Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Jared
The back door clicks shut behind me, swallowing the night air and replacing it with the lingering scent of the Thai food we ate for dinner.
I had cleaned up as best I could in the work shop before finally dragging myself back to the cottage.
Without Emily, the rooms are too empty, the silence broken only by the soft pad of Mixie’s paws as she follows me into the kitchen. Her green eyes fix on me with accusation, as if I’m the reason her person hasn’t returned.
“Don’t give me that look.” I rub my palm across my chest where an ache has settled. “I told her not to go.”
Mixie responds with a flat meow and trots to her food bowl, sitting beside it with her tail flicking back and forth across the tile. The dish gleams under the kitchen light, licked clean from her dinner.
“Don’t think I’m not wise to your tricks.” I pull open the cabinet door, finding the bag of premium kibble. “You ate less than an hour ago.”
The cat stretches, front paws extending, back arching, then settles again by her bowl, the picture of imperious expectation.
I crouch and pour kibble into her dish, the dry pieces clinking in the ceramic. Mixie sniffs at the food before nibbling with dainty bites.
“Emily will be back soon,” I tell her, though the words ring hollow even to my ears. “She just went to check on… someone.”
Not someone. Auren. Bitter discontent fills me, and I shake more kibble into Mixie’s dish, pampering the cat because her owner won’t let me take care of her.
Kibbles spill onto the floor, and I right the bag. “Sorry. Not very good at this, am I?”
Mixie ignores my question, focused on her dinner. I fill her water bowl next, using the filtered water from the refrigerator.
Setting it on the floor, I drift back to the dining room, but there’s nothing for me to clean up. I had scrubbed the wooden surface before following Emily out to the workshop earlier.
The wall clock reads nine forty-two.
Almost an hour since she left.
What’s happening at that hospital? Is she sitting with Auren? Is she falling for his act again, piece by piece?
I pace to the window, pulling back the curtain. Outside, darkness blankets the garden, broken only by the pale circle of the porch light. No sign of her truck in the driveway.
Logically, I know it’s too soon for her to be back, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying that she’ll fall back under his spell.
I try to distract myself with the television, but the colors blur and the voices merge into meaningless noise. A book from Emily’s shelf sits open in my lap, pages unturned for twenty minutes.
Mixie leaps onto the couch beside me, kneading the cushion before settling in a tight circle. Her purr fills the air, a constant rhythm that fails to soothe.
What if she doesn’t come back tonight? What if Auren convinces her to stay? What if he—
My mind supplies an image of Emily leaning close to Auren with that tender look I’ve only seen directed at Quinn or me. Her silver hair falling forward as she bends to hear his whispered pleas. The same calloused hands that had pulled me closer just hours ago are now gentle on his bruised skin.
The scene twists in my gut.
As ten thirty arrives, the cottage walls close in, the silence roaring in my ears. Even Mixie’s purr fades beneath the thunder of my pulse. I pace from the kitchen to the living room, always circling back toward my phone on the coffee table.
No text messages. No calls.
What if she needs me? What if she wants to leave but can’t? What if she’s trapped by guilt and the old instincts he’s spent years learning how to provoke?
“That’s it.” My sudden announcement startles Mixie, her head popping up from her paws. “I’m going after her.”
The cat blinks slowly, tail twitching once before she resettles.
I grab my jacket from the hook by the door and check the pockets for my wallet.
I pull up her contact on my phone, and my thumb hovers over her name. My chest constricts. I should call first and ask if she’s okay. But what if he answers? What if I interrupt a critical moment? What if she thinks I don’t trust her?
I close her contact without calling and pull up an app for a rideshare instead. The pop-up tells me to expect my driver to arrive in fifteen minutes.
I pace through the cottage again, unable to sit, unable to stand still. Mixie watches from her perch on the couch, tail swishing back and forth in judgment.
“I’m just going to check on her.” I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots. “Make sure she’s okay.”
At ten forty-three, headlights sweep across the front window.
The cab.
I step onto the porch, locking the door behind me. Mixie jumps up to sit in the windowsill, the living room light casting her in silhouette.
“I’ll bring her home,” I promise the cat, my breath clouding in the cold air.
The cab idles at the curb, exhaust curling around its tires. Rain has started again, the fine mist beading on my jacket. I slide into the back seat, the door thudding closed with finality.
