Thorns That Bloom (Venusverse), page 16
I’ll leave the thick tome that’ll probably explain to me all the ways I’m oppressing the omegas around me without even realizing it for tomorrow. I’m not sure I have the mental capacity for it today.
Not like I have anything but time. Stupid injury.
Well, stupid Theo. I was the one who got distracted and hurt.
Struggling not to let thinking about Gail and my inherent faults as an alpha completely derail my mood, I sit down and pick up one of the pregnancy books. Even if Sam keeps me at arm’s length, I should know everything I can about what he’s going through.
I should get some baby books as well, for when the kid is born.
I shake my head, grunting in frustration. You’re skipping way ahead. Need to slow down.
Still…every time I imagine him with a tiny babe in his arms, it feels like I’m going to melt. I want him happy, always smiling, and I want to be the one making sure that happens. The one taking care of him. The one he comes to for comfort and safety.
“Crap,” I mutter once that thrilling, pleasant feeling travels down my body, affecting more than just my heart. “No, no, no. Focus!”
I open the book in my lap, determined to give it all my attention. This isn’t about me and my pleasure anymore. It’s about growing and learning and getting better—for him.
❈
Three weeks into isolating myself in the house and having no one but Martin or occasionally my parents as company, I go for a checkup, where I all but beg to be allowed to return to work. Thankfully, being an alpha means my body heals pretty efficiently, so the doctor agrees to write me a note allowing me to go back, as long as I avoid some specific machines and movements.
I finally step foot back in the building exactly four weeks and one day after the accident, giddy and nervous and fucking dying to see Sam again.
Just a glimpse. That’s all I need. The baby must have grown, too.
Oh, I’ve missed him so damn much.
Drowning myself in books about pregnancy, trauma, and venus gender politics and relationships got me distracted only to a point. So did singing and coming up with songs. Strangely, I haven’t felt the hyperactive creative pull since meeting Sam. I usually do after starting a new relationship or getting a crush.
Only now, it feels like…whatever I come up with simply doesn’t do justice to how I feel about him. Any stupid words I can push out of my stupid mouth can’t even come close to describing the heavenly tune that plays inside my heart.
Besides, I don’t live in some romantic musical. I can’t win him over with a silly little love song…
Ben talks my head off about all the things that happened while I was gone. Which wasn’t much, but he still goes on and on about it. Who was seen chatting with who. Who do people think is cheating on their spouse. Someone from HR having been seen in the parking lot flirting with a janitor…
Then he talks about his wife. Complains about his mother-in-law. Complains about his wife more. Complains about his wife complaining about him complaining about his mother-in-law.
I remind him he loves her, and he agrees before poking fun at my scar and how wonky my finger looks now. With a huge scar of his own running down his forearm from his time in the army, he’s the one to talk. “Only handsome fellas have scars,” he says with a wide grin, and I nearly snort my drink at him.
I hope Sam doesn’t mind.
After getting a stern talking-to from Gary about safety, I get temporarily moved to the new section of the manufacturing floor. There are a few machines I can work with while following the doctor's advice about avoiding too much vibration and putting pressure on certain parts of my hand.
The machines Gary puts me on are the smaller ones I don’t know very well, so I spend most of the day fairly engrossed. And every time my mind wanders, I remind myself that dreaming about Sam and getting distracted was the reason for nearly losing my finger the first time.
I expect the lunch break to be my chance to see him. I barely even eat with how much I study the entire room, eyes darting toward the entrance at every slight movement.
I stay a little longer than I should, going over my allowed time, but there’s no Sam to be seen. There’s a crater in the middle of my chest that I try to ignore. Push through, I tell myself, and get back to work. You’re not some lovesick teen.
Unfortunately, the need inside me only grows. I’ve held on these past few weeks, driven by the knowledge that I’d be able to get a glimpse of him today. Sure, he might be working late. He might even be out, or it might be his day off. Again and again, I have to remind myself that I’m not owed seeing him and that I shouldn’t slip into the creepy, stalking alpha category.
