Chapter 7 #2
Something shifted in her expression. The anger didn't disappear, but it softened around the edges.
"The other two." She uncrossed her arms. "They knew too." It wasn't a question.
"Their scents were on the stakes." I nodded miserably. "We've all been circling you like idiots, trying to protect you without actually talking to you. Because apparently all three of us are emotionally stunted disasters who don't know how to use our words." A bitter laugh escaped me.
Her lips twitched. Almost a smile. I clung to it like a lifeline.
"At least you're self-aware." She shook her head slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "That's more than I can say for the other two." She let out a long breath.
"You talked to Fontenot?" The words came out sharper than I intended, something hot and possessive flaring in my chest.
"This morning." She watched my reaction with those knowing eyes. "He apologized. Explained. I'm going to track down Boudreaux next." She tilted her head. "Why? Jealous?" Her voice held a hint of challenge.
"Yes." The word came out before I could stop it, raw and honest. "Yeah, I'm jealous.
I've been thinking about you every damn day for three weeks, and I couldn't even work up the nerve to knock on your door, and Fontenot just—" I stopped, clenched my jaw.
"That's not fair. I know that's not fair.
He's been watching you too, same as me. We're both idiots. " I scrubbed my hand over my face.
"All three of you are idiots." She corrected, but there was something almost fond in her voice now.
"All three." I agreed weakly. The silence stretched again, but it was different this time. Less charged. More... waiting.
"Luc." She said the name softly, and my whole body went rigid. "You sang about him that night. Your brother." Her voice was gentle, giving me space.
"He drowned." The words came out flat, automatic. "When I was seventeen. I was supposed to be watching him, but I was—I got distracted. By a girl. Stupid teenage bullshit." My voice cracked. "He was twelve. He went swimming in the bayou, and the current—" I stopped, my throat closing up.
She didn't say anything. Didn't offer platitudes or sympathy. Just stood there, steady and present, waiting.
"My family forgave me." I continued after a moment, my voice rough.
"Immediately. Completely. Which somehow made it worse.
Because I couldn't forgive myself, and every time they looked at me with all that love and understanding, I just—" I shook my head.
"I ran. Spent years running from town to town, woman to woman, gig to gig.
Trying to outrun the guilt." A bitter smile twisted my lips.
"Spoiler alert: it didn't work." I let out a shaky breath.
"Why did you come back?" She asked quietly.
"My father got sick." My hands were shaking now, and I shoved them in my pockets to hide it.
"Three years ago. I came back to help, told myself it was temporary.
But then he got better, and I... couldn't leave again.
Running stopped working." I met her eyes.
"So I stayed. And I played my songs and smiled my smiles and pretended everything was fine.
Until you." The last two words came out barely above a whisper.
"Until me." She repeated softly.
"You looked at me like you could see everything.
" I stepped closer, close enough to smell her scent properly—apple cider under the anger, warm and sweet.
"All the ugly, broken parts I keep hidden.
And you didn't look away. You held my hand and told me you liked the real version better.
" My voice was shaking now. "Do you have any idea what that did to me? " The words came out raw and desperate.
She reached out and took my hand. Just like she had that night at the Hook. Her fingers wrapped around mine, warm and certain. I trembled. Couldn't help it. Touch that wasn't about sex, wasn't about performance—just connection, just comfort. I'd forgotten what that felt like.
"Thursday night." Her voice was steady, cutting through the fog in my head. "My cabin. You, Fontenot, and Boudreaux. All three of you." She squeezed my hand once before letting go.
"What?" I blinked at her, confused.
"I'm tired of being circled." She stepped back, her expression shifting into something fierce and determined.
"I'm tired of Alphas making decisions about me without talking to me.
So Thursday night, all three of you are going to show up at my cabin, and we're going to have a conversation like actual adults.
" She raised one eyebrow. "Think you can manage that? " Her voice was dry as dust.
"Yes." I nodded quickly, still reeling. "Yes, absolutely. I'll be there." The words tumbled out eager and breathless.
"Good." She turned toward the gangplank, then paused. Looked back at me over her shoulder. "And Remy?" My name in her voice made something warm bloom in my chest.
"Yeah?" I managed.
"Next time you want to show me the real you?
" She held my gaze, green-gold eyes bright with challenge.
"Actually show me. Don't hide in the shadows like a coward.
I don't have time for cowards." She smiled then—sharp and bright and devastating.
"I liked what I saw that night at the Hook.
I want to see more of it. But you have to actually let me see it. " She held my gaze for one long moment.
Then she was gone, walking down the gangplank, climbing into her rattling truck, driving away in a cloud of dust and gravel. I stood on the deck of La Belle Menteuse, my hand still tingling where she'd held it, watching until her truck disappeared around the bend.
Thursday. Four days.
I had four days to figure out how to stop hiding and actually be the person she'd seen that night at the bar. The thought was terrifying. It was also the first thing that had felt real in years.
I picked up my guitar and started playing. The melody that had been stuck for weeks suddenly found its way forward, notes tumbling out like they'd been waiting for permission.
I played until the sun went down, and for the first time in a long time, I wasn't running from anything.
I was running toward something.