Chapter 7 #2
Pulling his black T-shirt over his head, Elliott tried to figure out how he could possibly explain himself. His bear huffed, one question clearly still front and center in his mind... Elliott’s too. “Why do you smell like Fern, dude?” He had to know.
“Why do I—? Are you two...? Oh my god, you’re not— Ohhh.”
Tongue tucked behind his upper lip, Elliott tapped his bare foot on the grass, watching Able figure it out.
“You’re potential mates—or she’s your potential mate.”
He grunted. “Answer the fucking question.”
Able spit out a laugh. “I gave her a ride home ’cause she walked to Beck’s—”
“Did you go inside?”
He didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Sure did, checked out her whole place. That bed is—”
Elliott growled, and Able snorted.
“Noa was with us, Fitz. We helped carry her gifts in and put them on her kitchen table. She gave us hugs goodbye.”
His relieved exhale blew the heavy weight of jealousy off his chest.
Able raised his brows, beyond amused.
Elliott had embarrassed himself more than enough already; one more question couldn’t make things worse. Their whole friend group was going to know about this regardless of what he did next. “When she got here, she accidentally drove down to my place and she smelled like you. Why?”
“You’re a lost cause, bro.”
“Whatever, dude. Just fucking tell me. Is she your potential mate too?” His teeth slotted together as he avoided eye contact with his close friend.
“I was on call at the gatehouse when she pulled up. She realized we’d met on the phone and hopped out for a hug. She—”
“She got out of the car?! Why didn’t she get out of the car to hug me?”
Adam’s laughter scared some small creature into the river with a splash.
Elliott was being foolish, he knew it—absolutely asinine behavior. She’d probably have hugged him too, if he hadn’t acted like a fucking weirdo and backed away after smelling her. “Able...”
“Fitz.”
“Is she your potential mate?”
Adam’s lips wrinkled and wriggled before he calmed himself enough to reply, “No.”
“True mate?”
Able was a jovial guy, but that motherfucker, Elliott had never seen him laugh so much in his life. “Not true mates either. So, she’s your potential mate, huh?”
Elliott offered a curt nod.
Adam sighed. “All right. What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
“The fuck do you mean, ‘nothing?’”
Rolling his neck, Elliott replied, “I’m not in the mood for a relationship. Don’t want to rock the boat.”
“I’d say the boat has flipped, Fitz. You just fucking attacked me.”
“That was my bear.”
Leveling him with a look that spoke volumes, Able said, “You’ve got to do something. Bang her. Do it with the express intent of not mating, and you’ll be fine. If you’re not going to pursue her, at least get her out of your system.”
“No way.”
“Maybe I’ll go for it then, if you're not into it. She’s a little thin for me, but tall enough to be sturdy...”
Elliott’s bear lunged, forcing a half shift. Rapidly descending canines cut into his lower lip as his nails elongated into claws. “Go, you fucker.”
Laughing still, Adam shifted back and lumbered away, his fuzzy butt swaying and his abandoned boots and socks littering the grass.
Elliott scooped up the discarded clothes to give back later and shuffled back to his property. Leaving the shoes on his front porch, he trudged to the studio.
The lights flickered as they powered up, and he hit play on the studio iPod—good for when his phone wasn’t around.
The bag of clay crinkled beneath his shaking hands as he peeled it open and ripped off a hefty chunk.
No creative spark drove Elliott to work; no end-goal sat in the forefront of his mind.
He had no vision, only a lot of unchecked frustration and an evening to kill.
He wedged his clay for longer than necessary, until there were undeniably no bubbles left.
When some of his feelings had been worked out—or suppressed—he snagged a dish of water, grabbed another, full of slip, and sat down at his wheel to work.
Possibly on purpose, his first attempt at centering was a failure.
So he peeled up the clay, re-wedged it, and chucked it down again, hard enough that it damn near flattened into a patty.
The third time was a charm, and Elliott got down to business.
With firm hands, he shaped a thick puck, then dug his thumbs in, opening up the center of the clay.
This part, the best part, always went too fast, but it relaxed him for those fleeting moments.