And yet, the idea of leaving without having seen him twists my gut.
Against my better judgment, I decide to go upstairs to his office after I finish my shift. Even if it’s only to get a whiff of his scent lingering there, to feel closer.
God, I sound like an animal.
My knees feel weak by the time I get up there. I take the stairs to make sure my head is clear, and in case I change my mind on the way. Instead, my gait gets faster and more urgent with every turn I take toward that door.
The door that’s closed. Usually, it’s open.
Drawing in the dizzying scent of blackcurrant and sage that I’ve been craving like it could sustain me, I step in front of it, looking through the small glass window. There’s light. Sam’s computer is on, and he sits in front of it, working.
A wave of joy passes over me, leaving a faint tingling in my chest. He looks focused. His left brow furrows slightly, creating a faint crease in the middle of his forehead.
I can’t say I don’t feel a bit hurt. If the world played into my fantasies, he would’ve wanted to see me at lunch today, asking about how I’m doing. In reality, he likely doesn’t think about me at all. How would he even know I was back?
He’s probably enjoyed these weeks without having to suffer my tiresome presence. That thought sends a ping of pain through my heart, so I close my eyes briefly to shake it off.
When I open them again, Sam’s looking at me. He must have noticed my shadow or even my pheromones.
I step away swiftly and hold my breath. I take account of my emotions, of how much I’m letting out. With another cautious glance into the window, I see Sam’s expression, and it’s…neutral, I guess. I’m not sure if he wants me to come in or not before he wiggles his brows, beckoning me to do just that.
As panic and excitement swirl inside me, I take hold of the door handle and slowly open it. I take care to make my movements controlled and calm—the exact opposite of how they would be if I behaved how I really feel. A part of me wants to run in and fall on my knees in front of him, crying about how much I’ve missed him.
Obviously, that would be weird.
Smiling softly, I walk forward, leaving the door ajar for him to know that he’s safe. Sam’s eyes follow me as I go around the table, and with my every step, he pushes himself away from his desk and swirls his chair to the side to face me.
“Hey,” I say, my voice a weak mess.
I don’t understand why he looks at me the way he does. Cautiously. Pensively. There’s so much happening behind his eyes that I’m not privy to.
Did he expect me never to talk to him again? Did he want that?
“You’re back already?” he asks, brows high.
I lean against the table, not too close, to leave his personal bubble intact. “Yeah. You know, alphas heal quickly.” As I speak, I subtly lower my gaze. Oh, he’s filling up beautifully. It suits him more than I’d like to admit. And there’s such a lovely glow on his face… I wonder how far along he is now.
“I suppose that’s true,” he says softly, tilting his head to the side. His attention shifts down to my left hand. “At least the injury wasn’t too serious, then? I’m glad. Being off work sucks.”
I nod and hope I read his unspoken interest correctly as I step closer, showing him the digit. To my surprise, Sam wheels himself toward me. The moment he gets a hold of my finger to keep my hand still, I swear my heart nearly leaps into my throat.
Fuck…is this the first time we’ve actually touched skin to skin?
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. My soul tingles and vibrates underneath it. My stomach turns, but not like I want to throw up—it somersaults in the best way possible at the sense of rightness his touch brings. I can barely handle it; can barely contain myself.
“That’s a lot of stitches. I’m surprised you didn’t pass out. And glad I didn’t get to see the injury when…” As he pauses and flares his nostrils, everything inside me tightens again. My pheromones. Shit. I need to control them. Need to shove that crap back in quickly. I shift on my feet nervously while Sam’s eyes dart up, barely meeting mine, and down again. “When, um, it was fresh.”
He slowly releases my hand and leans back in the chair, putting one hand over his belly. He does that when he’s nervous, I’ve figured out. I don’t want to make him nervous, so I nod awkwardly and step away, giving him more space again.
Sam clears his throat before speaking. “If I’d known you were back already, I would’ve come to check up on…how you’re doing.” It almost looks like he’s surprised by the words coming out of his own mouth.
