Chapter Twenty-One Grayson
Grayson
It burns with betrayal.
His mates think that they can help Nix instead of protecting him. That they are going to let him–no, encourage him to meet Dawson Hayes in the courtroom, on the field. It’s a betrayal of the worst kind.
As mates, they hold each other first in all things. Family takes precedence over work and other pack obligations, even their birth packs. Just last year, Finn had his wisdom teeth taken out, and Jay had canceled a cover shoot with Rolling Stone Magazine so he could be there with the rest of them.
Mates come first. It’s love and commitment and protection. How is this any of those things?
Jay’s I will help you flung the last of Grayson’s hope for any reason out the window, and he heard it break into a million smithereens on impact.
Worst of all, is that Nix is determined to do this crazy— unnecessary— thing that hurts the most.
Does he not know Grayson can feel his fear?
Feel how it burns like acid, searing away the tranquility he deserves?
His Angel says he has earned this chance to pay for his suffering with blood and violence, but he couldn’t be more wrong.
Nix has earned rest—he’s earned endless pleasure and joy. He hasn’t known anything else but suffering, so how else can he know the perfect serenity of a life of contentment? Of a happy, safe, and ordinary life? Can he not see that there is merit in just letting it be and walking away?
Rage is not an emotion Grayson is familiar with.
Yes, he understands annoyance and frustration—sometimes even anger at the world’s injustices. But never the kind of burning rage he can’t escape.
Yet that’s exactly what sears through his veins as he bolts from the house, slipping through the passcode door at the side of the gate.
He’s lucky he remembered the code instead of ripping the panel out. Gideon would have been less than impressed at dealing with a security breach—not to mention the time it would take to fix.
Right now, he’s the only one who seems to understand that Nix’s chosen course of action is pure insanity. And Grayson needs an ally in that.
Turning north on the residential street, his feet settle into a steady thumping pattern on the pavement. It’s not as fast as the beat of his heart, and it certainly isn’t enough to drown out the pain that is sparking along his unfinished soul bond.
The idea that he should turn around and head back the way he came, barge into whatever ludicrous planning is going on, and cement that bond permanently is incredibly powerful. Powerful enough that he comes to a dead stop on the sidewalk, breathing heavily, pedestrians flowing around him like water.
He can envision the moment: grabbing his mate, forcibly baring his neck, and sinking his teeth in over Jay’s bite, obliterating any chance that anyone could ever take him away could think about harming him again.
It would cover Jay’s bite, and everyone would know Nix was his—his alone to protect and to shield. Grayson’s wolf wants this so badly that it is near impossible for him to not head back home and do it.
The thought is quickly followed by a fiery wave of horror.
Grayson staggers out of the flow of people and up against the brick facade of the storefront—even the humans give him a wide berth without knowing why. His aura must be radiating danger and triggering prey instincts.
His wolf hadn’t been so loud since he had met Jay’s eyes over Nix’s unconscious body.
Grayson had fallen into a sense of complacency since the dulling effects of the suppressants had faded away, and he had thought the wolf was content with Nix’s bite. Not even afterward, with Nix’s teasing, had he been more tempted than he thought he could handle—he’d thought the wolf tamed.
Apparently not.
Has it been biding its time?
Waiting for the chance for Jay to drop his guard or for Nix to offer it his sweetest places for claiming?
The wolf saturates his mind with visions of his soulmate, bearing Grayson’s mark and round with his pup, and then moves onto the dirtiest things he’d imagined during his rebound rut.
It’s seditious.
He hears a sharply inhaled gasp, and Grayson realizes he is hard in his sweats on the streets of Nashville, smelling like lust, enigma-rage, and the tears he’d shed earlier.
Two Were teens are frozen ten feet away, and at his ashamed look, they scurry to cross the street. It’s inexcusable, and, in terms of Were social protocols, it is akin to having his dick out.
Fucking hell.
Crouching down to hide the visual manifestation of his thoughts, he breathes in the scent of the fabric of his pants and of pack scents to clear his mind. It’s reprehensible, and for a single second, he considers the half-bottle of suppressants at home, considers that he’d made a grave error in stopping. The deadening effects were aggravating, but this—this is worse.
In the end, Grayson channels those feelings of self-disgust and shame to bring the wolf to heel. He reminds the wolf that they are not Dawson Hayes, and they will not be subverting their mate’s freedom and their pack alpha’s claim.
