Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
B rock scanned the roof one last time, making sure they hadn’t left anything behind. The clouds were starting to roll in, but they’d managed to finish before the rain hit, thanks to Garrett lending a hand. Now all that remained was the clean-up.
He jumped down with a grunt, landing beside a growing pile of old shingles, and began tossing them into the rusted bed of Hunter’s old truck.
“Appreciate you stepping up for the perimeter runs,” Garrett said as he passed by, grabbing another stack of debris. “Taz picked up some tracks out on the west side of town. Could be nothing, but Dell wants more patrols through that area. You in?”
“Yeah, no problem,” Brock replied, tossing his load with a heavy thunk . “That kind of thing happen often?”
“More than it used to,” Hunter said, frowning as he joined them. “Dell’s still proving himself. Some rogue wolves think they’ve got a shot at challenging him—until they actually meet him.”
Garrett snorted. “You think it might be Deb’s ex sniffing around again?”
At that, Brock stilled. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “If it is,” he growled, “he’s going to wish he stayed gone.”
He turned to grab the last of the shingles when the sound of a car crunching over gravel caught his attention. Straightening, he saw Deb’s car pull into the drive and come to a stop. She didn’t get out right away. Just sat there.
Frowning, Brock tossed the last armful into the truck and hesitated, watching her through the windshield. Something wasn’t right.
He started to walk toward her, but Hunter’s voice called him back.
“Brock, grab that ladder, would ya?” Hunter had already climbed back up, his head disappearing over the roofline.
Reluctantly, Brock turned away and made his way toward the shed, his eyes still flicking back toward the car. Inside, he leaned the ladder into its corner and paused. Deb’s shed was well-organized—tools hung neatly. Everything in its place. She had an impressive amount of tools; he grinned shaking his head. She was a puzzle that was for sure.
When he stepped back outside and shut the door behind him, she was out of the car. He slowed when he saw her standing near Garrett, talking quietly. Her posture was stiff, and even from a distance, he could see her eyes—red-rimmed and swollen, like she’d been crying.
The sight hit him hard.
He didn’t know who or what had gotten to her, but rage curled hot in his chest all the same. No one should make Deb look like that.
As he passed by, her voice drifted to him on the breeze—soft, trembling. He had to physically restrain himself from going to her and taking her in his arms to shield her from whatever hurt her.
“I just wanted to say how sorry I am…”
That quiver in her tone stopped him in his tracks. His fists clenched at his sides. Whoever had made her feel this broken… they’d better hope they were long gone. Because if Brock had anything to say about it, they’d never get close enough to hurt her again.
“I just talked to Dell,” Hunter said, walking up beside him. His gaze, like Brock’s, was fixed on Deb and Garrett.
“Yeah,” Brock replied absently, eyes tracking every movement. Garrett had just pulled Deb into a hug—something tight and meaningful—and then let her go with a few parting words before heading toward his motorcycle.
“Dell wants us to start early tonight,” Hunter added, then muttered a curse when Deb turned toward them, wiping at her eyes. Her face was flushed, her expression raw. It hit Brock like a punch to the chest.
“Fine,” Brock said, barely registering the words. His attention was still locked on her. “You know what’s going on?”
“Yeah,” Hunter said, voice lower now, more careful. “But it’s not my story to tell.”
Brock’s jaw tightened.
Hunter clapped him on the back. “Come on. I’ll drop you off at the farmhouse.”
“You go ahead,” Brock said, unmoving. His feet were planted, body rooted to the spot like he might sink into the earth if he left her alone. “What time are we starting?”
“About an hour.” Hunter paused, his brow drawing down. “Brock… she’s done a lot of damage here. You know that.”
Brock turned, slow and sharp, his glare landing on Hunter. “And?”
Hunter didn’t flinch. “I think someone hurt her worse than we know. She won’t talk to Emily. She’s holding something back. Big.” He shook his head. “She’s got secrets.”
“Who doesn’t?” Brock muttered, eyes drifting back to Deb as Hunter walked away.
She passed Hunter without a word, her head down, arms folded tightly across her chest like they were holding her together. When she reached him, she started to do the same—keep walking, slip past like he wasn’t there.
But he wasn’t letting her go that easy.
Brock reached out and gently caught her arm, halting her in place. “Hey,” he said softly.
She didn’t look up. Didn’t meet his eyes. Her chin trembled, and he watched as a single tear slipped from her lashes and fell to her cheek, then to her chin.
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice barely a whisper—and a blatant lie. “I just need a minute, Brock.”
His hand stayed where it was, steady and warm on her arm.
“You don’t have to be fine right now,” he said, his voice low and even. “Not with me.”
Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes red and glassy but steady. A wobbly smile tugged at her lips—small, fragile, but real.