When I hear it—that he was planning to go out of his way to find out how I was—it makes my entire body buzz with restless, manic energy.
He isn’t making this self-control thing easy for me.
“Today’s my first day back,” I assure him with a smile. He seems a bit worried. The longer I stand here, the thinner his mask, and the more of the real him I can see. “I was hoping to see you at lunch, but you weren’t there. Are you— Is everything okay? Are you feeling well? And the baby?”
His eyes widen briefly. Then he escapes my gaze and swallows, the ball in the middle of his throat bobbing underneath his skin in a way that makes me want to touch it.
“Baby and I are fine. Everything’s going as it should developmentally. Thanks for asking.” A smile flashes over his lips, but it’s shaky and half-hearted. What’s worrying him? “As for the cafeteria, I don’t think I’ll be…going there anymore. For now, anyway. I…yeah. Not because of you.”
The heaviness dragging that beautiful voice of his down nearly propels me forward. I take two steps toward him before I stop myself. He finally meets my concerned gaze. “Did something happen? Did someone do something?”
Sam blinks, shaking his head without breaking eye contact.
“What is it, Sam?”
Whatever it is, it sends fear through him. Fear I see right before he faces away again, anxiously shifting in his seat and resting his other arm on his stomach, too.
The room fills with silence. I don’t know if it’s the kind that says I shouldn’t push further, or the one I need to let brew to allow him to open up.
“It’s nothing, just… They changed the cleaning product they use there. You know, wipe the floors with and stuff.” Right. I guess it smelled a little different. I figured it was simply me forgetting after so long of being away. “The scent is…it’s similar to…” With every agonizing pause, I wonder if I should tell him to stop talking. My stomach churns painfully. “Similar to the cleaner they used in the restroom at my old company. It, um,” swallowing hard, Sam puffs air out of his nose, clearly struggling to keep his voice firm, “brings back memories. Makes me anxious to be there, so I’ve been bringing food with me and usually eat it here.”
I feel like molten iron is being poured over my entire body.
Clenching my jaw until my teeth hurt, I straighten my back. Sam’s eyes find me, and the way he looks like he’s ashamed for bringing it up, or worried about my reaction, makes the pain a hundred times worse.
“It’s not your fault that it triggers you, it— Surely, we could talk to someone about it. It can’t be much of a problem for them to change the cleaning product to what it was.”
“No,” he says firmly. “That’s ridiculous. This is my issue. I don’t want to cause trouble when it’s not necessary.”
“It’s not causing trouble to ask for accommoda—” Seeing his fiery glare, I swallow my words. I see. This is about his pride. He doesn’t want to be seen as a victim. “It’s your choice. Whatever you want to do. I just don’t want you to go hungry.”
Sam runs his hand over his forehead, disturbing the lovely curls falling around his face. I wonder what his hair feels like. It looks soft.
“I’m not. Believe me. I might… I’ll work on it, on getting over the discomfort. It’s just that right now, it’s not my priority. My therapist says I should choose my battles, so that’s what I’m doing.”
“That makes sense,” I say, putting my hand into the pocket of my bomber jacket. When I do, I hear a faint crinkling, and it hits me that I completely forgot about the gift I brought. “Oh!” I blurt, pulling it out. “Here.”
Sam stares at the small, round object wrapped in baking paper in my open hand.
“Cookies. I made them when I was stuck at home. Well, my pop and I did. I helped as much as I could,” I say with a grin, hinting at my hand. Sam looks like a cautious feral cat, but opens it to reveal three chocolate chip cookies. “It’s black and white chocolate bits. The center should be soft, though…I’m not sure how it’s held up after sitting in my pocket all day. Anyway, it uh…I didn’t do it just for you. I had extras. I thought you might like it. Pregnant people have cravings and stuff, right? I mean, who doesn’t crave cookies, even normally?”
My god, I want to shut that door into the room with my head in it. Stop rambling!
