Chapter 12
Shepard
I’m halfway through the same paperback I’ve been reading for a month—one of those historical biographies that everyone else would find dry, but I like the quiet rhythm of it—when my front door slams open.
Gus lifts his head from the rug with a low chuff, ears twitching. I dog-ear my page, set the book down, and glance toward the doorway just in time to see Boone stride in like a storm cloud with legs.
“Is it true?”
That’s all he says. No hello, no explanation—just that sharp demand, the kind that already has my hackles halfway up because Boone doesn’t get like this unless something’s seriously wrong.
I lean back against the sofa arm. “Is what true?”
“That Gabe’s got a thing for Sadie.” The words come out clipped, his jaw tight enough to crack a molar.
Ah. It’s about that.
I keep my tone neutral. “Where’d you hear that?”
His expression darkens. “Where do you think? McAllister told Fiona, who told Cora, who told Sam, who told Ellie, who told Ryan—”
“And now,” I finish for him, “the whole damn town’s convinced one of our packmates is chasing the new muralist.”
Boone throws up his hands. “Exactly.”
It’s ridiculous how fast word travels here. Driftwood Cove might be spread out along the coast, but you so much as sneeze in front of the wrong person and it’s at the diner before your hand’s back in your pocket.
McAllister’s is basically the epicenter—old man Sam can’t help himself when he’s got a fresh scrap of gossip to dangle, and Fiona at the bakery’s just as bad. From there, it’s a straight shot to the rest of the town’s ears.
I close my book completely and set it aside. “You coming from work?”
“Yeah,” he says, pacing in front of the coffee table. “Stopped by Gabe’s place on the way, figured I’d get the truth, but he wasn’t home.”
“Maybe,” I say carefully, “you could take a breath and wait until you talk to him before you decide it’s worth getting this riled up.”
He shoots me a look. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how he’s been hanging around her.”
I have. But it’s not like Gabe’s the only one paying attention to her.
I tilt my head. “Boone, you’ve got to admit, you’re acting a little… invested.”
His shoulders go tight. “I’m not—”
“You are.” I hold up a hand before he can argue. “Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong to care. She’s been through some shit, and you’ve been looking out for her since the accident. But this is more than you getting protective.”
He stops pacing long enough for me to see the muscle ticking in his jaw. That’s confirmation enough.
“Sit,” I say, nodding toward the armchair. “You’re making Gus nervous.”
Boone glances down. Sure enough, the retriever’s watching him with those big golden eyes, tail twitching with uncertainty. Boone mutters something under his breath and drops into the chair.
I head into the kitchen, grab a couple of beers from the fridge, and pass him one. The sound of the front door opening again cuts off whatever I was going to say next.
Gabe steps in, shaking rain from his hair, a half-amused, half-exhausted look on his face. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had—”
He stops short when he sees Boone, then his gaze flicks between us.
“What’s going on?”
Boone doesn’t waste a second. “You tell me. You and Sadie?”
Gabe blinks. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Shepard heard it too,” Boone says, dragging me into it like I volunteered to be his witness.
I hold up a hand. “What I heard was the town gossip mill doing what it does best.”
Gabe groans and runs a hand down his face. “For fuck’s sake. I was helping her with some supplies and grabbed lunch. That’s it.”
Boone leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’ve been spending time with her. People notice.”
Gabe gives him a look that’s half disbelief, half irritation. “So what, I’m not allowed to talk to her now?”
“I didn’t say that,” Boone snaps.
“Sure sounds like it.”
Before they can start circling each other like a couple of teenagers in a parking lot fight, I step in. “Alright, both of you, stop. We’re not doing this here.”
They glance at me, but neither looks inclined to back down.
“Boone,” I say, keeping my tone even, “you’re worked up because you think there’s something you don’t know. Fine. But you’re making assumptions based on what McAllister’s cousin’s niece heard from someone who was probably three drinks in. That’s not exactly reliable intel.”
He scowls but doesn’t argue.
“And Gabe,” I continue, “you know Boone’s been on edge since the accident. He’s protective, maybe overly so. You snapping at him’s not going to help.”
Gabe exhales hard through his nose, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I just don’t like being made out like I’m… whatever people think I’m doing. She’s new here. She needed a hand. End of story.”
I nod slowly. “Then that’s what you tell people, if they ask. Keep it simple. Let the rest burn itself out. Half the town will have moved on to the next shiny rumor by Friday.”
Boone mutters, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“No,” I agree, “but it means you don’t blow it up into something bigger.”
