Chapter Seven
Matt
Last night was a mistake. Oliver looked so warm, soft, and sleepy after we had dinner that I nearly said fuck it and kissed him right there. I booked it out of his apartment with a vague excuse about work instead.
I paced around my living room for a while and ended up filing a few of the thousand pending reports Meena has been hounding me about.
I curse Nick for the thousandth time as I prepare for some more self-torture today. Even though I didn’t go to bed before one, I’m showered, dressed, and ready for my ridiculous Christmas distraction plan when Oliver knocks on my door at eight.
When I told my friends about the Christmas party they’re apparently attending, their reactions were mixed.
Bree and Camilla were immediately in, canceling their plans with Camilla’s family.
Nick laughed for fifteen minutes straight before agreeing, then he asked if he could bring mac and cheese.
Marcus said he’ll have to leave early because his wife also has a party to attend.
His exact words were, “You can't make last-minute Christmas party plans, Matt. We live in a civilized society, dammit!” And Sloan?
Sloan will be anywhere there is free food.
So, I have a headcount of six people. I might ask Oliver to invite his friends, too. After all, this is basically his party.
When I open the door, I’m not surprised to see an excited, albeit tired, Oliver, all ready to tackle the day's tasks. It’s clear he didn’t sleep well again. Fuck, I really hope this stupid party can distract him, and he can at least go back to looking all bright and beaming again.
Today, we’re going Christmas tree shopping. Fun! I can’t complain too much when he looks that edible and cute in his blue hoodie and tight jeans.
He’s taking this shit seriously. He has a checklist with checkboxes and everything.
“The dopamine release when I check a task off is the entire motivation, Matt!” he’d said when I asked him to just text me the list instead.
“Let's stop for breakfast before we start,” I suggest, closing my door behind me.
“No, Matt,” Oliver says, outraged. “We have to be there as early as possible. I doubt they even have any Christmas trees left.”
“My bad. It was stupid of me to factor in useless things like sustenance,” I mumble as we walk towards the elevator.
“What?” He turns back to look at me.
“I’m so excited about seeing this place,” I correct myself.
He looks stern, but his eyes are smiling up at me. Maybe I don’t need sustenance after all. I could survive on his smiles alone.
Wow, that was sappy and creepy!
We take my truck instead of Oliver’s Prius because, despite his pessimism, I’m sure we’ll be able to find a tree.
I mean, how hard could it be to find a Christmas tree around Christmas? It’s a seasonal business. They should have more than enough supply.
“So, where are we going exactly?” I ask after Oliver feeds an address in my GPS that’s basically in the middle of nowhere.
“You’ll see,” Oliver mysteriously responds.
“You aren't taking me out of the city to kill me, are you?” I joke. To be honest, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. I’m already mentally curating my last wishes list.
“Come on, Mr. Muscles. Is that what you think of me?” he pouts. “So many people saw me get in your car just now. That would be the most stupid way to murder someone.”
I huff out a startled laugh. Why did he have to be cute, hot, funny, and sexy all at the same time?
He looks at me with a sly grin. Warmth blooms in my chest.
“So how would you murder someone?” I ask, my voice low.
“Hmm.” He doesn’t even blink at the question. “First of all, I wouldn't be seen with someone I’m going to kill. I’d give you the address to the place, preferably on a piece of paper. No texts, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I nod.
“I’d leave at least an hour before you. Then I’d go to a lot of places with cameras, setting alibis, you know?”
“Of course.”
“Then I'd go to the place where I invited you. Make the kill quick. Since I can’t take Captain Biceps in combat, it’d have to be quick and easy,” he says, checking me out, his eyes dark.
“Oh, this beef buffet?” I point at myself, echoing Melanie.
His face turns gloriously red. “After killing you, I’d spend some time cleaning up the crime scene.”
“Wait, I really think you should reconsider the sparring.” I imagine Oliver wrapped around me, trying to take control of me. I might even let him win if he asks nicely. Okay, time to change the topic before I swerve the car into oncoming traffic.
“Don’t be cocky, big guy. I’ll have you know I’ve gotten into many fights. I even made the other guy look worse than me in a few.” He isn’t looking at me anymore.
“Yeah, a big troublemaker, were you?”
“Nope, just a gay kid in a small town,” he says, his voice small.
I don’t like that sound, but I want to know more. The need to know every little detail about him slams into me, knocking the air right out of my lungs.
“You were out in school?” I carefully ask.
He still doesn’t look at me. “Not by choice.”
My hands grip the wheel hard, my fingers itching with the need to draw blood.
“I was secretly seeing this closet case in high school. You know, big, toxic jock type. He got so scared his secret would come out that he told everyone I groped him in the locker room,” Oliver says.
“It was hell after that. My best friend fake-dated me for the next two years to offset some of it, but it didn’t help much. ”
I grind my teeth, already making plans for this fucking loser who hurt my Oliver. “Mmmhmm… What was the name of the guy again?”
“Mason?” Oliver turns to me, confused.
“Right. And his last name?” I ask, casually.
Oliver laughs. “I’m not letting you murder a guy who hated himself more than he hated me. Besides, I’m not convinced you’d do a good job getting away with it if you thought I was going to murder you today.”
Well, looks like the guy will live to see another day.
