9 - Things Unsaid

The silence between Ezra and Sebastian had evolved into something colder than distance.

It wasn’t just that they weren’t arguing, they just weren't talking.

They spoke only when necessary. Questions about groceries, the kids’ schedule, school registration. But nothing else. No brushes in the hallway. No lingering traces of lavender on Ezra’s collar.

It had been two days since Ezra had walked out of the kitchen, leaving Sebastian barefoot on the cold tile with rejection clinging to his scent like smoke.

And though Sebastian hadn’t brought it up again, the air still held it—thick with the ache of suppressed pheromones, of an Alpha who didn’t want to feel and an Omega who couldn’t help but emit.

Mia was the first to notice.

She sat at the breakfast table watching them. Ezra’s jaw was tight as he scrolled through his phone, his scent dialed down to neutral—a deliberate effort to suppress the dominance that usually filled the room.

Sebastian quietly helped Caleb button his shirt, head ducked, the calming notes of lavender in his scent faint and muted.

The house itself felt off rhythm, like it had caught the scent of conflict and curled away from it. Even Camden had stopped laughing as much.

After breakfast, Mia lingered by the sink, rinsing her cup longer than she needed to. Sebastian was next to her, wiping the counter, his sleeves rolled up, scent subdued but still so distinctly him.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

She shrugged, glancing at the hallway to make sure Ezra had gone. Then, in a whisper, “Did something happen between you and Uncle Ezra?”

Sebastian paused, placed the cloth in the sink, and looked at her.

“Sometimes grown-ups don’t always get along,” he said, voice low, soft.

Mia gave him a look. “You don’t have to baby me. I’m not a little kid.”

“No,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not.”

Later that afternoon, Sebastian was folding laundry in the living room. The twins were on the porch, their scents drifting faintly—soap and sunshine and boyish warmth.

His own scent had finally begun to settle again, curling gently into the space he’d made for himself in the house. Lavender and soft linens, comfort and care.

Then a scream tore through the air.

Sebastian dropped the towel and sprinted outside.

Camden was on the ground, cradling his arm and wailing. Mia was already beside him, scent sharp with worry.

“I think he fell off the swing,” she said. “He was standing on it.”

Sebastian knelt beside Camden, pulse racing, scent spiking involuntarily with protective instinct. He examined the arm—bruised, tender, but no obvious fracture. Still, Sebastian lifted him gently, wrapping the boy in a scent cloud of reassurance, and carried him inside.

He iced the swelling, murmuring soft sounds and brushing Camden’s sweaty curls back from his forehead, his scent soothing, the Omega in him instinctively comforting, shielding.

He had just hung up with the pediatrician when the back door slammed.

Ezra stormed in, scent hitting the room like a wall—sandalwood and storm, the sharp spice of Alpha adrenaline and panic thick in his wake. His boots were half-laced, jaw clenched.

“What the hell happened?” he growled, scent rising with every breath.

“He fell off the swing,” Sebastian said, calm but firm. He didn’t look up. “I’ve got ice on it. I called the doctor—no fracture, just a sprain.”

Ezra dropped to a crouch beside Camden, scent shifting from anger to concern in seconds.

“You okay, buddy?”

Camden nodded, hiccupping.

Sebastian stood and stepped back, letting Ezra’s Alpha instincts take over. But Ezra’s presence pressed against his back like static heat, too close and too much. His scent chased Sebastian even as he tried to remain steady.

When Camden was finally tucked onto the couch with a pillow and cartoons, Ezra followed Sebastian into the kitchen.

“You should’ve been watching them better,” Ezra snapped, voice low, scent flaring again—dominant, frustrated.

Sebastian turned, towel in hand. “I was watching them. He was being a six-year-old.”

Ezra stepped closer, voice rising. “Yeah, well, maybe if you weren’t so distracted—”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed. His own scent sharpened, lavender laced with warning. “Say what you mean, Ezra.”

Ezra slammed the fridge shut hard enough to rattle the shelves. The scent of cold air and leftover meat did nothing to drown out the tension between them.

“I mean this whole setup is weird. You here all the time. Acting like… like this is your house.”

Sebastian’s lips parted. His pheromones flared, hurt rippling through the lavender. “I’m doing what you asked me to do,” he said tightly. “Helping. Because you said you needed it. Because the kids need it.”

Ezra looked away, jaw locked, scent pulsing like a barely contained firestorm.

“You’re just pissed because you feel something and you don’t know what to do with it,” Sebastian continued, quieter now, scent trembling with challenge and ache.

Ezra turned back too fast, stepping too close. Their scents collided—sandalwood and lavender sparking like fire on silk.

“You think you know what I feel?”

“I know you’re angry. And scared. And instead of dealing with it, you’re lashing out at me like I’m the problem.”

Ezra scoffed, but his scent flared with something else—uncertainty. Frustration. Longing.

“Maybe you are,” he muttered.

Sebastian’s expression didn’t change. But his voice dropped low. “Then tell me to leave.”

Ezra didn’t answer.

“Go on,” Sebastian said, shoulders squared. “Tell me to go. I’ll pack up tonight.”

Ezra opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

He looked at Sebastian—really looked at him—scented the soft hurt in his Omega’s aura, the curling warmth of devotion even now. Ezra’s hands clenched. He turned away, muttering, “I need to check on a job,” and grabbed his tool bag.

He left through the back door, scent dragging behind him like a storm cloud.

That night, Sebastian sat beside Mia on her bed, her scent a mix of young worry and residual fear.

She talked as he gently braided her hair.

“My mom and dad weren’t good together,” she said quietly. “They fought a lot before the divorce. But I think it broke Mom. After that, she wasn’t the same.”

Sebastian’s heart twisted, and his scent curled gently around her like a blanket. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Mia nodded. “Ezra doesn’t talk about her. He just… stopped.”

“He’s trying to hold everything together,” Sebastian said. “Even if it doesn’t look like it.”

She looked up. “But he’s not okay, is he?”

Sebastian hesitated. Then, quietly: “No. Not really.”

Downstairs, Ezra stood alone in the kitchen.

The house was too quiet. His scent coiled in the space like smoke—unsettled, restless, aching. The fridge hummed. The swing creaked in the breeze.

And upstairs, the sound of Sebastian’s voice—gentle, Omega-soft, lavender-sweet—curled through the vents like something Ezra couldn’t chase out of his chest.

He didn’t tell Sebastian to leave.

Even if part of him wanted to.

Even if another part needed him to stay.

And that part… was winning.