“Pine Street Hospital,” I confirm to the driver.
As we pull away, Emily’s cottage recedes through the rearview window, warm lights glowing through rain-streaked glass.
The cab turns onto the main road, wipers working as the drizzle thickens into steady rain. With each mile, my pulse quickens, a current of anticipation and dread running beneath my skin.
I’m not sure what I’ll find at the hospital. I’m not sure what I’ll say when I see her. But I can’t keep sitting around, imagining the worst while trying to hope for the best.
The streets blur past, and my fingers tap on my knee with impatience.
I tell myself I’m just checking on her. But the knot in my gut suggests otherwise.
The cab pulls away, tires splashing through shallow puddles as I stand under the hospital’s covered walkway. Rain drums on the metal awning, the sound merging with the distant rumble of thunder.
The parking lot stretches before me, asphalt black and shining under flickering street lights. Emily’s truck sits in the first row, wipers frozen mid-swipe as if she was in too much of a rush to reach Auren to bother turning them off.
I pull my collar higher to block out the chill, the fabric damp against my neck. The hospital’s automatic doors hiss open and closed as visitors exit into the night, their faces drawn with worry or relief.
None of them are Emily.
My phone shows eleven-oh-two. How long should I wait? What will I say when she emerges? The questions circle through my mind on an endless loop.
A security guard passes by, radio crackling at his hip. He gives me a quick once-over before continuing his patrol, keys jingling with each step.
The rain intensifies, hitting the awning in sheets now. Water cascades from the edge in a curtain, isolating the covered walkway from the parking lot. The cold seeps through my jacket, settling in my bones. I stamp my feet to keep the blood flowing, breath clouding in front of me.
I check my phone again. Eleven fifty-three.
The automatic doors slide open, and I turn toward the sound, muscles tightening in anticipation.
Emily steps out first, her silver hair catching the harsh overhead light.
My heart leaps, and I start forward, but then she pauses, her body angled backward, and I notice the leather satchel she clasps in one hand.
Auren emerges from the hospital entrance, one pale wrist bandaged in white gauze. He clutches it close to his chest like a wounded bird, his lavender hair falling in artful disarray across his forehead, framing eyes that appear enormous in his delicate face.
He stumbles as he steps out into the night, and Emily’s hand steadies his elbow, her fingers curled around the fabric of his sleeve.
She says something to him, too quiet for me to hear over the rain. But her hold on him is gentle.
My stomach drops, a physical plunge as if the ground beneath me has given way.
Auren leans into her touch, his body curving toward hers, seeking protection. From this distance, he appears pale as moonlight, as if he might collapse at any moment.
The pair moves forward, Emily shortening her stride to match his limping pace. Rain pelts them as soon as they leave the cover of the entrance. Auren flinches at the first drops, a full-body recoil that has Emily drawing him closer, her arm now around his waist.
My fingernails bite into my palms, the pain distant compared to the tight band constricting my chest.
They pass beneath a security light, illumination washing over them in stark relief. Water beads on Emily’s jacket, soaking through the fabric. She tilts her head close to Auren, listening as his lips move. His free hand gestures in the air, fingers dancing through the raindrops.
For a heartbeat, Emily’s head turns toward me. I freeze, certain she’ll spot me standing in the shadows of the walkway. But her eyes never find me, sliding past as she focuses on guiding Auren to her truck.
Emily unlocks the passenger door and opens it, bracing it with her hip as she helps Auren climb in. Her hand cups the back of his head, protecting him from bumping it on the frame.
The gesture cuts through me. Such care. Such tenderness.
Auren settles into the seat, wet and shivering. Emily reaches behind the seat and pulls out the blanket she keeps for emergencies and unfolds it with a snap of her wrists, the fabric billowing in the night air before settling around Auren.
She tucks the edges in close, ensuring that no draft will reach him while leaving herself exposed, rain plastering her hair to her scalp and neck.
From my position, I catch a glimpse of Auren’s expression as she leans over him. His lids droop, lips curving into a self-satisfied smile so brief it might be imagined.
Emily closes his door with care, then hurries to the driver’s side, splashing through puddles that reflect her silhouette in broken pieces. She climbs in, and the interior light captures them in a tableau of Auren small and wounded, Emily strong and protective, the ideal vision of Alpha and Omega.