CHAPTER SEVENTEEN || HARRIS
Isat on a bench on Main Street, staring at nothing. A few of the residents gave me strange looks as they passed, but no one approached me. After a while—I wasn’t sure how long—rain started to fall.
I didn’t move.
The world felt wrong. Tilted. Like someone had taken reality and shaken it hard enough that nothing fit together properly anymore.
I have to put my pack first. There’s nothing here for you.
Reed’s voice played on a loop in my head, flat and certain. Like he’d been thinking it all along and finally worked up the nerve to say it out loud.
This was a mistake.
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, as if that might somehow blot everything out.
This didn’t make sense. Last night we’d fought a monster together. We’d saved Sally. We’d fallen asleep tangled around each other, his warmth solid and real against me. I’d woken up alone this morning, but I’d figured—
No. Apparently, I’d figured wrong.
The rain picked up steam, becoming cold and steady. It soaked through my clothes.
I knew I should get up. I should find shelter and figure out what the hell I was supposed to do next.
But the enormity of it pinned me in place. Leaving Crescent Springs and the pack, who’d just accepted me as one of their own. And even more unthinkable—leaving Reed.
Then what? Would I go back to Los Angeles? To my empty apartment? To a job I didn’t even want anymore?
Would I go back to a life that had felt hollow and pointless long before I had even met Reed?
I sat there until the rain was coming down hard enough that I couldn’t tell if my face was wet from the weather or from something else.
Then, finally, feeling disconnected from my own body, I stood up without fully deciding to and started walking.
I didn’t have a plan. I just moved, one foot in front of the other, down the main street of Crescent Springs. Past the bookstore and bakery. Past Sally’s restaurant, dark and closed up, a sign taped on the door that I didn’t bother reading.
I ended up at the everything building.
According to the sign, Dr. Langley’s office was on the first floor. The lights were on. Reed had said she was a friend to the pack.
I stood outside the door, rain dripping off my jacket and pooling at my feet. Then I knocked.
Footsteps. The door opened.
Dr. Langley took one look at my face and her expression shifted—concern, sharp and immediate. “You must be Harris.”
I had the wild urge to laugh. It was a good guess. But then, the town probably didn’t get many visitors in the off-season, and in a place this small, I was sure that word got around quick.
Mutely, I nodded.
“What’s happened? Where’s Reed?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again. The words lodged in my throat like broken glass.
“I’m fine,” I managed finally, after too long of a pause. The lie tasted bitter. “Everything’s fine. Reed’s… busy. I need a ride back to the commune. He told me about you. He said you were a friend.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re soaking wet.”
“It’s raining.”
“Harris—”
“I just need a ride. Please.”
She studied me for a beat too long. Then she sighed, grabbed her keys from the desk behind her, and nodded. “Come on.”
* * *
The drive back to the commune was silent. Dr. Langley tried twice to ask me what happened. Both times, I deflected.
After the second time, she stopped trying.
When we pulled up to the gravel lot, she put the car in park and turned to look at me. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Doing great,” I lied, trying my best to sound normal. “Thanks for the ride.”
I got out before she could press further.
The commune was quiet. There was no one outside—they were probably all still in the mess hall. That was for the best.
I walked to Reed’s cabin. Reed’s cabin—not ours, never ours, apparently. I let myself in.
The space felt too big. And way too empty. It had never felt that way before.
I stood in the doorway, dripping rainwater onto the floor. Then, moving mechanically, I pulled my duffel out from under the bed and started packing. My clothes. The toiletries I’d bought in town. The novel we’d been reading together, a bookmark halfway through it.
I stared at the book in my hand for a long time.
We weren’t going to finish it together, after all.
I shoved it into the bag.
The packing should’ve taken ten minutes, twenty tops.
Instead, it felt like hours. I kept stopping and sitting down at the edge of the bed, sagging like a marionette with cut strings.
I kept staring at the kitchen where Reed had made me breakfast. At the couch where we’d sat together, my feet in his lap, reading in companionable silence.
At the bed where we’d made love.
I felt hollowed out. Like someone had scooped out everything vital and left only the shell behind.
This was a mistake.
And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that I could still feel him. Distant but unmistakably there. A thread of emotion and sensation I couldn’t shut off even if I wanted to.
I could feel his emotions, too. Fear and guilt. And most damning of all, finality.
He’d meant it. Every single word.
I sat on the bed, the duffel half-packed beside me, and let myself think the thought I’d been avoiding. Maybe I was stupid to believe I could stay at all.
I was human. He was a werewolf. An alpha. With a pack to protect and responsibilities I couldn’t begin to understand. Of course it wouldn’t work.
I should’ve known better. Hell, maybe I should’ve left when he first told me to, back when he was still being an asshole about it. Before I let myself begin to trust him. Before I’d let myself fall in love with him.
I realized, in bits and pieces, that I was waiting for him to come back. To tell me he’d changed his mind and take back the words he’d spoken.
I would’ve forgiven him. I wanted to forgive him.
But the cabin door didn’t open. Reed didn’t come through it. And he wasn’t going to, was he?
I waited anyway, for way too long. Like an idiot.
When the light outside started to fade toward evening, I zipped the duffel shut and stood, finally letting myself give up.
It was time to go.
* * *
I made my way down the pathway past the cabins to the communal gathering area, and that’s where I found Lacey and Lindsey.
They stood side by side near the fire pit, both dressed in athletic pants and sports bras, no shoes.
They’d been about to shift, probably, now that it was approaching full dark.
They saw the duffel slung over my shoulder and both of them stopped in their tracks.
Lacey’s face darkened. “You’re leaving?”
I didn’t answer.
“After everything?” Her voice rose, sharp with anger. “No way! After last night? After we accepted you—”
“Lacey.” Lindsey’s voice was flat and hard. She sized me up, her eyes narrowing. “Reed did this. He told you to leave, didn’t he?”
There wasn’t much use denying it, was there? And anyway, they’d find out from Reed, soon enough.
“Yeah.” My voice sounded strangely hoarse.
“That fucking idiot,” Lindsey said, rubbing her temples.
Lacey’s anger shifted immediately, redirected. “What the hell is wrong with him?”
“Someone needs to talk sense into him,” Lindsey groaned. “Why does he have to be such a dunce? Every damn time.”
No. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t stand here and talk about Reed, about what he’d said to me, or about the way my chest felt like it was caving in. And I couldn’t break down here. Reed had made it excruciatingly clear I didn’t belong.
“I’m sorry,” I said, avoiding their gazes. “I have to go.”
I pushed past them, heading for the parking area.
Lindsey called after me, “Harris, just wait for a minute—”
But I didn’t stop. I got into my rental car and started the engine, feeling entirely numb. The last thing I saw in the rearview mirror was the two of them watching me go. Lindsey had her hand on Lacey’s arm, as if holding her back. She clearly wanted to follow me.
I put the car in drive and left.