Chapter Eleven #2
“Ah, touche,” she smiles softly, “It really is though isn’t it,”
“Ah, just a bit.”
The smile fades at the edges, but not all the way.
For a second, we just sit there listening to the ocean move.
It’s easy with her in a way I’m trying very hard not to make too much of. Even after all the chaos, even after the lies and the garage explosion and the fact that she somehow managed to turn half the team into a live wire just by existing in the wrong place at the wrong time, it’s still easy.
Maybe that should bother me more.
Instead it just makes me feel tired in a nicer way.
She glances over at me. “So. Are you here as the emotionally stable representative of the men I’ve deeply inconvenienced with my jezebel ways?”
I huff a laugh. “Emotionally stable representative? Jesus that title feels generous.”
“Ah, but not wrong.”
“Maybe not.”
She studies my face for a second. “You’re upset.”
I look at her.
“Honestly, not really. At least not with you,” I say.
“Really?.”
I drag my elbow onto my knee and rest my forearm there. “Yeah. I mean, could you have handled it differently? Sure. But it doesn’t change how I see you.”
My tone softens a little.
“If anything, it just makes me realize how much shit you’re actually carrying. Losing your mom is hard enough on its own. Add the secret family drama, Talon losing his mind every other day, and yeah… I think you’ve earned a little chaos that’s actually yours.”
“A little?” she asks. “Now who’s being generous?”
That gets a laugh out of me. “What can I say? I’m a very giving man.”
I smirk, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Was I shocked, fuck yeah I was, but I also get why she didn’t say anything. Really wish she had. But I get it, clearly more than the other guys do.
Because I know what it is to need one thing that feels normal before the world starts naming you according to all the ways it’s just changed. I know what it is to want a moment that belongs to you before it starts belonging to everyone else.
Was it messy?
Absolutely.
Did it blow up in her face?
Also yes, but none of that changes the fact that what happened with her didn’t feel fake.
And if I’m being honest, if affection for her’s going to end up shared at all, I’d rather it be with guys I actually know, and trust, rather than with some random prick I’d have to dig out of a drainage ditch later.
That thought doesn’t exactly improve my mood and clearly she notices. Her pretty brown eyes flicker from the ocean, and her notebook back to me like she’s trying to figure out what's going on in my head.
“So if it’s not my self created chaos that has you upset, what is it?” she asks.
I drag a hand slowly over my jaw, contemplating how to even put my emotions into words that don’t sound as hurt as I’m feeling.
Her eyes narrow. “You know you can talk to me right?”
“Yeah, I know,” I meet her gaze. “It’s just nothing new. Same shit different fucking day, ya know?”
That goes quiet between us.
Not because it’s some huge declaration, but because she knows without me having to say anything.
A gull cries overhead, and the wind catches a strand of her hair, dragging it across her mouth. She catches it with a small huff and tucks it back.
“I know it’s hard,” she says softly. “But he will come around. I’m sure he’s hurting just as much as you are.”
Then she closes her notebook, sets it down beside her in the sand, and before I can say anything else, she shifts into my lap, straddling me so she’s facing me. Her arms slide around my neck, fingers slipping into my hair, and Christ, that does something to me straight away.
Not just because she’s warm and soft and here, but because she does it like it’s the most natural thing in the world to climb into my space and stay there.
“I know he is,” I admit, my hands settling on her hips and pulling her a little closer before I can stop myself.
Holding her feels too easy. Too fucking right.
“That’s what makes it worse.” I let out a rough breath and rest my forehead lightly against hers for a second.
“It’s hard, yeah? Wanting to be there for someone you care about and having them not let you. ”
“It is,” she says, her voice quieter now, gentler. “But he’s not gonna shut you out forever. He just has to sort some shit out in his own head first.”
I look at her then, really look at her, and the ache in my chest eases just enough to breathe around.
Because she means it. I know she’s not just saying what I want to hear, and because with her in my lap like this, arms around me, all I can really think is that for someone who’s brought this much chaos into my life, she’s very good at making the world feel steady again.
“I guess.”
“Don’t give up on him, Wolfe.”
I look at her.
I want to believe what she’s saying. I do. But when all I can think about is how he looks at me after allowing himself to feel—cold, shut down, and pulling away like I’ve done something wrong just by wanting him, it gets really fucking hard to hold onto hope.
All that panic and anger and want hitting him at once, like feeling any of it too openly was enough to make him bolt.
“What makes you so sure?” I ask.
Her expression softens, eyes still fixed on mine. “Because I know what it looked like.”
My mouth tightens. “You saw one night.”
“And that one night was more than enough to know what you guys have is real.”
There’s no smugness in it. No teasing. Just certainty.
“Thorne just feels things really hard I think, and he hates that people can see it. So he shuts down and tries to pretend he doesn’t feel anything at all.”
That gets a helpless little laugh out of me. “Yeah.”
“And you,” she says, looking at me in that blunt way of hers, “make it hard for him to hide because the vibe between the two of you isn’t just real, it’s strong.”
“I make shit hard for him? Is that meant to be comforting?” I ask, cocking a brow.
“Maybe a little."
“It’s not.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t give up on him, Wolfe.”
I look at her.
I want to believe what she’s saying. I do. But when all I can think about is how he looks at me after allowing himself to feel—cold, shut down, and pulling away like I’ve done something wrong just by wanting him, it gets really fucking hard to hold onto hope.
All that panic and anger and want hitting him at once, like feeling any of it too openly was enough to make him bolt.
“What makes you so sure?” I ask.
Her expression softens, eyes still fixed on mine. “Because I know what it looked like.”
My mouth tightens. “You saw one night.”
“And that one night was more than enough to know what you guys have is real.”
There’s no smugness in it. No teasing. Just certainty.
“Thorne just feels things really hard I think, and he hates that people can see it. So he shuts down and tries to pretend he doesn’t feel anything at all.”
That gets a helpless little laugh out of me. “Yeah.”
“And you,” she says, looking at me in that blunt way of hers, “make it hard for him to hide because the vibe between the two of you isn’t just real, it’s strong.”
“I make shit hard for him? Is that meant to be comforting?” I ask, cocking a brow.
“Maybe a little."
“It’s not.”
She smiles. “Oh, okay. Didn’t realise when you tracked me down you were planning to be such a Debbie Downer.”
I shake my head, still smiling despite myself. The wind moves over the beach, warm and salty, lifting strands of her hair where she’s still perched in my lap like she belongs there.
I look at her for a second too long. Then at the way her hands are resting loose against my shoulders.
Then back to her face.
“What?”