9. Remy
Chapter 9
Remy
The phone buzzed on the dashboard, its glow cutting through the dimness in the car.
I barely glanced at it before grabbing it, a grin already forming.
"Hey," I said, the sticky sweetness of honey on cornbread halfway to my mouth. My grin froze as the voice on the other end stopped me cold.
"Remy."
The cornbread slipped from my fingers, honey smearing across my shirt and seatbelt. My stomach twisted.
It wasn’t Colton. It was Carter.
“What the—?” I fumbled for a napkin, scrubbing at the mess as my pulse hammered.
"I didn’t mean to catch you off guard," Carter said, his voice steady but cautious. "You alright?"
"Yeah, fine. Just, uh, spilled something," I muttered, wincing at the crack in my voice. My fingers tightened around the phone. Why was he calling?
"Good to finally catch you," Carter said, like he hadn’t just sent my thoughts spiraling. "I’ve tried a few times, but you never picked up."
The shock left me scrambling for footing. He sounded... relieved?
"I’ve been busy," I said curtly, brushing at the stain.
My fingers gripped the phone tighter. I didn’t owe him an explanation. Not anymore.
"I figured." His voice was calm, almost too calm. After a beat, he added, "You doing alright?"
Not ‘Where are you?’ or ‘What happened to you?’—just... was I alright?
"Yeah," I said, quieter this time. "I’m fine."
The silence on the other end wasn’t comforting, but it wasn’t hostile either. It felt like Carter was waiting for me to fill the gap.
"We’ve been making some changes back home," Carter said finally, his tone measured, as if those words alone could bridge the distance between us.
Changes. The word hit harder than I expected—a gut-punch reminder of what I’d left behind. Not just the bad—the rules, the constant judgment—but the slim chance for something better.
Was that why he was calling? To dangle this new version of Thornebane in front of me?
Carter kept talking, listing new patrols and fairer resource distribution. His voice was steady, almost convincing.
Part of me wanted to believe him. But as his words sank in, I started picking them apart, searching for the catch. And when I didn’t find one, it only unsettled me more.
"What do you want, Carter?" The question came out harder than I intended, my chest tightening the moment I said it. Too late to take it back now.
The pause that followed was long enough for my heartbeat to thunder in my ears.
"You’re still part of the pack, Remy," he said finally, his voice quieter now, tinged with something I couldn’t quite place. "I just want to make sure you’re alright."
Still part of the pack. The words hit harder than they should have. His tone almost made me want to believe him. Almost.
I shifted in my seat. The idea of belonging again—it twisted my stomach.
Why now? Was this about me, or just cleaning up the pack’s image?
I could feel the faint tug of an old rope pulling me back, but I resisted. No. I wasn’t falling for this—not now, when I finally had something real.
"I’m fine," I said, forcing the lump in my throat down. "Figuring things out. I even have a job now."
"That’s good," Carter replied quietly. "I’m glad to hear that."
There it was again—that sincerity. But it didn’t sound like the Carter I knew. Was he really concerned, or just trying to keep me tethered to the pack?
"Just don’t be a stranger, alright?" Carter said after a beat. “Try to check in once in a while."
The pull lingered, faint but persistent, like a fraying rope stretched too thin. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t going back—not yet.
But that didn’t stop the ache that came with the growing distance, or the hollow weight of what I’d left behind.
My chest tightened. “Yeah,” I murmured, the word barely more than a whisper. “Sure."
When the call ended, I stayed still, the phone pressed to my ear. He almost sounded genuine. And I hated that some part of me wanted to believe him.
I glanced at the screen, frustration creeping in. I shouldn’t have answered.
My excitement had gotten the better of me, thinking it was Colton calling to confirm our date tomorrow. I hadn’t even checked the number before picking up.
Hearing Carter’s voice shattered the brief excitement I’d felt, leaving me with thoughts I’d tried to bury.
His words tugged at something I’d buried deep—something I’d fought hard to leave behind.
But I wasn’t falling for it. Not after everything I’d built. I wasn’t going back.
I hadn’t lied—I was doing well. A job I liked. Friends, even. A life that didn’t hinge on being part of a pack that never saw me.
And then there was Colton.
We had a date tomorrow. The thought gave me a rush of excitement, but it wasn’t without a knot of nerves. Something heavier churned in my gut, like butterflies laced with lead.
It wasn’t just the usual jitters. This was heavier, rooted in something I couldn’t shake—a familiar ache from my old pack. Doubt. The nagging fear that I wasn’t enough, that someone like Colton would never choose someone like me.
Colton deserved someone who had it together. Someone steady and confident. And me? I was a wolf who couldn’t even shift properly.
Back in Thornebane, no one had seen me as their equal, let alone as someone worth considering as a mate. Most barely noticed me at all, except to sneer or judge.
But then again, Colton wasn’t like them. Somehow, I knew he’d never treat me that way. Still, he didn’t know about my shifting issues. Would that change things?
I shook my head, forcing the thought aside. Overthinking wouldn’t help. But even as I tried to push it down, the doubt still lingered, refusing to let go.
My phone buzzed, dragging me back to the present. Colton’s name lit up the screen, and I opened the message.
Colton: Hey, just a heads-up—something came up last minute at the restaurant. Can we meet there instead? I hate having to switch plans, but I can’t wait to see you.
