38. Thirty Eight - Drake

thirty eight - drake

. . .

It's been two days since I found out Rebel is my Rebel. And she's mated to my best friend. Talk about a sword in the side. She's supposed to be mine. She was mine first and will always be mine. No matter who mates her.

But that also makes what I'm about to do for the next two days so fucking hard. Tate wants me to watch over her while he's out of town, and I agree that it's a good idea. Given experiences recently.

I'll be under the same roof as her. Smelling that apple pie scent and trying not to think about how she smells so fucking good. Or wondering how good she'd taste on my tongue. Being this close to the thing you desperately want is a sweet kind of torture, and I'm the masochist that's letting it happen to himself.

My eyes drift to the clock on the mantle of my fireplace. Three hours and ten minutes until I'm walking next door to care for his omega. My omega. I can still taste her scent.

When she first presented, my brain instantly shouted, "Mine!" She didn't have the addicting fucking scent that she does now, but I don't honestly care how she smells. I just want her. She's not just a scent-mated for me.

She's.

Rebel.

I flip the channel on the TV for about the fifteenth time today. Sleep did not call to me last night, and I spent the majority of it tossing and turning until I couldn't stand it anymore and just decided to start my day freaking early.

I guess there are some perks to getting up so early. I managed to clean the majority of my house. I could pay someone else to do it, but honestly, why would I do that when I can just do it? Throwing money at something isn't the answer, plus, since being a foster kid, I've always saved everything I've made.

My childhood wasn't as bad as some people's. Like finding out what that vile dickhead did to my omega when I left sets my veins on fire with hatred. If I knew where he was right now, I don't think I could save him from myself.

He took her first time. The time that's supposed to be special for any omega and hers was ripped away cruelly. It should've been mine. I should've begged her to have me before I left. Hell, maybe I should've marked her before I left to go to the AHL.

I just didn't want her to be linked to me until I could prove myself worthy of her love. The only thing I had to give her was my love. I didn't have any money. I had no home for us to move into. Now I have everything I could ever want, except for her.

No, now I get the pleasure of knowing that she's spending the rest of her life with my best friend and next door neighbor.

I've watched the replay from our last game about three times now, but what's another round? It should take me three hours. I look at how we played as a team. I take notes on some of the saves Tate did.

He's one of the best goalies in the league, and I've been watching him play for years. He's really fucking good. The hand-eye coordination on that dude. Maybe it's why he has my omega.

I shake my head. If she was anyone else, literally anyone else, I'd be happy as fuck for him. I'm glad that he's worried about her, though. Means he actually cares. Seeing Tate Geekies tied down and not fucking anything that has a vagina is a strange but nice change. He just needed her.

I need to stop thinking about this shit. I'm getting emotional like a damn omega about an omega. My stomach growls, and I get up from the couch, heading towards my kitchen. I'll make some breakfast for myself. An hour to go.

My heart is in my fucking throat as I stand on the front porch waiting for Tate to open the door. I glance around behind me at the road as if, somehow, what I'm doing is illegal. What the hell is wrong with me? When no one opens the door within two minutes, I give the door one more knock.

A few seconds later, the door glides open ever so slowly, and a ragged looking, naked Rebel greets me. Her eyes are glazed over, and there's a sheen of sweat along every inch of exposed skin I can see. "Hey, firecracker." My lips spread just seeing her, and I can't take my eyes off her body. She should not be coming to the door naked.

But she looks like the last thing she cares about is being naked. Her scent hits me, and I close my eyes, inhaling it like the latest batch of my favorite drug.

My voice seems to bring her back to reality, breaking through her haze. Fuck. Reaching out, I place my palm against her forehead. "Rebel, you're burning up. When did Tate leave? Did he know?"

"Early this morning. Didn't want to…" she bends in half and moans at the pain obviously wrecking her body. She's going into fucking heat. Her mate is not here. I'm here. Fuck. My. Life. "Bother him," she whispers so low I almost don't hear it.

"I need to call him. Tate needs to know." Reaching out, she grabs my arm and pulls me into the house. Her grip is stronger than I remember. Her fingers dig into my skin as if she's scared I'll just disappear.

Never, Rebel.

Never again.

I lost you once.

I won't do it again.

"‘No. Need you, Drake," she pleads in a moany little voice. Well, fuck, that's new. "It hurts," she whimpers, clutching her belly. Fuck, I hate that look. I hate seeing her in any type of pain.

I should call Tate. Tell him his omega is in heat. But the alpha part of my brain says fuck that. She's our true mate, and if she needs us, we aren't getting fucking approval from the alpha who stole her from us.

"Fuck." I sigh out. I've got no choice here. Leave her in pain or just get the shit kicked out of me. It's obviously going to be option two every time. She starts to cry as I pick her up. Her eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and she's holding onto me like I'm her last redeeming hope in the world.

Walking her into his house, I head towards the living room and place her on the couch, looking around. Hell, even the house is coated in her intoxicating scent. My pheromones are flaring as my scent mixes with hers.

I pick up the phone and dial Tate. I need to tell him. It's the right thing to do.

