“You’ve been running us ragged all week, least you can do is celebrate with us,” another adds, already swinging his tool belt from one hand.
I force a smile and shake my head. “Not tonight. My paperwork pile’s taller than the new cabinets.”
It’s not a lie. The invoices and project reportsarewaiting on my desk. But that’s not why I won’t go. The last three weeks have been sensory overload, and I’ve hit my limit. I need the peace and quiet of my own home. There’s a sprouted sourdough recipe I want to try, and a blanket that needs a minimum of forty-five rows added to it.
I’d like to get further into the project if possible, but even with a simple pattern, crocheting isn’t a fast hobby. I’m already not sure that I’ll reach my donation goal for the year, unless I move to a chunkier yarn to speed things up.
I raise my hand to rub my tired eyes but freeze at the sight of drywall dust caked into the seams of my joints, cemented there by sweat. My arm drops back to my side, mind itemizing the order of what I need to do to get everything done, starting with a shower. No, wait, laundry first. A load could be halfway done by the time I wash up.
The end-of-week sun beats down on my shoulders as I cross the weathered dock boards toward the parking lot. The salty breeze carries traces of fish and diesel, familiar reminders that home’s only fifteen minutes away.
I reach the asphalt of the parking lot, and thetemp increases, baking through the soles of my shoes. It doesn’t get hot in this region often, but when it does, it burns with a vengeance.
As I head toward my truck, I check that all of my crew made it off the boat okay, and I spot Leif hanging back to speak to Kyle. Leif grips the strap of his messenger bag, and though he nods at whatever Kyle says, his shoulders curl inward, compressing his considerable height in a way that makes my heart ache.
From talking to Nathaniel and Blake, I know that Leif’s a good person. Everyone who made him think shrinking was safer than standing tall has a reckoning coming.
I slow my pace, debating whether to offer him an escort to his car. Until we build the cabins meant for permanent residents, he’s staying at the Fairwind Hotel, a nice place with an Omega-only floor and security that checks credentials. He’ll be safe there, but the walk from the docks to the parking lot has turned into a gauntlet for him every day this week.
As if he senses my stare, Leif’s eyes flick up, find me, and slide away. His body shifts, angling away as if to become a smaller target. The motion is so slight most would miss it, but I recognize it from who I was by the time Auren left me.
I, too, was made to be small, and I never want to be the cause of that for someone else, so I continue toward my truck.
“Big Omegas like that one are always fun to break in.”
The voice carries from the stack of crates to my right, and my fist clenches.
“Making them cry is so satisfying,” another agrees, the words riding on a nasty chuckle.
My blood goes cold, then hot. Two dockworkers lean against the shipping containers, their coveralls stained with sweat and grease. One tips a paper-bag-covered bottle to his lips while the other nudges him with an elbow, both watching Leif.
They haven’t noticed me yet, standing half-hidden by the shadow of the harbormaster’s office.
I could walk past. Could pretend not to hear them. Leif hasn’t reacted, which means either he hasn’t heard or he’s gotten so used to this bullshit that he’s learned to ignore it.
The thought curls in my stomach like a snake. Alphas are supposed to be protectors, not predators.
My boots plant on the asphalt, and I turn my head to fix both men with a flat, unblinking stare.
Time stretches while I say nothing, just let my pheromones carry the weight of my silence. Thescent of clover and flannel carries on the breeze, wrapping around them in a silent warning.
The effect comes faster than I expect.
The taller one lowers his bottle, and the shorter one stops laughing. Their boots scuff the boards, the earlier amusement collapsing into uneasy quiet.
I hold the stare until the shorter one mumbles to his friend, and they push away from the crates, heading in the opposite direction.
I’d like to think I’m above the petty satisfaction of watching them scurry away, but I’m not. Some people only understand power. When they meet a tall, broad Omega, capable of defending himself, they want to knock him down to prove who’s stronger.
Alphas like that deserve to squirm.
Across the dock, Leif finishes his conversation with Kyle, giving a brief handshake before turning toward the parking lot. His eyes find mine for a fraction of a second, enough to register he knows what I did. He gives a small dip of his head and continues on his way.
He doesn’t want me to walk him to his car. The message is clear in the way he quickens his pace, in how he scans the area ahead, mapping out his route. He’s been handling himself for years without my help.
And yet, my feet want to follow. The need to protect scratches under my skin, a reflex I’ve spent the past several months trying to suppress after Auren used it against me, turning my instincts into weapons of my own destruction.
But Leif isn’t Auren. He isn’t trying to manipulate me. He isn’t asking for anything. He’s an Omega who wants to be left alone, to do his job without harassment, to walk to his car without Alpha posturing from any side, including mine.