Chapter Eighteen
RILEY
Now that Jason was gone, back to the ranch, out of reach, there was nothing left to distract Riley. Just him, and the mess he’d made with his monumental meltdown by the stream. Jesus Christ. What the hell had he done out there?
He rubbed a hand over his face, half-expecting his palm to come away smeared with mess from all the ugly, jagged things he’d spilled at Jason’s feet. Great move, Riley. Nothing like unloading years of daddy issues and failures onto the one good thing you’ve managed to find in years.
He paced across the room, then back again, every nerve jittery. The silence let him hear the echo of his own voice, bitter and brittle.
What the hell had Jason thought of him? No one liked that much mess laid out in front of them.
Usually, Riley kept things light. Slick, charming and palatable.
People wanted a version of someone that fit their expectations so they didn’t need to see them, and God knew he’d learned how to give them that. But not today.
And what was even worse, if worse were possible—he’d complained about his parents to Jason, who’d lost his mom, and whose dad might not even know he existed. Riley was officially a completely selfish bastard.
He braced his hands on the desk, head dropping forward. He half-expected to feel the burn of humiliation still hot on his skin, but weirdly, there was none. Because Jason hadn’t looked at him like he was something ugly and broken. He hadn’t even flinched. Instead, he’d listened. And he’d stayed.
He breathed out, shakily. That maybe scared him more than anything else, that Jason had seen him, and hadn’t bolted. It should make him feel secure.
Instead, something churned low in his gut. Because the part he hadn’t told Jason—couldn’t tell Jason—was still sitting there, festering. His reason for being here.
Riley stared at his phone where it sat on the desk. He should message Amy. Should let her know he was getting in deeper, that he was finally close to figuring out how to crack this pack open.
Except, his fingers didn’t move. Not because he couldn’t craft the words. He’d done it before. Sold people out—always telling himself it was the price of getting ahead, the way to survive in a world where love came with conditions. But now, it felt less like survival and more like betrayal.
Blowing out an impatient breath, he grabbed for his phone anyway. He could sit here second-guessing all damn night, but that wouldn’t change anything. Jason deserved better than whatever Riley was, but that didn’t mean Riley had a choice.
He tapped out a short message. Got partial or full ID on all pack members now. Meeting them tomorrow.
Then he looked at it for a long time before finally locking his phone without sending. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
As he flopped onto his bed, the motel room seemed to close in around him. Staring up at the ceiling, he could still hear Jason’s voice, still feel his touch on Riley’s wrist, like an anchor.
Tomorrow, he’d have to get on with his investigation. Tonight, though, he just wanted to remember what it felt like to be wanted, without conditions.
JASON
The knock at Jason’s door came as he was reaching for his phone, wanting to look at the picture of him and Riley again.
Curious, because hardly anyone came to his room, he opened the door and found Dave standing there. His hands were buried in the front pockets of his jeans, pulling his shoulders into a curved line that made him look somehow uncertain.
“Hey,” he said. “I wondered if I could get that recipe now, before I forget about it.”
“Yeah, sure.” Jason said. “I’ll shoot you the link.”
“Okay, but would you mind talking me through it first?” Dave asked.
Jason became aware he was blocking the doorway and stepped back, allowing Dave to head for the chair in the corner. He sat on his bed, ready to talk Dave through the recipe he’d found.
“Actually, Jason, the recipe was just an excuse. I wanted to see if everything’s okay,” Dave said. “You’ve never taken time off before, and you missed the other night, too.”
Matt checking in hadn’t been that much of a surprise. It was what he did, kept an eye on them all and made sure everything was okay. But why would Dave be worried about him?
“Uh, yeah,” Jason stumbled, not knowing how to answer that. “I just wanted a break.”
“You seem to spend half your life in the kitchen,” Dave said. “If it’s too much, just say the word, and we’ll figure something out.”
Had he been talking to Matt? No, he wouldn’t have had time, but what he was saying was almost word for word what Matt had said.
“It’s fine,” Jason said, and suddenly he had a new worry—that the pack would decide for him that he was no longer going to cook. He’d better head that one off at the pass damn quick. “Anyway, who else would do it if I didn’t?”
“I could,” Dave offered. “I mean, it wouldn’t be up to your standards, but I could give it a shot while the others learn.”
It stung, even though he knew Dave hadn’t meant to imply that just anyone could step in and fill the gap he left. “Don’t think Christian would be too happy eating vegan for the duration,” Jason said, and maybe it came out a little sulkily.
“It was Christian’s idea, if you need a break,” Dave confessed, blue eyes steady on Jason’s. “He was worried about you. We both are. Is something wrong?”
Jason froze. Christian was worried about him? Christian, who never hesitated to make a joke at anyone’s expense. Who growled at people more than he spoke. Who scarcely seemed to notice Jason existed.
It was one thing for Matt to check in. He was the alpha. It was his job. But this? A tendril of warmth licked up inside Jason.
“Thanks, but I’m okay, honestly. I seriously just wanted a day off.”
Dave stood, loose and relaxed once more, the way he usually was. “Tristan’s talked us into watching that show he won’t shut up about if you want to come over to the house,” he said.
Jason rarely went to the house in the evening. And now, he realized he didn’t know why. Or maybe he did. Maybe it was easier to be needed than to just… be.
“If you don’t, I figure you’re going to spend the entire evening opening your door to people,” Dave continued. “I saw Bryce lurking under the picnic tree, probably waiting for me to leave, and Jesse was very busy doing absolutely nothing on the porch. In the dark.”
Jason shook his head, but he was smiling. They were checking on him. All of them. His pack. Maybe he really had needed a break—not from cooking, but from himself. Seemed he was the one getting in his own way.
“Okay,” he said, standing and shoving his phone in his pocket. “Let’s hope Tristan’s picked something that’s actually good.”
Dave grinned. “Oh, don’t worry—we won’t let him forget it if he hasn’t.”
Jason followed him out into the cool night air. Light from the kitchen window spilled across the porch where Jesse was loitering suspiciously. Jason snorted to himself at how obvious he was. They all were. So ready to circle around him.
And then it struck him, sharp and accusing—he’d been wondering what they thought of him, but did they have any idea how much he cared for each and every one of them? Somewhere along the way, he’d gotten so focused on worrying about his place here, he’d forgotten to give anything back, except duty.
He drew a breath and nudged Jesse as he passed him on the porch. “That was some world-class lurking.”
“Just checking for chickens,” Jesse said, and Jason snorted. Jesse’s ongoing feud with them was a matter of pride to him and confusion to everyone else.
As Jason walked into the house, he found he was smiling.