Page 73 of The Knotheads Next Door
Touch me. Really touch me. Please.
The thought is so loud in my head that for a moment I fear I've said it aloud. But Theo just looks at me with those kind, worried eyes, maintaining a careful distance once I'm seated.
"Rowan," he says gently, "you know what's happening, don't you?"
I nod, unable to deny it any longer. "Heat. My first."
"And you were planning to leave," he observes, nodding toward my half-packed bag.
"Alone."
"It's the sensible option," I say, sounding more defensive than I intend. "I can handle it myself."
"Can you?" he asks, not unkindly. "Your body temperature is elevated, you're experiencing dizziness, and your hormones are fluctuating rapidly. A first heat at your age can be intense, even dangerous without proper support."
"I'll go to a clinic," I say, though the thought of spending my heat in a sterile facility with strangers checking on me makes my skin crawl.
"The nearest one is over an hour away," Theo points out. "Do you really think you should be driving in this condition?"
He's right, and we both know it. But the alternative...
"What am I supposed to do?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds. "Stay here? With three unmated alphas? That's a disaster waiting to happen."
"Not necessarily," Theo says carefully. "We can help you, Rowan. Not... not like that," he adds quickly, seeing my expression. "But support. Comfort. Safety."
I laugh, the sound edged with hysteria. "You think any of you could be near me when this really hits and keep your hands to yourselves? That I could?"
A flush creeps up his neck, but his gaze remains steady. "I think we care about you enough to try. To give you what you need, whatever that ends up being."
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. What I need. As if it were that simple. As if what I need isn't currently walking a dangerous line between biological imperative and emotional vulnerability.
"I can't ask that of you," I say. "Of any of you."
"You're not asking," comes Jasper's voice from the doorway. I turn to see him leaning against the frame, arms crossed, expression unreadable. "We're offering."
His scent hits me like a physical blow, pine and sawdust and something fundamentally male that makes my omega whine with want. Behind him, Wells appears, his own bergamot-and-paper scent adding to the intoxicating mixture filling the room.
Too much. It's too much.
"I don't need your help," I insist, standing up too quickly again. The room tilts, but I manage to stay upright through sheer stubbornness. "I'll figure it out."
I grab my bag, pushing past them toward the stairs. Every fiber of my being screams to stay, to submit, to let these alphas take care of me. But my pride, my independence—the very sense of self I've clung to through years of medical uncertainty and family secrets—demands that I handle this on my own.
"Don't be stupid," Jasper's voice cuts through my internal debate, sharp with concern. "You'll never make it to the clinic like this."
I turn on him, temper flaring. "I'm not stupid. I'm trying to be responsible. To avoid complications for all of us."
"Complications like what?" he challenges, taking a step toward me. "Like admitting you need help? Like acknowledging that what's happening between us—all of us—is more than just biology?"
His words hit too close to home, exposing nerves I'm not ready to examine. "This isn't about that," I lie. "This is about me handling my own problems, the way I always have."
"And how's that working out for you?" he asks, not unkindly despite the bluntness of his words.
A wave of heat crashes through me before I can respond, so intense it makes me gasp. My knees buckle, and it's Wells who catches me this time, his touch more hesitant than Theo's but no less steadying.
"Rowan," he says quietly, his voice rougher than usual, "let us help you. Please."
Something in his tone—the rare vulnerability, the genuine concern—nearly breaks me. It would be so easy to say yes. To let them take care of me. To give in to what my body so desperately wants.
