Chapter 13 #2
“You got mouthy.” But he’s grinning. “Oh wait, you were always mouthy.” He holds me at arm’s length, looking me over. “You’re here for Nate.”
“I’m here for Nate.”
His grin fades into something more serious. “Good. He needs a kick in the ass, and I’m too nice to do it.”
“Since when are you nice?”
“Fair point.” He lets me go and nods toward the hallway. “Seth, go get my brother.”
“But he said he didn’t want to be—”
“Seth.”
The young deputy scrambles out of his chair and disappears down the hallway. Liam turns back to me, arms crossed.
“Twelve hundred dollars, huh? That’s what I heard.”
“Your brother is the only one trying to welch on the deal.”
Liam snorts. “He’s stubborn.”
“So am I.”
“Don’t I know it.” His expression softens. “He’s scared, Cara. Not that he’d ever admit it. But I’ve known him his whole life, and I know what fear looks like on him. You terrify him.”
Before I can respond, a door slams somewhere down the hall. Heavy footsteps. And then Nate Thorn appears in the doorway, looking like thunder given human form.
His scent hits me first—pine and woodsmoke, locked down tight. Controlled. Giving away nothing.
But my body doesn’t care about his walls. My body knows alpha. Knows him. Heat sparks low in my belly, immediate and unwanted.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is flat. Guarded.
“Collecting my date.” I plant my hands on my hips, ignoring the way my pulse is racing. “You’ve been avoiding me for three days.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been hiding.”
His jaw tightens. “I haven’t—”
“You read my texts and didn’t respond. You knew I was trying to reach you and you ignored me.” I take a step toward him. His scent gets stronger, and my body leans toward him without permission, even as my brain screams that he’s being an ass. “That’s hiding, Nate. And I’m done letting you do it.”
“Cara—”
“Three hundred and fifty dollars.” Another step.
We’re close now. Close enough that I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands have curled into fists at his sides.
“That’s what I paid for a date with you.
I won you fair and square at that auction, and you don’t get to just disappear because you have feelings about it. ”
“You don’t understand—”
“Then explain it to me!” My voice echoes through the small station. “That’s all I’ve wanted this whole time. For you to talk to me. To tell me what’s going on in that head of yours instead of shutting me out.”
Silence. Nate stares at me, and for a second, I see it—pain, raw and unguarded, flickering behind those gray eyes before he locks it down again.
Seth has reappeared in the hallway, watching with wide eyes. Liam hasn’t moved from his spot by the door.
“She has a point,” Seth offers quietly. “You have been kind of... avoidant.”
Nate shoots him a look that could curdle milk. Seth doesn’t flinch. In fact, he crosses his arms and lifts his chin slightly, like he’s decided this is a hill worth dying on.
“I mean...” Seth shifts his weight. “You have been kind of... not yourself? Lately? Snapping at people, working all those extra shifts. Yesterday I asked if you wanted to grab lunch and you looked at me like I’d suggested we—” He trails off, shrugging. “Sorry. I’m just... saying.”
“I was busy.”
“You were hiding in the file room reorganizing folders that were already organized.” Seth’s voice is gentle but firm. “That’s not busy. That’s avoidance.”
“Since when did you become a therapist?”
“Since Bea started making me read self-help books.” Seth shrugs. “She says avoidance is a trauma response. She also says the only way out is through.”
His mouth quirks. "Sound familiar? Pretty sure you told me the same thing when I was spiraling about Bea."
Nate looks like he’s considering the merits of early retirement.
“He’s right,” Liam says. “You owe her a date, Nate. You agreed to be in that auction, and she paid for your time.” He pushes off the doorframe, all trace of amusement gone from his face. “Consider yourself on date duty for the rest of the day. I’ll cover your shift.”
“Liam—”
“That’s an order, Deputy.” Liam’s voice brooks no argument. “Take the lady out. Show her a good time. And for God’s sake, try to act like a human being instead of a brick wall.”
“I second that,” Seth adds helpfully.
“Nobody asked you,” Nate growls.
“Too bad.” Seth grins—actually grins—and I decide I like him very much. “Go on, Nate. We’ve got things covered here.”
“The most exciting thing that’ll happen today is Mrs. Henderson’s cat stuck in a tree again,” Liam adds. “We’ll survive without you.”
Nate’s jaw works. I can see him fighting it—the urge to argue, to refuse, to do anything except what he’s being told. But Liam is his commanding officer as well as his brother, and apparently even Nate Thorn has limits.
“Fine,” he grits out. “One date.”
“One date,” I agree. “That’s all I’m asking.”
“Then let’s go.” He doesn’t wait for me, turns and stalks toward the door. I have to practically jog to keep up with his long strides.
“Have fun!” Seth calls after us.
“Make good choices!” Liam adds, and I could swear he’s laughing.
“Good luck!” Seth adds, then quieter, almost to himself, “You’re both gonna need it.”
The door swings shut behind us, cutting off whatever Nate was about to shout back.
“So,” I say, still catching up. “Where are we going?”
Silence. He unlocks his truck—a dark blue F-150 that looks like it’s never seen a speck of dirt—and opens the passenger door.
“Get in,” he says.
“That’s not very romantic.”
“You wanted a date. This is a date.” He gestures at the open door. “Get in.”
I get in.
The truck cab is a mistake.
His scent is everywhere—pine and woodsmoke soaked into the seats, the steering wheel, the air itself.
Concentrated. Inescapable. It hits me like a wall, and my whole body responds before I can stop it.
Heat flooding my core. Slick threatening to gather.
Every instinct I have screaming alpha, alpha, ours while my brain reminds me that he’s currently treating me like an inconvenience he can’t wait to be rid of.
