Page 42 of Packing for Vacation

“They’re posting it here?” He looks out at the view again, and I follow his gaze. It’s all grass, bush, sea, and nothing else. “Oh, one hundred percent. She’s not getting that fuckin’ thing back.”

“She better.” I eat another spoonful of muesli, talking around my food. “She’s an omega, she needs her things. I’m surprised she’s not more upset.”

“I think she’s a tough one. Goes with the flow.”

“It’s what you want, eh? Someone who doesn’t lose their shit at the slightest inconvenience.”

“Yeah.”

We fall silent once more. Matiu stares out the window again, a small frown on his face as he chews his toast, and when he catches me staring I look away. He’s aged. We both have. He looks good, healthy, but there’s the odd smattering of grey at his temples that match my own, and neither of us would ever get called babyfaced these days.

The quiet stretches between us like a living, breathing thing, heavy and sick. It’s a weight on my chest that’s been slowly suffocating me since the night everything ended. “That was hot last night,” I say to fill the silence, grasping for the common ground between us. Hot doesn’t begin to do it justice. I already know that Lizzie writhing between us, reduced to a whining, slick-soaked mess as we fucked her together in the bath, will be a core memory of mine going forward. And beneath the sexiness of it all, it just felt right.

He nods, taking another sip of his coffee silently. “It was,” he finally offers.

I can’t take it anymore. “What are we doing?” I ask. How are we going to make this work?

He shrugs. “Fucked if I know.”

“Are you going to try?”

He gestures at the house. “I’m here, aren’t I? This is your bach.”

“You’re the one that suggested it.”

“Yes,” he says, as if I’m particularly dense. “You know,” he adds after a beat, “I could have pretended not to recognise your scent. I could have said I didn’t know you. I could have kept her to myself. I made you your fucking super-sweet coffee⁠—”

“—There’s nothing wrong with⁠—”

“I’m trying, Scott. I’m trying, eh? And you know she might just leave at the end of the month anyway.”

“She won’t if we make this work. I want to make this work. For her. For me. For you.”

“Do you need a hug?” There’s an almost combative edge to his tone, but I don’t care.

“Yeah, actually, I do.”

He hesitates for only a moment before crossing the kitchen in two large strides, arms wide open, mirroring mine.

The last time he hugged me was at Mum’s funeral. All four of the Thompson brothers had shown up, despite the fact that I hadn’t spoken to Matiu in years at that point, and when he’d led a haka as the hearse pulled away I’d been a mess. I’ll be forever grateful for that moment. I hope he knows that.

“We were so young,” Matiu says quietly, his mouth somewhere above my ear. “Young and dumb.”

Neither of us were stupid. We were both in our final year of law school. We both had our first jobs lined up, due to start as soon as we completed profs over the summer. We’d been top of our classes. We’d been a pack.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” I whisper against his shoulder. He smells like himself, but there’s a sweet edge to his scent now. Spiced strawberries, like some sort of fancy dessert, having been scent marked by Lizzie in the night.

“I’m sorry too. I wanna move forward.”

“Same.”

Chapter Fifteen

Lizzie

After a relaxing week spent at Scott’s bach I’m finally itching to explore further afield, the dopamine-seeking side of me overriding my omega need-to-lounge-around-in-the-nest-all-day instincts. We whittle down the long list of potential destinations and reserve Barry’s spot at ‘doggy daycare’—which in reality is just sending him to the neighbour’s house each morning in exchange for a box of beer.

“I feel bad,” I say as we drop Barry off with Bob-the-neighbour, a beta in his sixties who seems to wear nothing but rubber boots, faded green short shorts—I add the Kiwi term stubbies to my mental dictionary—and a black tank top day in and day out.