Chapter 30
Shepard
The knock comes just as I’m losing myself in the same paragraph for the third time.
“Come in,” I call, tugging my glasses off to rub at the bridge of my nose.
The door creaks open and Millie peeks her head in, a paper cup balanced in her hands. Her smile is small but bright, the kind that feels like it belongs in the sunshine, not the dusty corners of a library office.
“I brought you coffee,” she says.
I glance at the cup, then at her. She’s got her hair pulled back in a ponytail, cheeks flushed from the cold outside, eyes earnest in a way that makes me feel too damn old.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” She crosses the room and sets the cup down on my desk, then lingers, fingers brushing the rim. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, too quickly. “Just distracted.”
Her eyes soften. “You can talk to me, you know. If you want.”
I force a smile, the kind meant to deflect. “Thank you, Millie. Really. But I’m fine. Just need a little time alone.”
Something flickers in her expression—disappointment she tries to hide. She nods and straightens. “Okay. I’ll let you work.”
“Thank you for the coffee,” I add as she leaves, because it’s the least I can give her.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the silence swells again.
The truth is, I’m not fine. Haven’t been for three days. Not since… everything.
I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. I can still hear her moans. Still feel her lips under mine. The smell of her skin clings to me even when I scrub myself raw in the shower.
I wake up hard and aching every morning, like my body hasn’t caught up to my mind’s refusal.
And Boone—
The text from him still sits unread on my phone, mocking me. Drinks. To talk. I have no idea what he’d even want to say to me now, after the way things unraveled. After the fight with Gabe, after what happened in that bedroom.
The tension between us has been a taut wire for days, and now it’s frayed to breaking.
I haven’t made a move to speak to Gabe, either. Cowardice, maybe. Or just the knowledge that whatever words we try will sound hollow.
Everything is complicated now. Too complicated.
The door opens again, slow, hinges squeaking.
“Shepard?”
“Marjorie,” I say, shooting to my feet as I spot the stack of files in her arms. “What are you doing? Let me.”
I rush to her, pulling the files from her grip before she can protest. She huffs, amused but stubborn, her silver hair a halo under the fluorescent light.
“I just wanted these reviewed,” she says.
“I told you, you don’t carry loads like this. I’m here to help. That’s my job.”
“You’re not here to be the muscle boy. You’re job is to figure out how to primp this space—something you have yet to do, by the way,” she corrects with a sly look. “What’s really going on, hmm? You look distracted.”
“I’ve just been busy.” I set the files on the desk, straightening them compulsively.
She hums. “Busy, yes. But not just that.”
I shake my head, forcing a chuckle. “I’m thinking about ways to fix this place up. New shelving, maybe fresh paint.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
Before she can press, Millie slips back in, balancing a basket. “I almost forgot—Cora had fresh muffins out, so I brought some for everyone.”
The scent of blueberries fills the room. She sets the basket down, her eyes flicking to me with that same hope she had earlier.
“I’m not hungry,” I say gently.
Her smile falters, just a little, before she turns to leave again.
When the door closes, Marjorie gives me a long, pointed look. “That girl has a crush on you.”
I almost choke. “No. You’re wrong. Millie’s too young.”
Marjorie waves a hand. “Not that young. And not wrong. I know the look of a girl nursing a soft spot.”
“She’s… she deserves someone her own age,” I insist, too fast.
Marjorie hums again, like she knows better, then pats my arm. “Anyway. You’ve been carrying shadows lately. Take the day off, Shepard. Rest.”
“I’m fine,” I reassure her. “Truly.”
But I’m not.
Not when every day for three days I’ve woken up aching for a woman who isn’t mine in any way that matters. Not when every hour I fight the urge to text Boone back, to find Gabe, to walk across the street and knock on Sadie’s door like I have any right.
I’m not fine. I don’t think I will be again.
When the library is quiet again, really quiet, I let myself do something I haven’t in years.
I pull a sheet of paper from the drawer, slide a pen across the desk, and just look at the blank space.
My fingers hover, hesitant. It’s been so long since I’ve done this.
Journaling used to be second nature. Every night before bed, I’d pour the thoughts out of my head and onto the page.
Camilla used to tease me about it.
