Chapter 6 #2
“Boone mentioned that you guys were in a pack,” I say quickly. “And I have some things that I got from Shepard in the library. He was nice. Let me wait out the storm.” Why the hell am I rambling?
Gabe’s watching me too closely now, like he’s trying to read between every word.
He nods. “Yeah, he’s right. I’ll probably see Shepard tonight.”
“It’s just his power bank. And the key.” I lift the edge of my basket like I’m showing proof. “They’re in my car, but I didn’t want to forget.”
“Okay,” he says simply. “I’ll grab them before I leave.”
Then he turns, nods once, and walks off like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
It’s not.
I feel like I’ve been standing in the sun too long. My skin is prickly. My lungs are tight.
I finish the rest of my shopping quickly. Pasta. Tomatoes. An absurd number of frozen waffles I’ll probably never eat.
When I finally step outside, the breeze hits my cheeks like a slap. I close my eyes for a second, try to level my breathing.
It’s fine. He’s just a man. Just a firefighter. Just—
I blink.
He’s coming out of the store.
Even seeing him again after just a few minutes feels like a jolt. Like walking into a room you didn’t expect anyone to be in.
He walks toward me, grocery bag in one hand. I feel his gaze before he speaks.
I pop the trunk, reaching for the power bank and key. When I hand them to him, his fingers brush mine.
They’re warm. Dry. Strong.
I shouldn’t be noticing that.
“I’ll make sure he gets ’em,” he says.
“Thanks.” I try not to sound breathless. Fail miserably.
He nods again. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”
And then he turns and walks away, boots hitting pavement with weight and purpose.
His truck roars to life. The scent of smoke and heat and him lingers in the air like an aftershock.
I stand there too long before I climb into the car, close the door, and finally let myself breathe.
I press my forehead to the steering wheel, the leather cold against my skin.
Why did that feel like a tidal wave?
Why did he make my skin buzz like electricity under water?
I don’t know this man. Not really.
But my body reacted like it did.
I’ve had a headache all day. A slight fever, too. Probably from being rained on. From lack of sleep. From the general chaos of being uprooted.
But something deeper pulses in my gut. Some kind of wildness I don’t know how to name.
I blink away tears before they can fall. This is not that. Gabe is not Max.
He’s not Max.
And just because Max and the others were firefighters doesn’t mean every man in uniform is a danger.
But the fear is coiled too deep.
I tell myself to believe it. I tell myself again and again.
But the lie tastes like ash.
And I don’t believe it at all.
The grocery bags rustle beside me, the scent of snapper faint in the air, but I can’t breathe. My hands are trembling on the steering wheel, and when I blink, a tear slips down my cheek.
Goddammit.
I scrub at my face with the sleeve of my hoodie and start the engine.
I’m not crying because of Gabe. Not exactly.
It’s just—he smells like smoke.
Like them. Like him.
The same scent that clung to the inside of my lungs every time I was passed around, bruised and breathless, no one stopping to ask if I wanted it or not.
Just taking. Just using. Just owning.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel. I shouldn’t let him get to me. Gabe isn’t them. He hasn’t done anything wrong.
But his voice was so deep. So confident. He moved with the same quiet power Scott did. That stillness that made it hard to know when the moment would turn.
He is not Scott.
I force myself to take a breath as I back out of the parking lot. My head’s pounding and my throat feels thick, like I’ve swallowed a scream.
I turn onto the narrow road that cuts through Driftwood Cove, winding along the edge of the cliffs. The water glimmers through the trees, calm and endless. My eyes sting again.
And suddenly, I’m not in here anymore.
I’m there.
That fucking compound. That room they called a nest but felt more like a prison.
Max had been away on a trip. Some bullshit mission the pack sent him on to keep him busy while the rest of them… while they…
I was in heat.
I remember it like a bruise I keep pressing on. My body had been aching. Desperate. Starved for touch and relief.
“Please,” I’d whispered, dragging my fingers down the cool tile of the bathroom wall. I was naked. On my knees, my body shaking. My heat so bad I thought I’d die.
Scott had leaned against the doorframe. Not even hiding his smile.
“Beg prettier,” he’d said.
I had.
I’d dropped to my forearms. Spread my thighs. Whispered his name. Pleaded.
And he’d just walked away.
Laughed as the door slammed shut.
I gasp now, knuckles white around the steering wheel, the memory so vivid I almost feel it. The burn of rejection. The ache of being left like that. Unclaimed. Humiliated.
I never mentioned it to Max because technically, Scott was his boss.
Don’t cry again. You already did that.
My phone buzzes.
I glance down.
Scott.
I don’t even think. My fingers scramble for the device, unlocking it to shut the damn thing off—
And that’s when I see it.
A blur of movement. A squirrel darting across the road.
Shit.
I swerve without thinking. My tires skid. The right side of my truck tips.
Then—impact.
Metal crunches. Glass cracks.
My head slams into the side window. My vision goes black for half a second.
When it comes back, everything is sideways.
I’m in a ditch.
Rain drizzles softly against the windshield, and for a moment, I just sit there. Stunned. My pulse thunders in my ears.
The smell of wet leaves filters in through the crack in my window.
My fingers are numb. My right temple throbs. And somewhere, just beneath the noise, my phone is still buzzing.
He’s calling again.
I let out a choked breath. My vision swims.
“Stop,” I whisper. “Just stop.”
I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I want to sleep. Just for a minute.
But then I think of the firemen in this town. The quiet way Gabe looked at me. The way Boone brought me lunch. The warmth in Shepard’s voice when he handed me cocoa.
This is not like Memphis.
They are not like them.
I whisper it out loud, trying to make myself believe it.
“I’m safe. I’m safe.”
I blink up at the cracked windshield.
And breathe.