Even if my silence breaks his heart.
Micah
Iwake to the sensation of being watched.
For a disorienting moment, I can't remember where I am. The sheets beneath me aren't mine. The scent surrounding me is familiar but stronger than usual. And my body—God, my body feels weightless and feverish at the same time.
Then I open my eyes and see Nick.
He's propped up on one elbow beside me, his dark hair mussed from sleep, those blue eyes watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. The events of yesterday come rushing back in vivid detail—the unexpected heat, the mortifying confession, Nick's hands on my body, inside me, his knot...
And then last night. The way we stared at each other with everything unsaid hanging between us. How I saw recognition in his eyes. He knew what I wasn't saying, what I felt, but couldn't acknowledge it. The moment when all my feelings were laid bare in a look, and his inability to respond in kind.
The memory settles like a stone in my chest. I shift slightly, putting distance between us on the mattress—not much, but enough that Nick notices. His expression tightens.
"Morning," he says, his voice morning-rough in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.
"How long have you been awake?" I ask, because it's safer than the questions I really want to ask. Like whether he's had time to regret everything. Whether he's figured out how to let me down easy.
"A while." His hand hovers near my face, like he wants to touch me but isn't sure if he should. "Micah, about last night—"
"We don't need to talk about it," I interrupt quickly. "I understand."
Nick's expression falters. "You understand what?"
"That the heat makes everything intense. Emotional. Things get said without words that maybe shouldn't be." The words taste like ash, but they're safer than the truth. Safer than admitting how much his inability to respond cut me.
"Micah, that's not—" He reaches for me, but stops when I unconsciously flinch away from his touch. The hurt that flashes across his face is almost enough to make me take it back. Almost.
"How are you feeling?" he asks instead, his voice carefully gentle in a way that makes my chest ache. He's being so careful with me now, like I might break.
Physically, I'm in the eye of the storm—a brief reprieve between heat waves that I know from experience won't last long. Emotionally, I'm a mess of hurt and embarrassment and the desperate need to protect what's left of my dignity.
"Better," I say, because it's easier than the truth. "The fever's down for now."
Nick nods, but his eyes never leave my face, like he's searching for something. Forgiveness, maybe. Or proof that I really am okay with his inability to love me back.
"You were restless in your sleep," he says finally. "I was worried."
Oh God. I was probably moaning in my sleep, my body already gearing up for the next wave. Mortifying.
"Sorry about that," I mutter, unable to meet his gaze. "Heat dreams."
"Don't apologize." His voice is soft, almost pleading. "You don't have to apologize for anything, Micah."
But I do. I have to apologize for loving him when he can't love me back. For making this complicated when it should be simple. For being the kind of omega who falls for his straight best friend and then has a breakdown heat that forces them into this impossible situation.
Before I can figure out what to say, my body makes the decision for me. A wave of heat rolls through me, more intense than yesterday's initial symptoms. My skin flushes instantly, sweat breaking out across my body. The empty ache inside me returns with a vengeance, and I can't help the small whimper that escapes my lips.
"Micah?" Nick's voice sharpens with concern, and relief floods his features—like he's grateful to have something concrete to focus on instead of the emotional landmine between us. "Is it starting again?"
I nod, unable to form words as another pulse of heat washes through me. This is different from yesterday—stronger, more focused. My previous heats were always manageable, the discomfort dulled by suppressants. This is raw, primal, my body demanding satisfaction in a way I can't ignore or rationalize away.
"What do you need?" Nick asks, his voice dropping lower, taking on that alpha resonance that makes my omega instincts stand at attention. But there's desperation in his tone now, like he needs to help me, needs to do something right.
What I need is him. His hands, his mouth, his cock. His knot filling the emptiness inside me. The thought should embarrass me, but I'm beyond embarrassment now.
"You," I gasp, reaching for him. "Please, Nick. I need you."