“You’re like some Victorian widow,” she’d say, grinning as she leaned over my shoulder, trying to read. “Pouring your heart into letters no one will ever see.”
“Better than bottling it up,” I’d reply, tugging the notebook away before she could peek.
She’d laugh, kiss me, call me a romantic under her breath.
The memory makes me smile, faint and sad.
I lower the pen to the page and start to write. Not polished. Not poetic. Just honest.
I’m tangled up in things I shouldn’t be. I wake up with her scent in my lungs, her face behind my eyes. I don’t know how to stop thinking about it. About her. About what I did. What we did.
Boone texted me. Wants to talk. I don’t know what to say. Gabe hasn’t spoken to me at all. Maybe he never will again. Everything feels fractured. But the worst part is… if she walked through that door right now, I don’t think I could send her away.
A knock jolts me and I freeze, pen mid-stroke. My chest tightens.
When I call, “Come in,” I’m not prepared for what happens next.
The door opens, and it’s her.
Sadie.
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
“Can I come in?” she asks, voice soft, uncertain.
I blink at her like I’ve conjured her out of ink. She’s wearing a black turtleneck tucked into a high-waisted mini skirt, tights hugging her legs, boots scuffed from use. Her pink-streaked hair falls in loose waves, framing her storm-gray eyes. She’s so pretty it hurts to look at her.
“Hey, Sadie.” My voice comes out lower than I expect, rough. This is the first time I’ve seen her since… since that night.
“Hey,” she echoes, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Of course. Come in.” I push the journal aside, heart thudding.
She steps inside and scans the room like she’s afraid of interrupting something. “I hope I’m not disrupting you. I just… needed some help with something.”
My throat is dry. I swallow against the gravel there. “Not at all.”
She sits in the chair across from my desk, legs crossing, her skirt riding up just enough that I have to look away. I stare at a stack of books instead, trying to keep my voice steady. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she says. Her smile is gentle. “I wanted to thank you. For the other day.”
My chest tightens. I swallow hard, fighting the ache in my throat. “It’s okay. You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do.” Her eyes soften, earnest. “You were there when I needed you. That matters.”
I nod, but I can’t look at her too long without feeling like my insides are unraveling.
She leans back in the chair, crossing her arms lightly. “Are you going for drinks tonight?”
My head jerks up. “Drinks?”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Boone didn’t tell you?”
So that’s why Boone texted.
I clear my throat. “He did. Probably, yes.”
“I’d like you to come,” she says, voice quiet but firm.
Something shifts in my chest. I nod once. “Then I’ll come.”
Her smile is small, satisfied. Then she straightens, resting her hands on her knees. “But I did actually need help with something, too.”
“Right.” I clear my throat again, trying to anchor myself. “What’s up?”
She bites her lip, thoughtful. “I want to work on the newest mural. For the outer wall of the Driftwood Cove Fire Station.”
I lean forward, elbows braced on the desk. “That’s a big one.”
“Yeah. And if left to my own devices, I’ll probably paint another phoenix.
Which feels… lazy.” Her laugh is self-deprecating, a little nervous.
“So I thought maybe you could help me find something different. Something that fits the history of the firehouse. Do you have material? Old newspapers? Anything from the past?”
I pause, thinking. “I might. There are archives in the basement. Clippings, town records. I could dig through them.”
Her eyes light up, that smile spreading. “Would that be too much trouble?”
Trouble. God, she has no idea.
But she’s smiling at me like I’m the only one who can help, and why isn’t she nervous? Why am I the only one who can barely string two sentences together in her presence?
“Of course I’ll help,” I say, quiet but firm.
“Thank you, Shepard.” She leans forward slightly, and for a split second, it feels like the rest of the world drops away.
The basement smells like paper and damp stone, like history layered too thick to scrape clean. I flick on the light, the single bulb overhead humming faintly, and gesture for Sadie to follow me down the narrow staircase.
She doesn’t hesitate. Boots clicking against the steps, skirt swaying as she moves. When she passes me, her shoulder brushes mine, and I feel the heat of her through the fabric like a spark.
I force my eyes away, scanning the rows of shelves instead.
