "So we figure it out. Together."
"And Reese?"
"We keep her secret. For now." I step closer, bridging the gap between us. "But Jackson, if we're going to make it through whatever's coming, you need to deal with what happened at Hampton Hills. The real story, not the version you tell yourself."
His face closes off again. "I dealt with it."
"No, you buried it. There's a difference."
For a moment, I think he'll walk out again. Instead, he surprises me by reaching out, his hand curving around the back of my neck. The touch is gentler than his usual grip, almost tender.