This time was no different: As he pulled up the walls of what decided to become a vase, his playlist switched from the Band to the Dead, and the guitar intro to “Sugar Magnolia” started up.
Elliot groaned as a combination of good old angst and longing bubbled up within him. He shouldn’t have kissed Fern, but fuck, he was glad he had.
He let himself relive those moments at her apartment until his vase was finished and set aside to dry. Then he wiped down his equipment, rinsed his hands, and shut down the studio to head inside for the night.
Could he ignore the potential bond? Was Adam right? Did he need to get it out of his system?
Who knew.
He needed a shower, some tunes, a bong rip, and he’d toss together some dough for an overnight proof. Hopefully, by then, he’d have found some much-needed clarity on how to proceed with his potential mate.
Stripping off his shirt, Elliott walked into his bedroom and straight toward the master bath. A familiar vibration stopped him short, and with his pants and boxer briefs around his knees, he shuffled around until he found his phone abandoned on the nightstand.
He’d meant to bring it to Northrop House but forgot to put it in the basket his bear had carried in his teeth. Clothing and jewelry could travel through a shift, but electronics couldn't make the jump. No one knew why. They always stayed behind.
He found seventy-five missed messages in the friend group chat. He knew before he scrolled up that Adam had told on him. Nothing else would have led to this outpouring of rapid-fire communication—not when they’d all seen each other a few hours before.
Yep. That’s exactly what happened. Everyone panicked when Adam said he’d been attacked. And naturally, they all lost their goddamn minds when they learned about Elliott’s potential bond with Fern.
He wanted to be angry, but he got it: Adam had no choice but to give details—they needed to understand why Elliott’s bear went wild. It rankled. Now they’d all be playing matchmaker.
He scrolled down and his jaw dropped.
Liv
We need to tell Fern about shifting before something goes awry
Ben and I are talking about it now
Beck
The betas agree
Noa and Able were on board, too. Although, since the alphas and betas decided already, no one else’s opinion technically mattered. Elliott’s personal feelings were definitely irrelevant after his outburst, not that anyone asked him anyway.
They were going to fucking tell her. She’d know the truth about Beckett Falls, about the pack, about him. Then what? He hadn’t the faintest idea. His bear started rumbling—no, purring—the turd was purring, and Elliott just stared at his phone.
Blood rushed in his ears, and he swayed on his feet, scrolling through the rest of the conversation. His friends were starting to panic, worried he’d shifted again and run off, feral. Or worse, they feared he’d gone to find Fern.
Liv
He’s not with her. I just checked
Noa
He’ll turn up. You know he always forgets his phone
Beck
I can drive over and see if he’s staking out her place
Liv
I need you to make me those pancakes first if you’re gonna leave
Elliott
Nice to know you all trust me.
Beck
Where have you been?
Elliott
You didn’t tell Fern about me right?
Liv
No, just checked in. Didn’t ask if there was a bear with her
Noa
LMAO
Elliott
When are you telling her?
Beck
Tomorrow
Elliott
Who’s doing it?
Liv
You are
Noa
LMAO
Beck
We’re doing it together. All of us.
Though his alphas couldn’t infuse their texts with alpha power, Elliott picked up the intended command just the same. He wasn’t going to have to tell her alone, but he better show up.
Shower forgotten, Fitz kicked his pants the rest of the way off and wandered back to the living room to continue the conversation and smoke a much-needed bong.
He didn’t want to be part of telling her. What if she was horrified and fled? His heart would break.
Huffing, he ground up some bud.
Why would his heart break? He didn’t even want this mate bond.
Packing the bowl, he decided he’d stay home. His friends would get over it.
Elliott
I can’t make it tomorrow
Noa
Rude. She doesn’t deserve you as a potential mate.
Elliott
I’m not pursuing it
Liv
She’s amazing
Able
She seems pretty cool to me
I’ll be there
Elliott
Fine. I’ll go
Able sent a kissy-face emoji, and Elliott flipped off his phone before turning it face down on the coffee table. Two substantial hits later, he revisited the conversation to catch up on the plan, then shuffled off to the shower, his mind in shambles.