Chapter 21 Moonlight and Forgiveness
MOONLIGHT AND FORGIVENESS
EVAN
The pack house felt different when I padded through the front door at nearly midnight, muscles aching from three hours of running territorial boundaries and checking scent markers that marked our land as ours.
The air inside carried the usual mix of pine and smoke and pack, but underneath it was something that made my wolf prick up his ears with interest.
Human. Male. That particular combination of darkroom chemicals and nervous energy that I'd been trying not to think about for the past day and a half.
Nate's scent, fresh and close enough to mean he was still here.
Dad stood in the hallway like he'd been waiting for me, arms folded across his chest and steel-gray eyes catching the lantern light in ways that made him look older and more tired than usual.
His expression was carefully neutral, but I could read the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself like he was braced for whatever conversation was about to unfold.
“Your boy's here,” he said without preamble, voice carrying that particular blend of information and warning that meant I was about to walk into a situation that required careful handling.
My heart stuttered against my ribs, hope and panic warring for dominance in my chest. Because Nate being here could mean anything from forgiveness to a final confrontation designed to burn whatever bridges we'd managed to build over the past week.
“Where?” I asked, though I could already smell the answer threading through the house like a trail of breadcrumbs leading to my bedroom.
“Sleeping in your old room. Said he wasn't leaving until he saw you.” Dad's tone was neutral, but there was something in his eyes that I couldn't quite read. Pride, maybe. Or caution. Possibly both.
Nate had been the only person I'd ever let into my space like that, the only one who'd made my room feel like sanctuary instead of just another place where I performed the role of dutiful son.
“Did he say why?” I asked, though part of me was afraid of the answer.
“Said he needed to apologize. That he'd fucked up and needed to make it right.” Dad's mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. “Kid's got spine, I'll give him that. Takes balls to show up at a werewolf pack house and demand to see the heir after the kind of scene he made.”
The casual way he said it made me realize that Dad wasn't angry about Nate's presence. Wasn't treating him like a threat or an unwelcome complication. If anything, he seemed almost... approving.
Which was weird as hell, but I'd take it.
I climbed the stairs with heavy steps, my wolf prowling restlessly beneath my skin as the scent of pine and exhaustion mixed with the nervous energy that always surrounded Nate when he was trying to work up courage for something difficult.
By the time I reached my bedroom door, my heart was hammering against my ribs hard enough that I was surprised the sound didn't wake half the pack.
The door was cracked open, spilling lamplight into the hallway like an invitation. I pushed it the rest of the way and found him exactly where Dad had said he'd be, curled up on my bed like he belonged there, jacket tossed aside and camera bag sitting at his feet like faithful pets.
He looked younger in sleep, face relaxed in ways it never was when he was awake and performing whatever version of himself he thought the world needed to see.
His hair was mussed from running his fingers through it, and there were lines of exhaustion around his eyes that spoke of too little sleep and too much emotional turmoil.
The sight of him in my space made something sharp and complicated twist in my chest, because this was exactly what I'd wanted for six years and exactly what I'd been too afraid to ask for.
Nate in my bed, looking like he planned to stay, like he'd finally decided I was worth the risk of getting hurt.
Even if I wasn't sure I deserved that kind of faith.
He stirred as I closed the door behind me, eyelashes fluttering as consciousness dragged him back from whatever dreams had been keeping him company. When he saw me standing there, he sat up quickly, guilt flashing across his face in ways that made my chest ache.
“I'm sorry,” he said immediately, swinging his legs off the bed and sitting on the edge like he was ready to bolt if I told him to leave.
“Nate.” His name stopped the flood of words, and he looked up at me with eyes that held too much hurt for someone who was supposed to be the wronged party in this situation.
I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms, studying the way he held himself like he was braced for rejection.
The smart thing would have been to maintain distance, to protect both of us from whatever complications came with letting him back into my life.
But I was tired of being smart, tired of choosing safety over the possibility of something real.
“You came back,” I said, and the simple observation carried more weight than it should have.