"Drake?" He answers with a question, as if he wasn't expecting me to call him.

"We have a situation…"

His sharp intake of breath tells me he's not exactly thrilled with those four words. "What's going on?"

I take a deep breath before speaking. "Not to make you worried or anything, but Rebel is in heat. Was she like this before you left her earlier?"

"I mean, she was her normally needy self, but nothing worse than that. Fuck, it's weird telling you this shit. I'll talk to Coach, see if he can play the backup tonight."

"He's not going to say yes." I say what I'm sure he's thinking. Coach won't say yes. I'm already out. This is one of the biggest games this season. There's no way he'll pull Tate.

He sighs. "Fuck, I know."

"What do you want me to do? I can help her through this. Or I can take her to the heat club? Although I think she's too far gone for suppressants at this point. She'll be in pain. Do you want to set your ego aside and let me tend to your omega in your absence or do you want her to suffer?"

"You know the answer to that question, but you have to promise me you'll make her feel safe and comfortable. And you can't mark her."

I remain silent for a few beats. That's not a promise I can keep. If she's mid-heat, begging for my knot and my bite, I'm going to damn well mark her.

"Drake…" he growls.

"Fine, I promise." Lie, lie, lie. There's no way. But I'm not about to tell him that.

"I'm still asking Coach. I'll get back to you."

"Talk to you then. In the meantime, I'm going to tend to your omega."

He growls, and I can almost see the angry look he's giving me through the phone. "Do not enjoy it. This is helping her, not helping you."

I chuckle. "That I cannot promise. I will take care of her, yes. Without a doubt. I cannot promise I won't enjoy every minute of it."

"Fuck." I hear him mumble the word right before the call hangs up.

My whimpering omega catches my full attention. "Please, Drake. Please," she cries out. "It hurts so bad."

"Shhh… I've got you, Rebel. You're doing so good." I start rubbing her lower back, hoping to help with a distraction.

Fuck , I may be freaking out. I don't have an omega. I've never helped one through a heat. Does she have everything she needs? I'm assuming Tate bought her stuff for a nest. I'll have the knot and cum she'll crave. Food. Hopefully there's food in the fridge or I'll be dealing with SnackDash.

Rebel.

My Omega.

Is.

In.

Heat.

She needs me to figure this out. "Hey, Rebel. Where's your nest? Can you take me to it, please?"

She says something, but it comes out as a moan. "What was that?" She says it again, but it's cut off by a groan and grimace of pain. "It's okay. I'll find it." I just don't want to let her down.

Hell, I feel like a virgin about to have sex for the first time. It's embarrassing. Picking her back up off the couch, I shove her nose against my throat and hold it there. She inhales and starts to purr.

My heart is pounding out a ferocious metronome. I can't think straight. She starts to nibble on my neck and slick drips down her thighs. This is full blown heat. My groan is strangled as I try to breathe through the heady scent of her musk.

My cock hardens in an instant behind my jeans, tenting the fucking zipper. This is straight torture.

We get to the room she's calling a nest, and my mouth drops open like a block of concrete dropping a dead body into the ocean. How much money did the man put into this damn room for her?

Fairy lights line the walls and ceilings. The dropped, king-size bed sits in the middle of the floor, surrounded on all sides by paneling. The top of the mattress is covered in a light canopy the same color as the ruby blankets and pillows scattered at the end of the bed. Ruby, like her birthstone. Ya know, I never took Tate for a softie or a romantic, but looking at this room, I know he has it in him.

Cabinets line the walls, I'm assuming to hold the extravagance of blankets I see before me. There isn't a bathroom in the nest room, but it is conveniently located across the hall from it. It's not a bad set up at all. Not exactly how I had the nest I'd eventually make Rebel laid out in my head, but it works.

Rebel squirms to get down, and I let her go. Tiny hands grab at the hem of my shirt and start pulling upward. She's much smaller than I am, so with her arms fully extended, she still can't reach my head to take it off. So I bend to help her out.

Once I've been de-shirted, she lifts it to her nose, closes her eyes, and nuzzles into it. It's like catnip to my omega. The fact that she knows it's me and not Tate and still wants me makes me so fucking happy. My cock drips at the ready, waiting to be tagged in to play.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I look at my omega. "One sec. Could be Tate." She whines but doesn't protest further, taking a seat on the bed.

Grabbing my cell, I see a text from Tate confirming what I knew would be the case already. Coach won't let him out of this game.

Me: I've got this, Tate. She's in good hands with me.

Tate: Doesn't mean I like it.

Me: It's me or suffering. You choose?

Tate: Obviously going to fucking choose you, ya dickhead. Just don't like that I don't have another choice.

Me: She is going to be fine. Focus on the game. Can't lose this one or we'll lose bragging rights.

Tate: Keep me updated.

Me: If she gives me time to breathe at all, I'll make sure you're aware.

Tate: I hate you.

Me: No, you don't.

He doesn't respond again after that. I take a sigh, getting ready and mentally prepared to get my omega through this heat by myself.