When he finally feels the rage diminish somewhat, he climbs to his feet, suddenly at a loss. He’s not ready to face Nix and his choices—not yet. Nor is he ready to stand before Jay, too afraid that the suppressed instinct to challenge him might claw its way to the surface once more.
It’s exhausting, and he needs grounding in the mundane—like under the bright lights of the beauty supply store. It’s not fifteen feet away, and the door slides open to reveal the scent of cosmetics and the people inside. The scents overshadow the charred edges of the rage-filled basil that has sunk into his shirt, allowing Grayson to finally breathe deeply.
The aisles of cosmetics and skin care are endless, and normally, Grayson comes here for fun. He has a rigidly-observed skincare routine—instilled in him by his timelessly beautiful mother—but he can never resist the pretty packaging and scents. He doesn’t need anything, but this is the epitome of Grayson’s “mundane.”
He’s walking by the hair dye section, where an array of colors—from platinum to obsidian and every shade in between—lines the shelves. A soft, cool brown catches his eye, almost chestnut, and the person on the box is freckled. She isn’t as lovely as his Angel, but the thought is a catalyst for his memory:
Grayson meets Nix’s eyes in the mirror. “Of course. You don’t like the blond anymore?”
“I never really did. He liked it. Said it made me at least a bit more attractive and that blonds have more fun. Gray, they do not have more fun. I can vouch for that. I’d just like to be me again. Can we do that instead?”
Grayson has a basket in his hands, and the color is thrown in before he even knows what he’s doing. Two—maybe he needs two to choose from. A chestnut and a mocha. And a sable. Three? Three sounds good.
But he’ll also need shampoo and conditioner, and body wash and body lotion because his soulmate doesn’t have his own things.
The wolf whimpers, protesting the sharp pain in Grayson’s chest at the mere thought of this gross neglect.
Yeah. Focus on that, you dumbass.
Jay finds him ten minutes later in the body lotion aisle, sniffling each bottle like he is a sommelier at a wine tasting. He’d settled on two: a vanilla-almond, which makes the wolf dance and wiggle, and a vanilla-coconut that makes Grayson think of ice cream and hot days on a tropical beach under the sun.
He gets both.
With his nose filled with artificial but still strangely alluring vanilla scent, he’d missed his alpha’s sad pine. “Hey, pretty. Whatcha doin’?”
The words are tentative, and Grayson hates how volatile he’s been. He still thinks it was warranted, but he isn’t usually prone to dramatics. He isn’t.
Well, maybe a little—but never about the small things.
He hands Jay the vanilla lotions, and his alpha’s eyebrows go up.
“Uh, pretty, you know I like the basil-green-tea one…” His voice trails off when he reads the label. “Well, fucking fuck.”
There’s a gasp, and they both look up to see a disapproving elderly woman standing with her friend two feet away.
“Delores, lighten up. They’re just words.” Her companion grins, but Grayson and Jay smile in apology anyway as they pass by.
“Gray. These are for Nix, right?” Jay’s voice wavers. “Sh-shoot. I can’t believe we haven’t thought about this stuff. Leo’s putting him in the spare room, but you’re right—he’s going to need this. Should have had it already. What the fu—fudge is wrong with me?” He drops the second bottle of lotion back into the basket.
Grayson still can’t look at him—he hasn’t said a word. The wolf stirs, low and dangerous, claws itching to swipe at their pack alpha.
Depressing distractions aside—how dare he even consider throwing their Angel into the ring to face the worst of his demons?
So Grayson walks away toward the skin care, focusing his intent on face masks and moisturizers, cleansers, and toners, leaving his normally beloved alpha trailing in his wake, deep into his self-recriminations.
“Grayson. Stop.”
Jay takes the basket from him, showing him it’s full of all the things Nix hasn’t had for five years, or maybe even ever.
Grayson admits that no one needs four different cleansers—it’s not like the cleansers can wash away the horrors, or the fear, or today’s fucking debacle.
“Jay, give me the basket. I need to do this, and I need you not to be here while I do it.”
“Grayson. Let me–”
“Not. Right. Now.” It’s growled out, low and mean.
Jay’s nostrils flare, and it absolutely is a warning from one enigma to another.
Grayson wonders what his alpha would have done if he’d punctuated each word with a finger to the chest.
