10. Elliot

The hallway is a labyrinth with too many college kids packed into too tight a space. I duck behind a column and focus on the numbers above the doors until I find the one Graham circled on the map for me this morning. The fact that he didn't ask me why I needed a map to Tristian was a miracle. He eyed me curiously but handed it over.

We've been rotating in and out of the nest for more than a week since Tristain's friend from the medical school checked Sadie out and confirmed that she was suffering from exhaustion. Sadie sleeps often, but someone is always with her during the day. The doctor's treatment plan matched Tristian's. Red needs rest, her nest, and her pack. That means I need to tackle the list Dr. Bash and I made during our session, but I've been hesitating.

Since talking to Tristian is the least terrifying thing on my list, I'm starting with him. I slip in the door and almost turn around when I realize this isn't an office, but a giant room filled row-to-row and in every seat with students. I should have been more specific in my instructions to Graham. Despite my presence, people don't turn to look. No, their eyes are all glued to the man in the front of the room.

I watch Tristian standing at a podium, arms raised to point at a graph behind him. He talks enthusiastically about the numbers, using his hands and fancy-ass words. Seeing him in his cardigan and tie, with his dark glasses, makes me smile fondly. Despite being in his late twenties, my packmate always dresses like an adorable grandpa.

I check my cell. It's 9:15 in the morning, and I'm guessing he won't be finished for another fifteen minutes at least. I turn to leave when the phrase "mate bond" catches my ear. Typically, when Tristian's smooth voice lectures, it always makes the world a little soft and sleepy, but I'm wide awake now.

I settle against the wall, listening to my packmate. Animatedly, he speaks about how the mate bond regulates the bonded pairings over time and how the larger pack connections reinforce and stabilize those bonds. He explains that research has shown that mate bonds and familial bonds within the pack, not only with the omega, have the most stabilizing influence. I've heard him say this before, but I don't know if I've ever really listened.

When he looks in my direction with a raised brow and talks about the consequences of long-term bond cloaking—which I guess is the technical term for what I've been doing with Sadie—I know that Tristian sees me and has decided to add this little bit as a way of trying to get my head out of my ass.

I deserve it, but I don't like the thought of Tristian being irritated with me. The idea sits like an uncomfortable weight in my chest. I'm trying to protect Red, but I'm going about it wrong as usual.

That's why I'm here.

Shame sits heavy in my gut as I think about what Tristian said. Closing off the bond with Sadie might make her worse, not better. But that means I've got to be able to ensure my bond isn't flooded with my problems. Tristian's explanation that mate bonds can be regulated through the larger pack helps the knot in the pit of my stomach loosen.

I need to ask for help. Be explicit. That's the hard part. I have to find the words. But I know that once I do, any of my brothers in this pack will step up. That's what we do for each other. No question. And there should be no shame in asking for help.

Tristian's lecture ends. A few students stay behind to ask questions, but most gather their things and file out. All those bodies moving toward me makes my skin crawl, so I duck out the back and through the crowded hallway until I find a side door.

The moment I hit the outdoor air and the open sky, my lungs finally expand. I step off the sidewalk and into the small grassy square, taking a moment to breathe. My heart races, my pulse beating against my neck. I curse myself for being such a fucking wreck, for being weak when I need strength.

"Hey, El, wait up," Tristian calls.

I turn and watch as he runs toward me, sliding the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder. Silently, he stands before me, asking with endlessly patient eyes if he's allowed to touch.

I nod, and he reaches out a hand and places it on my chest. Even though I know it's coming, I flinch. It's an automatic reaction to an alpha's touch, triggered by years of memories that don't belong to the kind man in front of me. He's used to that moment and doesn't move or shutter his gaze, keeping the contact until his warmth seeps inside my bones, a little bit of his light chasing away the cold.

He was the first person after the war to touch me without it hurting. Now, all of my pack can to some degree. When my mind isn't so fucked, I don't even notice that itch on my skin when I'm with them.

Tristian rubs his thumb back and forth along my chest, grounding me in this moment until the crowd of students fades and my heart rate slows. I can't help but notice how his blond hair dips into his eyes or how the light scruff on his jaw catches in the morning sun. He's handsome. Sophisticated. And so unlike any man I've ever been around.

There's no doubt Tristian is an alpha in the way he carries himself. He's composed with a self-possession that points to steady strength. One that doesn't require all the peacocking of so many alphas trying to prove their dominance with a bark and a fight. He has a quiet, understated beauty that radiates from him.

But right now, worry lines crease Tristian's brow, and I know I'm at least part of the cause. I have the unexpected urge to run my thumb along the wrinkles to smooth them out. He licks his lips, and my eyes are drawn to his mouth. I wonder if he tastes like he smells? His scent brings up feelings of home, the essence of handwritten recipes worn smooth with use, and the crisp aroma of espresso in the morning. I don't know why I'm thinking about my packmate like that, and I don't understand why my belly warms at the image of him curled up naked and sleeping beside Sadie and Graham in her nest. But then, I guess maybe it's normal in a pack to wonder about things like that when everyone is always so close.

"What happened, El?" He looks up into my eyes, and the heat of that damned hand causes my body to stir in ways I don't understand.

"I panicked. What's new?" I shake it off and step back from all these uncomfortable feelings.

He shakes his head, a small bit of amusement in his expression. "You don't like crowds. It was bold to face an introductory omega studies class. I know professors who won't." Tristian turns and holds his hand away from campus, "Shall we?"

We step back onto the crowded sidewalk, bodies brushing past and awakening that itch. Desperate hopelessness fills me. When did I let it get this bad? I'm never going to be able to help support Red if I can't even walk on a college campus.

Tristan links his arm through mine, and I stiffen for a moment. He moves to pull away, but I put my hand over his. "No. Don't let go. It's better when we touch."

"Okay. Tell me if?—"

"Let me get used to it, but it helps."

He places his head on my shoulder as we walk, his soothing voice between us. "We're almost there, El. Hang on. My office is on the other side of campus, but I know a spot where we can talk."

He tugs on the crook of my elbow and pulls me down the path, chattering until his smooth voice and rich scent of home dulls the edges and makes the world less sharp so I can finally breathe easily.

We veer off the path before a wooden bridge, taking a little trail that leads down the sloping edge of a hill to a small winding brook that cuts through the campus. Tristian sits on the grass and pats the ground next to him. I check the area, but we're alone in a little bubble, away from the bustling college just beyond the path.

"I'm assuming you wanted to talk alone. What's up, El?"

I run my hand across the back of my neck, nervous that it's time for words. I fold myself down on the ground beside him and stretch my legs. "Dr. Bash gave me homework."

Tristian plucks a dandelion and plays with it between his fingers. "How can I help?"

That right there is what makes this pack worth fighting for. I blow out a breath.

"I'm… I." I stop, then try again. "I want to keep her safe, but I'm part of the threat."

"El—"

"No. Let me get this out." I turn to look at him, my eyes pleading.

He nods, mashing his lips together.

"The PTSD is bad. She needs my strength, but I'm not strong. Not right now. Dr. Bash and I made a list of some stuff. One of them was kind of like a phone tree, like who to call when I need help. Your name is at the top of my list."

He smiles at me, a blinding burst of happiness flashing across his face, and the expression pulls at my gut, making it warm.

"What for?" he asks.

I look into those blue eyes, the ones that have been with me on some bad days and never lost their patience, and I try to get the words right. "You're at the top of the list because I know you know how to take care of people, Doc. Will you teach me how to be a good mate? For her?"

"You're already a good mate to her in all the ways that count, El. I wish you could see that. But I'll help you learn whatever you want to know. Ask me anything."