Because they will find out. Eight Alphas in close quarters with a suppressed Omega? It's not a matter of if, but when. Especially with Jackson's heightened sensitivity to Omega scents.
Jackson. I close my eyes, picturing his reaction when he realizes what she is. After Meredith. After everything that happened.
This will destroy him. Or force him to finally face the past he's been running from for three years.
And what about me? Why did her scent affect me when I've never responded to an Omega before?
And Gray, god, our territorial captain who's already showing signs of possessiveness over her. Bo, with his protective instincts. Beckett, who flirts reflexively but watches her with genuine interest. Hell, even Tyler who keeps his conquests so close to the chest, they might as well not even exist, has been watching her with open curiosity. The entire team dynamic could implode.
Or transform into something entirely new.
I've always been the one who sees ahead, who plans for contingencies. But this situation has too many variables, too many potential outcomes to predict.
My door opens without a knock. Jackson stands there, fresh from the shower, his hair still damp. His expression is unreadable, but there's tension in every line of his body.
"She left her notebook," he says without preamble. "In the common room."
"And?"
"She's an Omega. On suppressants." He runs a hand through his hair. "Suppressants that are about to run out."
So he knows, too. Of course he does. He probably scented her before any of us, has just been in denial.
"What are you going to do?" I ask.
"Nothing. It's not my business." His jaw clenches. "I just thought you should know."
"Because of us?"
Pain and irritation cross his face. "Because you're the strategist. You need to calculate what this means for the team."
"And what about what it means for you?" I stand, moving toward him. "After Meredith—"
"Don't." He steps back. "This isn't the same."
"Isn't it? Another Omega coxswain hiding her designation from her team?"
"Reese isn't Meredith." His voice hardens. "And I'm not having this conversation."
"You never do." I snap, frustration building. "We fuck, you leave, nothing changes. Maybe it's time something did."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I'm tired of this pattern, Jackson. Tired of watching you run from anything that might actually matter."
He goes very still. "Is that what you think this is? Running?"
"Isn't it?"
For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, "You felt it too. Her scent. When it broke through."
The abrupt change of subject throws me. "Yes."
"And?" His eyes search mine.
"And what?"
"Did it affect you?"