Ulta Beauty and Jay Rhodes’ celebrity reputation wouldn’t likely have recovered. It’s not a challenge, really, but it is a request for respect and distance.
Grayson is fortunate that he has always been understood by his mate.
Instead, Jay hands over the basket and leaves his hands where Grayson can see them, but the scent of sharp pine resin overflows the narrow aisle way. “I’ll meet you outside. Take your time.”
Watching his alpha leave gives him a bit of a conflicting pang in his chest, and Grayson rolls his eyes.
You can’t have it fucking both ways, you dumbass .
But he supposes that’s where the conflict lies: he can be madly in love and mad as hell. It’s the price you pay to love intensely.
In the end, he buys everything in the basket and two reusable bags to carry it all home. He’s calmer, and when he meets his mate outside—leaning against the building in exactly the same spot he’d crouched an hour before—the urge to bury his teeth and claws in vulnerable skin is all but gone.
“Here. Carry this.”
Jay holds out a hand for both bags, but Grayson only hands over one. “No. In this family, we share the load. But you can buy me ice cream. Let’s go.”
Jay’s smile is hopeful, and Grayson sighs. Jay is so quick to forgive, even if sometimes Grayson wishes he weren’t.
They order ice cream—vanilla for them both—and when they take their first bite, they groan loudly. It’s simultaneous, and they both chuckle.
Hoisting the bags, they turn toward home. Grayson could call a ride share, but the walk will give them time to finish their treat—and to talk.
“Grayson, I am sorry.” Ah, so quick to forgive, but not to forget.
“For what? For encouraging this lunacy? Sure. Do that. Then you can tell him you’ve changed your mind.” It’s all he can do to throw the rest of his ice cream cone into the nearest receptacle and not at the nearest wall.
Jay does the same and stops him with a hand on his arm. “No, for not talking to you before I did anything.”
That’s a surprise. Grayson isn’t Jay’s first stop for counsel. That usually falls to Gideon or sometimes even to Finn or Leo. “What?”
“Look, Leo told me about the star charts and the soulmates. If they’re to be believed—”
Grayson growls at the mere suggestion that it could be in question. If they’re to be believed? There’s no if.
“It’s real,” he says, voice steady but firm. “I read it, and I knew. But truthfully? I knew the minute I scented him—even as a human.”
Jay watches him for a long moment before nodding. “I know. I can see it. And now that I’m bonded with you both, I can feel it. It’s the same as Gideon and Luca’s.”
He doesn’t explain further, and Grayson doesn’t ask. The nature of the bonds looks different to every Were lucky enough to have them, but that doesn’t make them any less real.
They’ve started the walk home again, and it’s easier not to look at Jay when they talk about Grayson being Jay’s beloved Nix’s soulmate.
Grayson is surprised when he does go on to describe his bond with Nix. “When I bonded with Nix, there was this light, I swear. White and pure, and it was so intense. It’s like I’ve got two hearts in my chest now.”
“That’s not hyperbole? Like, for real?” His pack alpha sighs with a nod, and it’s so lovesick that Grayson has to smile.
“Yeah. I mean, I feel all of you to some extent and in varying ways. I love all of you so much, I hurt with the power of it, but Nix…he’s…”
“More? I get that. But how can you let him do this, then? How can you risk your heart?” They’re almost home, and Grayson needs to see Nix—he isn’t sure he wants to , but the need is strong, and he wants to hear Jay out before he does.
“I can’t tell you I’m not conflicted, because I am —but I’m not letting him, Grayson. He’s his own person, and even if we don’t like it, this isn’t about buying a pair of shoes or launching a political career—though, for the record, he’d be great at that. No, this is about his choices. His body. And Luca’s right—he’s had those choices taken from him too many times in ways so horrific I can’t even think about them without wanting to burn the world down. I will not be another person who decides for him.”
Grayson has always— loudly and publicly —championed bodily autonomy in all its forms, but he’d never once considered Nix’s choices in that light. The realization hits like a blow, dragging with it a crushing wave of inevitable fear.
“Alpha.” His voice carries everything he can’t say—all his fear, his helplessness, his desperate need to do something.
Jay responds the way he always does: with open arms and a solid shoulder, steady as the earth beneath them.
“Come here, pretty.”
“He’s going to hurt. I don’t know how I’m going to handle that. I am so angry all the time now. I have just found him, and now I could lose him again.”
“We’ll make sure he can’t lose.”