I press my thighs together and fix my eyes on the dashboard. Breathe through my mouth. It doesn’t help. I can taste him on my tongue.
Nate climbs in the driver’s side, and the cab shrinks. He’s bigger than I remember. Broader through the shoulders, thicker through the arms. The lanky teenager I knew has filled out into a man—solid and immovable.
He starts the engine without looking at me.
We pull out of the lot. The silence is suffocating—the heat of him radiating across the console, neither of us saying a word.
I sneak a glance at him. Sharp profile. Dark hair shorter than it used to be. Hands gripping the steering wheel like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if he lets go.
My eyes trace down his forearms. The way his uniform stretches across his shoulders. I remember what those shoulders looked like bare, what his hands felt like on my—
Stop it. He won’t even look at you.
“Where are we going?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
Nothing. He doesn’t even glance at me.
“Nate. Where are we going?”
“Out.” Flat. Giving nothing.
“Out where?”
His grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. “Does it matter?”
“I’d like to know if you’re planning to dump my body in the woods.”
The joke lands flat. He doesn’t crack a smile. Doesn’t respond at all.
Fine. I can do silence too.
The road curves upward, trees thickening on either side. Snow clings to the branches, turning everything white and silent. I recognize this route—it leads to a lookout point above town, a place we used to go in high school when we wanted to escape everything.
The last time I was here, I was eighteen. Night before graduation. All four of us on the tailgate of Theo’s old truck, passing around cheap wine and pretending we had our whole lives figured out.
My chest aches. Does he remember that night? Is that why he’s bringing me here?
I glance at him, searching for some crack in the armor. His jaw is tight. His eyes fixed on the road. His scent still locked down so hard I can barely read him.
“Nate—”
“We’re almost there.”
That’s it. That’s all I get.
The trees open up, and there it is—the lookout point, exactly as I remember it. A small clearing with a view of the whole valley, Honeyridge Falls spread out below like a toy town, mountains rising blue and white in the distance.
Nate parks but doesn’t turn off the engine. Heat blows softly through the vents. The windows are starting to fog at the edges—our breath, our body heat, trapped together in this too-small space.
He stares out the windshield at the view. Says nothing.
I wait. One minute. Two. His scent hasn’t shifted once. Still that same iron control, buttoned up so tight I can barely read him.
Every instinct I have hates it. Wants to push, to provoke, to crawl across the console and force him to react. The silence feels like rejection, even though I know it’s just self-preservation.
“So,” I finally say. “You brought me to a lookout point to... not talk?”
Nothing.
“Nate. Come on.”
“You wanted a date.” The words come out jagged. “This is a date.”
“This isn’t a date. This is you holding me hostage with your silence.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.
I watch him. He watches the view. Every line of his body is rigid—shoulders, spine, the tendons standing out in his neck.
Fine. If he won’t break the silence, I will.
“You don’t want to talk? Then I will.” I shift to face him fully, pulling one leg up onto the seat. “You can sit there and brood and pretend you’re not listening, but I’m going to say what I came here to say.”
His fingers flex on the steering wheel. That’s it. That’s all I get.
I take a breath. “I’m sorry. For leaving. For not saying goodbye. For disappearing and never explaining why.” My voice shakes, but I push through. “I was eighteen and scared and I made a terrible choice, and I’ve regretted it every single day since.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. He could be carved from stone.
“I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. But shutting me out isn’t going to change what happened, and it isn’t going to make either of us feel better.”
The fog creeps further up the windows. The air feels thick, charged.
“Nate. Please.” My voice cracks. “Just look at me.”
He doesn’t.
I’ve written this scene a hundred times. The closed-off alpha, the omega trying to break through. In my books, there’s always a tell. A crack in the armor.
With Nate, I can’t find it.
“Take me home,” I say quietly.
He reaches for the gear shift—
And his hand brushes mine.
I don’t know if I moved or he did. But suddenly his fingers are against my knuckles, warm and rough, and we both freeze.
His scent fractures.
Just for a second. Pine and woodsmoke flooding with something desperate underneath—want and grief and ten years of loneliness bleeding through the cracks. His hand trembles against mine. I hear his breath catch.
I turn my palm up. An invitation.
He jerks away like I burned him.
“Nate—”
“Don’t.” The word is wrecked. Barely a whisper.
He puts the truck in reverse, and his scent locks down again. Ice over fire. Control over chaos.
But I felt it. I know I did. Felt his hand shake, smelled his walls crumble, heard him fighting for control.
He’s not unaffected. He’s drowning in it.
And that’s the cruelest thing he could have given me—proof that he still wants me, wrapped in a silence that says it doesn’t matter.
The drive back is quiet. He doesn’t look at me. I don’t push.
But when he pulls into Grandma’s driveway and I reach for the door handle, he speaks.
“Cara.”
I stop. Wait.
His hands are locked on the steering wheel. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping.
“I can’t do this,” he says. “I can’t just... let you back in. Not after everything.”
“I’m not asking you to let me in.” I turn to face him. “I’m asking you to give me a chance to earn it.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.
I open the door and climb out. The cold air hits me like a slap after the warmth of the cab, after his scent wrapped around me for the last hour.
“Goodnight, Nate.”
I’m halfway up the walk when I hear it.
“Tomorrow.”
I turn. He’s still staring straight ahead, but his window is cracked open. His voice carries in the cold air.
“Tomorrow,” he repeats. Rough. Reluctant. “I’ll pick you up at noon. We’ll... try again.”
My heart stutters. “Really?”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
The window rolls up. The truck backs out of the driveway.
I stand there in the snow, watching his taillights disappear, and let myself hope.