Sam’s tight-lipped chuckle makes me all wobbly in the knees. With a crooked smile, he rests the cookies in his lap. “Do you bake often?” he asks.
“Er, sometimes. I enjoy cooking more, in general.”
“That meal you brought me. Did you make that?”
Heat rises to my cheeks again. “Mhm, yeah. Did you…did you like it?”
“I did,” he admits. I have no idea if he knows how velvety his voice sounds when he does. Before I can freak out about what it does to me, I watch him take a bite of one of the cookies, his lips parting to reveal those pearly white teeth. His brows shoot up after a few moments of chewing. While humming and mmm-ing, he starts nodding, covering his mouth with his hand as he eats. “Oh. That’s good. Really good.”
I could get used to his praise. It feels so nice. Dangerously so…
“My pop did most of it, honestly.”
Sam keeps smirking and glancing at me. I’m glad I at least distracted him from those negative emotions. “An alpha who bakes and cooks, hm?” he asks playfully, almost like he’s teasing me.
I offer a similarly lighthearted response while I rest my arms crossed over my chest. “Oh? You think an alpha shouldn’t be able to enjoy cooking? A bit stereotypical, no?”
Sam takes my jab well. The same warmth stays in his eyes. He takes another bite, and I wait for him to enjoy it, relish it.
“I suppose you’re right that I’m being close-minded. My parents are betas, so I think some of their more traditional, gendered preconceived notions might have rubbed off on me subconsciously,” he says lightly.
Everything around me lights up like I’ve uncovered another part of a treasure.
“Both of them? That’s pretty unusual,” I say.
“I was adopted. They expected to get a regular little beta infant when they got me. It was what they were supposed to get from the beta orphanage, anyway, but clearly…whoever brought me in lied, or wasn’t fully aware of their lineage. Either way, my parents were thrown for a bit of a loop when I got my first heat at fourteen,” he says with an amused huff. “Especially my father.”
More. Please, feed me more. Every word’s like a delicious sip of the most tantalizing wine. He must notice me staring at him like he’s the gods’ gift to Earth, because he quickly clears his throat and puts the rest of the cookie in his mouth.
You’re being too much. Too weird. Quick, reel it back in.
“While I was home, getting bored to death, I…I thought about something. About what you said in the car.”
Sam’s demeanor immediately shifts. His face turns more serious. He pulls back his shoulders and waits for me to continue.
I clasp my hands together, gulping. “You…were right. I won’t push any of that fated mates stuff anymore.” I leave out my absolute inability to even think about a relationship with someone else. That’s not important right now. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I will try to let it go, but can I— I know it might be too much. And I promise you, I swear on my life that there won’t be any ulterior motives behind it, but could we at least… Could we be around each other as friends? Just two people. Nothing more. Maybe I could continue bringing you food when I make some.”
My entire body feels like it’s on fire again. I can’t keep my damn voice firm enough not to sound like some nervous, insecure pup.
“There’s this balcony tucked away on the other side of this floor. No one ever uses it, really. I could show you, we…could go there to eat lunch, so you’re not just locked up inside this little room all day. It’s busy enough there. Near Accounting. And I would— I promise, only as friends. I will never overstep that boundary. I swear, Sam.”
Oh, I came off absolutely desperate just now, didn’t I? I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
Sam stares at me with wide eyes, his chest still. He’s clearly struggling to comprehend the rambly mess of thoughts that I just unloaded at him, and I don’t blame him.
When he finally breaks free with a snort, I worry it’s going to be followed by him telling me how pathetic I am, but instead, he glances up at me with a guarded smile. “You know, my…um, my therapist told me it’d be good for me to have ‘positive alpha role models’ in my life.” He says, as if he finds it amusing, though I’m not exactly sure why. “And as silly and persistent as you are, you’re also”—his gaze grows serious once he meets mine—“the only alpha I really feel comfortable around. For some reason, I can handle your pheromones without being too on edge. So I guess…I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. What you’re proposing. As friends,” he adds firmly.
