Page 66 of Holly Jolly Heat
She smiled. "Apparently not. Want to help?"
"Yeah."
We made cookies together in comfortable silence, and when they were in the oven, Michelle sat on the counter.
"Thank you," she said. "For understanding why I'm terrified."
"Thank you for not running away. For making cookies with me instead of hiding."
When her head eventually drooped onto my shoulder—exhausted—I let her rest there.
One moment at a time.
One day at a time.
We'd get there.
NINE
Michelle
I couldn't sleep.
Again.
It was becoming a pattern, lying in my childhood bed, staring at the ceiling, while my suppressants failed spectacularly and my omega screamed at me for fighting what was obviously inevitable.
Three alphas were sleeping in my mother's house. My pack, because that's what they were, even if I was too scared to say it out loud, were down the hall, and every cell in my body knew exactly where they were.
Lucas in the blue room, probably dreaming about cozy content and village expansions.
Ro in the green room, likely planning tomorrow's filming schedule even in sleep.
Dex in the study, positioned so he could hear if anything went wrong, because protection was coded into his DNA.
And me, alone in my room, fighting the instinct to go to them.
My room smelled like pack now. Like cedar and vanilla and spruce and woodsmoke and leather and bergamot, all mixingwith my peppermint and pine until I couldn't tell where their scents ended and mine began.
The suppressants were completely useless at this point. I'd been taking double doses for days, and all they were doing was giving me headaches while my omega laughed at my attempts at control.
Just give in,she whispered.Go to them. They're ours. We're theirs. Stop fighting.
"Not helpful," I muttered to my own biology.
I checked my phone. 2:47 AM. Too late to be awake, too early to give up on sleep.
My work inbox had thirty-seven unread messages. The GamerGear sponsorship needed final approval. Two potential clients wanted consultations. My other clients needed various levels of attention.
Professional Michelle had work to do.
But I couldn't focus on work when my entire body was vibrating with the need to nest, to claim, to surrender to pack bonds I'd been fighting for six days.
Six days. Less than a week. And these three alphas had completely upended my carefully constructed life.
I threw off the covers and headed downstairs. If I couldn't sleep, I might as well be productive. Or stress-bake. Either worked.
The kitchen was dark and quiet, and I moved through it with the muscle memory of someone who'd lived here for eighteen years. Hot chocolate first—my grandmother's recipe, the one that always soothed. Then maybe cookies. Or brownies. Something that required enough focus to quiet my spiraling thoughts.