Was he trying to hint at canceling? Should I offer to reschedule? I typed out a quick reply.
Remy: That’s fine. Let me know if it gets too hectic, though—we can always reschedule.
The phone rang almost immediately—Colton’s name this time.
"Remy," he said as soon as I answered. “I don’t want to cancel. I just need to finish up a few things, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?" His tone was gentle but certain, leaving no room for doubt.
My shoulders relaxed, and a smile tugged at my lips despite myself. "Okay."
Colton could’ve postponed, but he didn’t. He’d made it clear he wanted to see me, even if things weren’t going perfectly. That meant something, didn’t it?
Though the doubt still lingered, I pushed it away again. It was just a date. I could handle this.
And why shouldn’t I? I was free now—free from the Thornebane pack and free to try things I’d never dared before.
If I could leave behind the only life I’d ever known, I could manage one date without overthinking things.
Determined, I headed out to the car, popping open the trunk to rummage through my meager collection of clothes.
Disappointment flickered as I sifted through the pile. Most of it was wrinkled, and some pieces desperately needed a wash.
Between work and... well, life, I hadn’t exactly prioritized laundry lately.
Wrinkling my nose, I grabbed an armful of clothes. Looked like a laundromat trip was in order.
* * *
I glanced around the laundromat. Empty. Lucky me. The quiet felt nice—no one waiting for a machine, no awkward small talk.
Normally, I just tossed everything in one machine—whites, colors, whatever—and hoped for the best. But today, I wondered if I should be more careful. Should I split things up?
Nah, too much work. Instead, I tossed clothes into two machines, a small compromise. Coins slid into the slot, and the machines hummed to life.
The rhythmic churn of the washers filled the space, a background noise I didn’t mind at all.
I sat back, unwrapped my sandwich, and took a bite, watching the clothes spin. By the time I finished eating, the first load was done.
I was reaching for my phone when the door creaked open. I looked up, half expecting to be left alone.
Instead, a guy stepped inside and immediately spotted me.
He looked momentarily startled, then waved awkwardly. “Oh hey. You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Ethan.”
Oh. Colton’s brother.
I hesitated, a little nervous. I didn’t know much about him other than what Colton had mentioned.
He was the pack healer, but beyond that... nothing. Colton never really went into detail about him.
I wondered if he knew about my “condition”—if he’d seen it when he checked on me that night. The thought made my stomach tighten, but I pushed it down.
”Uh, yeah," I said. "I remember."
He didn’t seem fazed. With zero ceremony, he dumped a massive pile of clothes into a single machine, pressing it down with both hands.
Then he grabbed a detergent bottle, poured in an unmeasured amount, and slammed the door shut with a grunt.
I blinked, tension slipping out of me. Okay, maybe he wasn’t as intimidating as I’d thought.
His laundry methods were just as chaotic as mine. Suddenly, it felt like we might actually get along.
"Busy day?" Ethan asked, nodding at the machine behind me and the pile of clothes I was folding.
I shrugged, attention glued to the shirt in my hands. A stubborn crease mocked every effort to smoothen it out.
I grabbed the book I’d brought, pressing it against the fabric to try and flatten the line.
"Fell behind on some chores," I said absentmindedly.
Ethan leaned against a nearby machine, arms crossed. "You planning to wear that shirt for something important?”
"Yeah," I muttered, repositioning the book and pressing harder. The crease barely budged.
"A date?”
"Yeah." I tried smoothing down a stubborn wrinkle on the sleeve.
"With my brother?”
"Yeah—wait, no!" My head jerked up, and I froze, face burning. "How did you?—?”
Ethan grinned. "Easy. Colton couldn’t leave your side the night you ended up in the clinic. Hired you without even asking for a résumé. And tonight? The restaurant’s slammed because it’s all-you-can-eat ribs night, and he called in a favor to cover for him.”
I blinked. “Oh."
"Relax," he said, smirking. "It’s cute. Annoying for me, but cute.”
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Don’t be. Now my brother owes me. Big time." His smirk widened, and I had the distinct feeling I didn’t want to know what that debt involved.
Ethan’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the shirt in my hands. “What are you trying to do to that shirt?”
I looked down at the shirt, the book still pressed against the fabric in a futile attempt to flatten the crease.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I quickly set the book aside. “I’m just trying to make it… less wrinkly.”
“Is it for tonight?” Ethan asked.
I nodded, keeping my attention firmly on the shirt as I tugged at the stubborn fabric.
Ethan’s gaze shifted to the pile of clothes I’d folded—or at least attempted to fold. He nodded toward them. “Do you mind if I take a look?”
“Go ahead,” I said, trying not to sound too nervous.
Ethan started sorting through my clothes, making neat piles with no discernible logic.
He held up a few shirts and shook his head. "These need ironing. Don’t bother. Stick to sweaters."
I stared at him, then at the sweater he shoved into my arms. “Really?”
He smirked. "You’ll thank me later. My brother’s too distracted to notice details, but you? You’re trying way too hard."
I snorted. “Good to know.”
Ethan grinned. “Besides, if you mess up this date, I’ll probably have to hear about it for weeks. Do us both a favor and keep it simple.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Noted.”