Page 28 of Pack End Game

It's warm. That's the first word that comes to mind every time I look around. Warm in color, warm in light, and warm in a way that I can't quite explain but that makes me feel like a little bit of Mia has seeped into every detail of the place. The furniture. The walls.

This place tells the story of an omega with eclectic tastes and a heart for trying new things. There's evidence strewn about that she's tried her hand at a hundred different hobbies.

Camera equipment. Calligraphy pens. Knitting needles. Several sketchpads in all different conditions of use, some looking more well-loved than others. She seems to enjoy hobbies that involve working with her hands, something that I can relate to as a lifelong athlete. My parents started putting me in every sport possible as a young boy to help keep my hands busy.

This apartment really feels like an extension of Mia.

Our house doesn't feel like anything.

The realization feels worse than taking a helmet to the ribs. I thought it was enough that our house has every amenity imaginable and was decorated by an award-winning designer. Never in a million years did I imagine I would find my omega one day, only to have her think the house, of all things, comes up short.

Freddie, still pouting from the couch, says, "This place is decorated great, but she can obviously redecorate whatever she wants at our place. Why are we hanging out in a one-bedroom apartment?"

"Shh!" Zak hisses instantly, jerking his chin toward the bathroom.

The water is still running, so hopefully Mia can't hear us over the sound of her shower. She headed to the bathroom the moment we got here, telling us she needed to make herself look normal before she could have a conversation about the house situation.

I'm not sure what normal means for her. Freddie and Zak have both made murmurings about hoping she owns normal pants. I'm curious to see her hair down and brushed, even for just a moment, to get an idea of how long her hair is. She's beautiful regardless, and our scent-match no matter what. I just want to know every detail about her, even down to the length of her hair.

But I'll want to spend the rest of my life staring at her, even if she walks back out here with the rat's nest still fixed on top of her head.

"So, I'm not allowed to touch anything or talk?" Freddie asks with a grunt of frustration. If there's one thing he really hates, it's feeling like he's being repressed. We do our best not to make him feel that way, knowing there have been enough people in his life who haven't understood him, and we don't want to add to that.

We have to draw the line at potentially upsetting our omega more than she already is, though.

"You can talk," I tell Freddie gently, "but let's be considerate of our stressed-out omega, and keep the volume more in check."

He opens his mouth, probably to make the situation worse, but I cut in before he can.

"Mia asked for space to take a shower and think. Let's give her that, okay?"

The reminder quiets the room for all of three seconds.

Zak is the one to break the peace this time, cutting his gaze toward me with his mouth set in a thin line of displeasure. "Seriously, though, what are we going to do?"

He doesn't have to clarify the question any more than that. I know exactly what he's asking.

What are we going to do about our mate hating our house? The nest we offered her? We built the house mostly for ourselves, but we thought we also put plenty of consideration into how our omega would someday feel calling the place home.

My jaw tightens.

I don't have an answer.

And that's not a feeling I enjoy. I'm always supposed to be the one who has the answers.

That's why I'm the head of the pack. Hell, that's also why I'm captain of our team.

On the field, I know what to do when things go sideways. I know how to study the field and adjust our plays. At home, I'm supposed to be just as solid. Ready to address problems amongst the pack before they ever have the chance to do real damage.

This?

This problem has blindsided me.

I look around Mia's apartment again, wishing her home could give me the answers I seek.

How do I make this right for her?

The sound of running water ceases, and we all sit up straighter on Mia's couch. There are other sounds of a cabinet opening, objects clanking together, and low mutterings that sound suspiciously like cursing. Her shower is done, but she doesn't return to us right away.