“Yeah, well.” Nate's smile was crooked, self-deprecating. “Apparently I'm a glutton for punishment. Your dad probably thinks I'm insane.”
“My dad respects people who don't back down when things get difficult,” I said, pushing off from the doorframe and moving into the room. “And you're not insane. Stubborn as hell, maybe, but not insane.”
“I shouldn't have snapped,” Nate said suddenly, voice low and rough with emotion I could smell in the air between us. “At you. At everyone who was just trying to keep their family safe.”
He looked down at his hands, fists clenched in the comforter like he was trying to anchor himself against whatever storm was raging in his head.
“I was scared,” he continued. “Not of you, not of what you can become. Just of not knowing. Of realizing that I'd spent all these years thinking I understood this place, understood you, when really I was blind to the most important parts.”
That was exactly what I'd been afraid of—that learning the truth would make him realize how little he'd actually known me, how much of our friendship had been built on careful omissions and half-truths.
I sat down beside him on the bed, close enough that our knees brushed in a small, grounding touch that reminded both of us that this was real, that whatever was happening between us mattered enough to fight for.
“You had every right to be angry,” I said, voice coming out rougher than I'd intended. “I lied to you for years. Let you think you knew me when really I was hiding the biggest part of who I am.”
Nate's head snapped up, eyes wide with something that looked like shock.
“No,” he said fiercely. “That's not—you didn't lie to me, Evan. You just didn't tell me everything, which is completely different. And you had good reasons for keeping quiet, reasons I'm only starting to understand.”
He shifted on the bed, turning to face me fully, and the intensity in his expression made my chest tight with hope I didn't dare examine too closely.
“I've been thinking about it,” he continued.
“About what it must have been like, carrying that secret.
Having to watch every word, every reaction, making sure you never slipped up and revealed something that could put people in danger.
And instead of being grateful that you trusted me with as much as you did, I threw it in your face because I was hurt that you hadn't trusted me with everything.”
“You're here now,” I said quietly, reaching out to cover his hand with mine. “That's what matters.”
His eyes softened, and he turned his hand palm-up beneath mine, fingers threading through mine like they belonged there.
“I'm sorry I left,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
“I should have told you how I felt,” I said, the words scraping against my throat like broken glass. “Should have been brave enough to say that losing you was going to destroy me, that watching you leave was the hardest thing I'd ever done.”
“Why didn't you?”
The question was gentle, curious instead of accusatory, but it still made my chest tight with all the fears I'd carried for so long they'd become part of my skeleton.
“Because you were human,” I said simply. “Because you had dreams that stretched far beyond Hollow Pines, and I didn't have the right to ask you to give them up for someone who couldn't even tell you the truth about what he was.”
Nate was quiet for a long moment, studying our joined hands.
“What if I'd wanted to give them up?” he asked finally. “What if I'd wanted to stay, to build something here with you, even without knowing about the supernatural stuff?”
The possibility hit me like a sucker punch, rewriting six years of careful justifications and making me realize how much of my noble sacrifice had actually been cowardice dressed up as selflessness.
“I don't know,” I said honestly. “I was eighteen and scared and convinced that loving you meant letting you go. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was just too much of a coward to fight for what I wanted.”
“We were both eighteen and stupid,” Nate said, squeezing my hand. “We both made choices based on fear instead of faith. But we're not eighteen anymore, and I'm tired of being afraid of wanting things.”
The words felt like a challenge and a promise rolled into one, and I found myself leaning closer without conscious thought, drawn by the gravity of whatever was building between us.
Outside my bedroom window, the full moon hung heavy and bright, its pull thrumming through my bones.
“Come with me,” I said suddenly, the words slipping out before I could second-guess myself into silence.
“Where?” Nate asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“To see everything. No more half-truths, no more careful omissions.” I stood and offered him my hand, heart hammering as I made a choice that went against every instinct I'd been raised with. “If you really want to know who I am, all of who I am, then come with me.”