Page 31 of Pack Frenzy
It lands under my ribs like a warm hand. For once, I don’t feel like the mascot. Not a spare part. A piece that fits with an Omega with us. Last time I felt this way was with Meredith, but even she didn’t like me going to Rowan with her there. She tolerated it, yes, but I was only to be with Rowan alone.
This feels different. This feels like she’s including me on purpose.
As if sensing my mood, Rowan’s knuckles lightly brush my hip on his way past to refill our tea. Jess catches the motion, but she just smiles, and I wonder again if she’s the perfect Omega for us.
I say. “Some people have an idea of how packs are supposed to work. Others live in the real world.”
Jess hums thoughtfully. “I vote real world.”
There’s a beat where the air tastes like more than cinnamon. Cassian pushes into it. “No more roast for me, that apple pie smells like heaven. All it needs is vanilla ice cream.”
“That would be amazing.” Jess wipes gravy from her bottom lip with her thumb, and I absolutely do not track the movement. “It smells so good, I think I could eat the whole pie.”
“Challenge accepted,” Cassian says, leaning back with a predatory grin. “Loser does dishes for a week.”
“You’re on,” Jess shoots back without hesitation.
Rowan and I exchange a look. “We’re not involved in this,” I say.
“Cowards,” Jess accuses, but she’s smiling.
The timer dings. I nearly trip getting to the oven. The pie is a show-off: bronze lattice, apples bubbling, sugar singing against the heat. I set it on a trivet, and the four of us just breathe it in.
“Yummy,” Jess says, eyes bright. “I can’t wait to try that.”
“Patience. Let’s clean up while it cools.”
Jess slides in along with us, rinsing her plate before adding it to the dishwasher, putting away the leftovers that we can use for tacos tomorrow, and wiping off the counter while I clean the Instant Pot. Rowan and Cassian clear off the table and put the knives and cutting board in the dishwasher.
Then Rowan gets out the ice cream and heaps it onto each of our slices, then sets them on the table.
We let the pie rest long enough to avoid lava tongues. Cassian ruins his palate anyway, demolishing his piece in three bites. Rowan closes his eyes on the first taste and exhales like he hasn’t let himself breathe in weeks. Jess mirrors him, fork suspended.
When she opens her eyes, there’s something hungry and alive there that has nothing to do with food. “Shit.”
“Language,” Rowan warns when her compliment dies at a swear word.
She flips him off, laughing. “Fine. It tastes like there was a family who loved each other and someone took notes.”
The kitchen goes quiet. Cassian freezes mid-bite. Rowan’s breath catches audibly.
I swallow around the sudden tightness in my throat, keep my voice even. “Then we’re doing it right.”
Later—after seconds of pie and there’s not even a crumb left—Jess hooks a hip against the island and tosses her chin toward me like she’s deciding whether I break easy or bend.
“You’re bi,” she says. Not a question. “And a Beta.” Flat, factual. “I don’t care about labels. I care if you’re honest.”
It’s a crowbar between my ribs. Clean, brutal, necessary.
“I am,” I say. No catch this time. “Does that bother you?”
She watches a beat longer, then nods once like we’ve passed step one. “No. But I’ve never been in a pack or around Alphas,” she says, voice pitched just for me, not for them, “treat me like I belong. Not like an afterthought.”
“All right,” I say. It’s the only answer and the right one. I let my shoulder brush hers—barely—so she can decide if that stays.
It does.
After the kitchen’s clean and the dishwasher hums its white noise, Jess leans against the counter with her second cup of tea, eyes landing on the stack of recipe cards threatening to escape their drawer.