“Thank you,” she said softly, “but I’m fine.”
Brock didn’t believe that for a second, but he let her say it anyway. Sometimes people needed to pretend they were okay before they could actually get there.
She drew in a shaky breath, then wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just had to face something really hard… something I should’ve faced a long time ago. And now I’m just—” She paused, her voice cracking a little. “I’m just having a moment.”
Brock nodded slowly, not letting go of her arm just yet. “You don’t have to explain anything, Deb. You don’t owe me that.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But I think maybe I need to say it anyway. To someone.”
His fingers brushed her arm once before he let her go. “Then I’m here. Whenever you’re ready.”
Her smile came back, a little less wobbly this time. And in her eyes, something flickered—relief, maybe. Or gratitude. Or the first step toward something new.
“Thanks, Brock,” she said quietly.
He just nodded, his gaze lingering on her face like it was something worth memorizing. “Anytime, Deb. And I mean that. No judgment.”
Tears welled in her eyes again, shimmering under the soft light. There was something else there too—regret, deep and quiet, but unmistakable. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just stood there, taking slow breaths like she was trying to get herself under control.
Then, instead of responding, she tilted her head back and looked up at the roof.
“Did you finish?” she asked, voice a little raspy. She sniffed and cleared her throat, trying to steady herself.
“Yeah,” Brock replied gently. “You should be good now. It’s solid. Won’t leak.”
He watched her, wishing she’d let him in, even just a little more. But he didn’t push. He was a patient man—and if it took time to earn her trust, he’d take every second.
“Thank you,” she said, and then frowned, that familiar stubborn spark flaring in her tired expression. “I still wish you’d let me pay you something.”
“You’re already letting my family stay in the farmhouse,” Brock said, his brows drawing together. “If anything, I should be paying you , Deb.”
She huffed softly. “You fixed the deck?. Tammy’s painting. Pretty soon the place will be better than it was when I bought it.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “We could argue about this all night, but honestly, I’m too hungry and too tired to win. Did you all at least stop to grab something to eat?”
He grinned at her dig about winning. “Nope. We kept going to finish before the rain hit. I’ll grab something quick before I head out for patrol tonight.”
She nodded, then hesitated, her eyes searching his like she wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked gently.
“Yeah,” she said with a small nod. “I’m sure.”
But Brock didn’t miss the way her voice trembled or the way her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She was trying to hold it together, but just barely.
“Make sure you lock up tonight,” he said, stepping back even though it went against every instinct in his body. “Taz found some tracks on this side of town. It might be nothing—but better safe than sorry.”
“I will.” Her smile was soft but faint, her exhaustion written all over her face. “Have a good night, Brock. And be careful.”
He watched her a moment longer, wanting to say something else— anything —but instead just gave her a small nod. “You too.”
She stopped at the door then turned to look at him. “Brock.” Her voice sounded so sad.
“Yeah?”
“You’re a good man.” She said, her eyes filled with tears as she turned and disappeared inside the house.
Brock didn’t move until the door behind her closed. Only then did he turn toward the farmhouse. But instead of going straight there, he angled toward Garrett’s place first. Tammy and Ben would be better off there tonight. Something in his gut didn’t sit right, and he didn’t want them alone while he was on patrol. Not when there were fresh tracks nearby—and not when Deb had looked at him like she was hanging on by a thread.
No, he wasn’t taking chances. Not tonight.
His boots crunched softly against the gravel as he made his way down the path, but Brock barely registered the sound. His mind was stuck—caught on the way she’d looked at him... and what she’d said.
You’re a good man, Brock.
She’d said it with a wobbly smile and tear-filled eyes, like it hurt to admit. Like maybe she didn’t think she deserved someone good in her life.
But the words didn’t sit well with him.
Not because he didn’t want to hear them—hell, coming from her, they meant more than she’d ever know—but because they sounded like a goodbye. Like a thank-you and a wall going up, all in one.
Brock clenched his jaw, frustration simmering just under the surface. That wasn’t what he wanted from her. He didn’t want her gratitude—he wanted her trust. Her truth. All of her, not just the parts she let slip through when she thought no one was paying attention.
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled hard, the sky already darkening above. Patrol was starting soon, and he needed to get his head on straight. But her voice kept echoing in his thoughts.
You’re a good man, Brock.
Maybe she meant it. Or maybe she said it to keep him at arm’s length. Either way, he wasn’t going to let that be the end of it. Not with her.
Not when something in her eyes told him she’d been hurt in ways she wasn’t ready to talk about. And not when every instinct in him screamed that she needed someone who wouldn’t give up—someone who’d stay.
And he would stay. Whether she liked it or not. He knew now without a doubt in his mind that she was his Mate, and he’d be damn if anything got in his way of claiming her. Not even her past.