“You can’t promise that to him or me. But it’s not what I mean. Hayes was vicious when he had all the time in the world, and now, when he’s got nothing to lose? Tell me he’s not going to make Nix listen to every horrible word, make him hear them while we watch .”
Make them listen while Hayes taunts his sweet angel. Grayson isn’t sure he can do it and not jump the barricade and rip his heart out himself. Jay must agree because there’s a sudden burst of forest fire that his alpha tries to get under control with deep breaths.
“I can’t, and you are right. But it’s not our decision to stop him any more than we would make him do it. Don’t you see? If we do, then we will lose him. Hell, we won’t be better than Hayes. I will not survive losing him again, Grayson. If he walks away, I will follow to the ends of the earth—to Hell and back.”
Now that Grayson understands.
The conflicted emotions run in a dizzying vortex behind his eyes, so he closes them and puts his head on Jamie’s shoulder.
“Promise you’ll think about it? Talk to him and try to see it from his perspective.”
Grayson is only able to give him a little nod, and now that they’re done, the wolf is insisting he sees their omega.
“Thanks. I’m going to see him now. We’ll be down soon.”
Grayson grabs the second bag, and when Jay keys in the code, he gives thought to what Luca said about all the ways Nix might be showing them how he is surviving the trauma day-to-day.
That there might be more things that Grayson and the pack don’t see, and they are missing the opportunity to reassure their mate and love him through them, is troubling. He resolves to do better, get his head out of his ass, and work at keeping the wolf down with a firmer hand.
Grayson isn’t ignorant enough to think this is the last of those overpowering emotions, but maybe now he’ll be thinking about what Nix needs, too.
There’s the smell of Thai food as he flies by the kitchen, and he ignores Jay’s call about dinner, taking the steps two at a time.
There’s no sound coming from Nix’s room, so he knocks lightly and hears a soft, “Come in, Gray.”
Nix moves to sit on the corner of the bed when Grayson walks in. His hair is messy, as if he’d been lying down but not sleeping.
“Hey.” He’s wary, and Grayson hates it—it makes him sad and mad at himself, and those feelings churn in his gut, curdling his ice cream snack.
“Hey, Angel. I uh…got this stuff at the store and…uh, yeah. I’m sorry we didn’t think of it sooner. Want to see if you like any of it?”
“For me? What…ohhh. Wow.” He lifts the scented lotion, smells the vanilla coconut, and grins! “This smells like my mom, a bit? She used to smell like coconuts. It was a perfume she loved. Um… Coconut Sun. I love it, thank you!”
Grayson is relieved these “gifts” aren’t an incentive for bad memories. It’s a pleasure to watch as Nix makes it through the entire bag, smelling and opening products, even wrinkling his nose at a tea-tree toner, which Grayson surreptitiously sticks back in the bag.
When he finally gets to the hair color, his eyes jump to Grayson’s. “Really?”
It’s all Grayson can do not to cry at the hesitancy, as if Grayson might have given it only to take it away. “Of course, Angel. We can do it right now. Which one do you like?”
“Which one do you like, Gray?” He’s agitated, holding each box ?and checking Grayson’s reaction. It’s upsetting to think that perhaps it’s that he’s not been allowed to choose or fears making the “wrong” choice.
“It’s your hair, and you can choose. It’s you who needs to like it, but for the record, any of them will look beautiful because it’s you.” Corny? Yes. But it makes his mate blush, and Grayson has no regrets.
In the end, they mix the sable and the mocha together, but not before Grayson runs to the laundry room for an old towel because Nix will not risk his new yellow ones. He removes his new white shirt, folds it over the side of the tub, and straddles the toilet lid.
It’s not hard to cover the bleached blond hair, and when Grayson sets the timer for thirty minutes, there is nothing to do but wait.
Nix sits carefully on the lid so as not to get the color anywhere it’s not supposed to be, and Grayson remembers to get a wipe to clean around his hairline and over his tiny, perfect ears. The wolf is elated to be grooming their mate, and that joy is easing Grayson’s earlier worry about Nix’s choices.
If he doesn’t think about it now, maybe it’ll get better when he does. Distract and deny. That’s a thing, right?
“Thank you for buying me all those things. You’ll have to show me how to use most of them, but then maybe I’ll be as beautiful as you, huh?”
“You could not use anything for the rest of your life, Angel, and you would still be the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”
“Maybe you won’t like the brown hair?” The memory of Nix saying that Hayes likes the blond surfaces and Grayson’s wolf growls.