Oliver puts on music after that, some really catchy pop songs.
When the GPS says we’ve arrived, I turn towards a large, iron gate with a keypad.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“Just pull up there.” He points at the right side of the gate.
I do as he says. Oliver rolls down his window and puts in the combination. The doors open slowly.
“Wow, you don’t half-ass anything, do you?” I look at the huge farm in front of us with lush green grass and bushes. I’m assuming trees are at the back. The air smells sharp and green, pine and resin. I can hear kids laughing somewhere in the distance.
Oliver rolls his eyes. “They didn’t have trees left in any of the nearby shops because someone forgot they were having people over for Christmas Eve!” He side-eyes me. “I asked around and found out about this place. It’s cool, right?”
I stare at him before remembering I’m still driving.
“What?” he asks, looking embarrassed.
I shake my head. “Of course, you did.” Mission Fake Christmas was working too well. Nick can go fuck himself.
I park in front of a small shed.
“I'll go get the tools,” Oliver says, already hopping out of the truck towards a heavyset man. They shake hands, and Oliver points towards me. The guy nods and hands Oliver a big toolbox.
Oliver hops back in. He points to the left, and I start the truck. We drive deep into the property until we come across beautiful Leyland cypress trees scattered about the property.
I drive slowly until Oliver shouts, “That one!”
I slam the brakes and park the truck right beside a twelve or thirteen-foot, dense tree.
“This… this is our tree,” Oliver breathes out.
I nod because yeah, this is our tree. I take out the saw. “I got this,” I assure him.
He stands behind me as I work, sawing the trunk in slow, rough strokes.
Oliver’s breath gets heavier around the time the tree starts to give. I turn to face him, attacking the tree from the other side, mostly to give him a better show.
I’m careful not to exert too much strength, but my wolf wants to show off like never before. So, when the saw gets stuck halfway through, I pull it out, push it back with one hard stroke.
Oliver gasps as the tree falls.
I clean the saw and put it back in the truck, all the while Oliver looks at me, his eyes glazed.
“You can help me carry it to the truck,” I say huskily.
He looks up at me, eyes filled with desire. I want to grab his neck and shove my tongue down his throat.
That sobers my mind pretty quickly, and I turn to focus on the logistics of grabbing the giant tree.
“Take the leafy side,” I tell him.
We lift the tree. I take the weight while Oliver makes sure the needles aren't all falling off. We place the tree on the back of the truck. I tie it up with a rope from the toolbox.
When we get back, I go to the shed guy with him and pay, despite a resistant Oliver. The guy wraps the tree up nicely for us.
We stop for breakfast at a cute little cafe just beside the farm. Surprisingly, it's also Christmas-themed, all with fake snow and eggnogs.
Oliver orders a stack of pancakes, and I order scrambled eggs, pancakes, an omelette, bacon, and eggnog. He doesn’t even bat an eye at my order. Guess we’ve had enough meals together that he’s used to me shoveling food into my piehole. Either that, or he thinks I love breakfast food. Which I do.
“Did you grow up in the city?” Oliver asks between bites of his pancakes.
I look at the empty plates covering my side of the table as I eat my remaining pancakes. Maybe I should slow down? “Pretty much. My last foster family lives a little outside of the city.”
“You moved around a lot?” Oliver asks hesitantly.
But he doesn’t need to hesitate. I’m surprisingly alright with telling him everything. Well, almost everything. “Not a lot, no. I was in a group home before getting placed with a family at ten. Then I moved in with Nick’s family, that’s the LAPD guy I told you about.”
“They must be really nice if you’re still in touch,” he says. He has stopped eating and is focusing on me like he’ll be quizzed about my life later.
I smile thinking about Nick and Mr. and Mrs. Harper. “They’re the best. They treated me just like Nick, or better, if you listen to him. They were so kind, warm, and open with their love. Like it was easy for them.”
Oliver’s eyes are still trained on me.
“It was so unexpected after my last foster home.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Oliver tilts his head, his eyes questioning. The light blue is almost liquid.
I’m going to overshare, aren’t I? “My last foster parents just couldn’t… accept me for who I was,” I say, trying to find the right words without giving too much away.
“Because you were gay?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
Seeing him angry on my behalf makes me warm all over, so I nod.
I don't like talking about my time with my first foster parents.
When they realized what I was after my first transition at twelve, the Bureau found us and told them everything about werewolves. They basically threatened that they wouldn’t take it kindly if they ever revealed our secret.
That's how WRB functions. Threats, intimidation, and greasing the wheels. What other choice do they have? It isn't a human government-sanctioned organization.
My foster parents hated me after that. I saw it in their eyes. They’d have killed me if they could get away with it.
“I lived with them for two years, watching them wish I were dead, before my life was great again,” I try to maintain a casual tone, but my voice cracks a little.
Oliver places a hand on mine, stilling it. I didn’t even realize it was trembling. I focus on the heat of Oliver’s palms, his slow, steady breath, and the soothing blue of his eyes. My heart returns to normal, and I breathe out loud. My eyes are itching. I swallow the tears down.
“I’m so happy you found your people,” he says after I’m feeling a little more under control.
I look at his soft, dark curls, concerned gaze, and small smile. “Me too.”