“There should be files from the station’s founding,” I say, voice steadier than I feel. “Articles, photos. Something you can use for inspiration.”
She lingers behind me as I start to pull boxes down. My hands are steady, methodical. My mind is chaos.
“Are you okay with what happened that night?” Her voice is soft, but the question slices through the air.
I pause, a folder half-pulled from its sleeve. I swallow. “Yes.”
“Then why haven’t you looked at me once since?”
The folder shakes faintly in my grip. I set it down, turning just enough to meet her eyes. “Because it’s complicated, Sadie.”
She steps closer, until I can feel the warmth of her body radiating against mine. Her eyes search my face. “I didn’t mean to put you in that position.”
“You didn’t,” I rasp. My chest feels too tight. “I put myself there.”
Her scent shifts, sweetening, deepening. My body reacts before my brain catches up. The matching clicks into place—sharp, sudden, undeniable.
Her eyes widen. She inhales, startled. “Scent matching?”
I nod, throat dry.
She blinks, breath quickening. “I wasn’t expecting…”
Neither was I.
The space between us evaporates. Her hands fist in my shirt, tugging me down, and my mouth crashes onto hers. The kiss is nothing like the restrained brush we shared before. This is hungry, desperate. More tongue, teeth clashing, her lips soft but insistent.
I groan into her mouth, my hands gripping her waist, dragging her closer until I can feel every curve pressed against me.
“Sadie,” I breathe, pulling back just enough to rasp the words. “I want to talk to Boone first.”
Her pupils blow wide, lips swollen. “I already did. We had a conversation.”
“About…?” My voice is a growl.
Her answering smile is dangerous. “About us. About everything.”
The heat between us spikes, burning away the last threads of restraint. I slam my mouth back onto hers, rougher this time, one hand tangling in her hair, the other sliding up under her sweater to palm her breast. She moans, arching against me, and the sound nearly undoes me.
“Maybe we should wait,” I grit, even as my hips grind against hers.
“Yes,” she pants, and then kisses me harder, nails dragging down my back.
The marks on her neck catch my eye when I tear my mouth away, trailing down her jaw, biting at the soft skin there. Bruises. Boone’s. I should stop, but the sight just makes me hungrier.
Words tumble out before I can catch them. “In college… I never shared an Omega. But I’ve been in threesomes before. A few. Nights where it got wild.”
She jerks back enough to search my face, eyes wide. “You?”
I smirk despite myself, teeth catching her bottom lip. “Me. I wasn’t always the quiet one.”
Her laugh is breathless, incredulous. “I never would’ve guessed.”
“Most people wouldn’t.” I nip at her throat, my voice dark. “But I know how to handle messy.”
Her gasp is all the permission I need. I spin her, bending her over the worktable, papers scattering across the floor. Her skirt hikes up, tights tearing under my impatient hands. She cries out when I thrust into her, rough, needy, no preamble.
The sound she makes echoes in the cavernous basement, raw and wrecked.
“Fuck, Sadie,” I groan, pounding into her, each thrust shaking the table. My hands grip her hips hard enough to bruise. She arches back against me, head tipped, hair falling wild around her face.
“You feel—so good,” she gasps, voice breaking on the words.
Her body clenches around me, slick and hot, and I lose myself. All the guilt, all the restraint, all the quiet—I shed it like skin, reduced to nothing but instinct and need.
I fuck her until the light above us sways, until my breath is ragged and her moans turn frantic. My hand snakes up her front, palming her breast, pinching her nipple until she cries out.
She shatters around me with a scream, her nails clawing the wood. I follow, spilling into her with a groan that rips out of my chest, collapsing forward against her back.
The sound of our panting fills the silence.
And then—
“Shepard?” Marjorie’s voice calls faintly from upstairs. “Are you down there?”
We freeze.
Sadie’s shoulders shake, and then she’s laughing—soft, breathless, wicked. I can’t help it. I laugh too, forehead pressed to her shoulder.
“Be right up!” I shout, forcing my voice steady.
She wiggles against me, turning her head with a grin. “I’m looking forward to tonight’s dinner.”
I groan, kissing her neck one more time before pulling back. “You’re going to kill me.”
She just smirks, and God help me, I’d let her.