“I would think that if you were fucking bald.”
“I doubt that. I think I’ve got too many bumps on my head for it to be pretty without hair. Oh, huh. Finn said the transition took care of that. So maybe I should shave it all off?”
His voice fades a bit as if he’s telling a story unrelated to himself—conversational and distant.
“I tried once after he bleached it the first time. The product burned my scalp, and it wouldn’t stop even after I washed it off. It was driving me crazy, ya know? I hadn’t gotten…very far, just a few hairs at my temple…”
He touches the spot, his hand shaking slightly.
Grayson feels a surge of nausea. He wants to clamp a hand over Nix’s mouth to beg him to stop.
“But he was so angry. Said I was so ugly with hair that he’d have to take me out and shoot me if I were bald. He…uh…well, I can tell you that I wish he had shot me,” Nix whispers, the last breath coming in and out in soft, panting breaths.
“Angel—” Grayson gags, trying to hold back a surge of bile, but in the end, he can’t, and he vomits the ice cream into the sink. It’s not sanitary—he fucking knows that—but it’s better than on the floor or on that pale yellow bathmat.
“Grayson! Oh, fuck. I am sorry. I don’t know why I said all that. I didn’t mean for it to hurt you. I’m sorry I’m such a fuck up.”
Grayson’s soul burns in grief. His Angel is living a life where even the mundane can be a minefield. “No. Please. I’m the one who is sorry. Everything I do hurts you. How can I do this? How are you doing this life?”
“It’s easy. I am so happy here with you. With seven people who love me and care for me, and give me yellow towels and t-shirts that say, He’s My Baby , and who bring me Coconut Sun- smelling lotion so I can remember my mom. I can choose to wear pants or, go in the hot tub or watch Princess Bride . I can choose if I want pizza or noodles, and I can eat whatever I want and how much I want because Finn says it’s okay. Is it okay that I do that?”
“You can eat whatever you want, anytime.” Grayson will make a point of finding out what foods he loves and having them every single day. He’s 100% sure he can get Gideon on board.
“See? And I have my first friend in Arlo, and maybe someday I’ll choose to have a baby like him, and never again will someone choose my hair color but me. I get to choose, and it’s the best I’ve felt in forever.”
He gets to choose.
This is what Jay meant about choices. Grayson gets it now, even if it stings. Nix has never been able to choose. Not the small, everyday things that make a person feel like a person, and certainly never the big ones like bodily autonomy or whether he can live a life unconstrained by pain and fear—the choices that make a person truly free.
He can’t resist pulling Nix into his arms, and he can only whisper broken pleas for forgiveness and a small prayer to the Goddess that she will protect their angel.
The timer blares on Grayson’s phone, but Nix hugs him extra hard through it. “We should wash this out before we shock Jay with your shiny bald head. Come on.”
“Only Jamie would think I’m sexy like that.”
Grayson disagrees, but holds his tongue. He’d meant it when he’d said that Nix is beautiful, no matter his incarnation, because that beauty shines from every pore—from his very soul, even.
He should know, he’s his soulmate.
How very blessed is he, eh? There’s remembered joy in the thought, and Grayson vows to hold on to that feeling in the coming days as best he can.
Nix bends over the edge of the tub, and they wash the color down the drain, when the special conditioner is rinsed out and Grayson’s done drying it with a towel, they get their first look at Nix’s brown locks.
Nix is the first to speak, touching his face with his tiny pointer finger, then running a hand through his hair in awe, testing the memory of his old self against this new vision. “Hello, me,” he whispers to himself, and meets Grayson’s eyes in the mirror. “Thank you, Gray. I love it. Do you think I could get it cut sometime? I never liked it long.”
“I could do it for you right now? I cut Rowan’s and Finn’s all the time. I’m not a professional, but I think it turns out alright. I’ll run and get my scissors.”
“Hey, I don’t think you’re supposed to run with scissors. But yes, I would love it if you could cut it shorter.”
By the time Grayson has trimmed his hair, Nix is glowing. They run a hairdryer through it, and Nix pulls his white shirt back on.
His angel is so happy and free.
Grayson thinks about the cost of keeping that smile as a permanent fixture on that perfect face—thinks about the cost of Nix fighting on that field, and it finally settles in.
If Nix is willing to pay it, they can do no less.