The room quiets after that, the tension still there but less sharp. Gus trots over to Gabe, nudging his hand until he starts absently scratching behind his ears.
It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.
The quiet stretches just long enough for me to think maybe we’ve managed to sidestep this thing. But I can feel it humming under Boone’s skin, a coiled thread of agitation that isn’t going anywhere unless we dig it out.
“Alright,” I say, taking the beer back from him before he crushes the can in his hand. “Let’s just talk about it straight. Boone, why exactly are you so protective all of a sudden? Because this… this is more than looking out for someone new in town.”
Boone leans forward, forearms braced on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I think her old pack was hurting her.”
That pulls me up short. Gabe stops scratching Gus’s ears.
“What do you mean, hurting her?” he asks, his tone sharpening again.
Boone looks up, his eyes steady in that way they get when he’s decided something is true.
“You’ve seen the way she flinches sometimes.
I saw bruises when I helped her after the accident.
Not fresh, but bad. And she’s careful about what she says, like she’s checking every word before it leaves her mouth.
I’ve seen that before.” He pauses, jaw working.
“You don’t walk away from that without it leaving a mark. ”
I let that sink in. Boone’s not one for exaggeration. If he’s convinced, it’s because he’s been paying attention.
Gabe shifts, leaning back against the arm of the couch.
“I’ve seen some of that too,” he admits.
“Didn’t know if it was my imagination, or just her being new here.
But…” He exhales, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Yeah. She keeps her guard up. Every time I’ve been around her, she’s polite, but it’s like she’s always calculating her exits. ”
That matches what I’ve noticed, though I haven’t said it out loud. I think back to when I found her after the accident—the way she tried to downplay her injuries, refused the hospital, her eyes darting like she expected someone to come around the corner any second.
Boone takes a long drink of beer, then sets it on the table with a solid thunk.
“That’s why I don’t like this gossip. If people start talking, start watching her too closely, she’s gonna bolt.
And if she’s running from something…” He shakes his head.
“I’m not letting her end up back in the same situation. ”
Gabe watches him for a moment. “I wasn’t trying to make her uncomfortable. She needed help with her supplies. We grabbed lunch, that’s it.”
Boone lifts a brow. “Lunch, holding ladders, spending half the afternoon with her—”
I cut in before it gets sharp again. “And you told her about the bonfire?”
Gabe shrugs. “Yeah. Invited her. Thought it’d be good for her to meet more people, make some friends.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” I say, because it isn’t. “But you have to admit, Boone’s got a point—if she’s carrying that much history, she might not be ready for crowds. You can’t push her.”
He nods, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “Wasn’t trying to. Just… she’s different. Quiet, but not like she’s shy—more like she’s just holding back. And I don’t like thinking about what might’ve made her that way.”
Neither do I.
I lean back, nursing my beer, and let my thoughts drift for a moment. The idea of an Omega being hurt by the very people who were supposed to protect her—it knots something in my gut.
I think about Camilla.
I’d have done anything to keep her safe. Anything. That’s what being bonded means—you take on the responsibility of making sure your Omega is cared for, defended, given space to thrive.
You don’t break them down. You don’t put fear in their eyes.
I can’t imagine looking at someone who’s yours and choosing to hurt them.
The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I glance at Boone, see the same tightness in his expression, and I know he’s thinking something similar. Maybe not about Camilla, but about the principle of it—how wrong it is.
“Look,” I say finally, “we’re all circling her in our own ways.
Boone’s watching her like a hawk, Gabe’s making sure she’s got what she needs to work.
I’ve been keeping tabs since the accident.
We’re all… involved. So maybe instead of tearing into each other about who’s doing what, we keep the focus where it belongs—on making sure she’s okay. ”
Boone huffs, but it’s not a disagreement. “Fine. But we keep it quiet. No more rumors.”
“I agree,” Gabe says, but his tone’s still edged. “And for the record, I’m not chasing her. She doesn’t need that from me.”
Boone studies him for a beat, then nods. “Alright.”
I glance between them, making sure the tension’s actually bleeding out this time. Gus has settled at my feet again, tail thumping softly against the rug.
“Good,” I say. “Because whatever she’s been through, it’s not over just because she’s here. And if her old pack was the problem, we need to be ready for the possibility they might come looking.”
Boone’s gaze sharpens. Gabe’s expression hardens.
None of us say it out loud, but it’s there—the silent agreement that if anyone comes for her, they’ll have to go through us first.