Chapter 14 #2
“There’s everything to say. Ten years worth of things to say.”
“And saying them won’t change anything.”
“How do you know if you won’t try?”
I set down my coffee cup. Carefully. Controlled. “What do you want from me, Cara?”
“I want you to be honest with me.”
“I am being honest.”
“No, you’re not. You’re sitting there pretending you don’t feel anything, but I know you do.”
“You can scream at me,” she says quietly. “You can tell me you hate me. You can say every terrible thing you’ve been holding onto. I’ll take it. I deserve it.”
“I don’t hate you.”
It slips out before I can stop it. Flat and hard and true.
She blinks. “You don’t?”
“No.” I stare at my coffee cup. “That would be easier.”
“Then what do you feel?”
I don’t answer. Can’t.
“I can’t just pretend—”
“You did for ten years.” The words come out sharper than I intend, and I watch her flinch. “You ran. Left town, left us, left everything, and you never looked back.”
“I looked back.” Her voice cracks. “Every single day, Nate. I looked back.”
“But you never came back.”
“I was scared. Of this.” She gestures between us. “Of what I’d find. Whether you’d even want to see me.”
“So you just... didn’t. For ten years.”
“I know.” Tears are building in her eyes, and I hate that part of me wants to reach across the table and wipe them away. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve said I’m sorry. I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”
“It’s not about believing you.”
“Then what is it about?”
I start to speak. Stop. The words are there—all the things I’ve wanted to say for a decade—but I’ve never been good at this. Lucas could talk for hours about feelings. Theo could charm his way through anything. Me? I just... showed up. Did the work. Hoped she’d understand.
She didn’t. She left anyway.
I called her. A lot, at first. Wrote her a letter—mailed it, even, like some lovesick idiot. Never heard back. Wrote a second one that I couldn’t make myself send. Eventually I stopped trying. What was the point? She’d made her choice.
And now she’s back, and she wants me to talk about it, and I still can’t find a way to explain.
I can’t tell her any of that. Wouldn’t know where to start.
So I say nothing.
Milo appears with the coffee pot, refilling our mugs without asking. His eyes flick between us—my stone face, Cara’s tears she’s trying to blink away. Small town. Everyone knows everyone’s business. And Milo knows more than most.
“You two need anything else?”
“We’re fine,” I say.
“Yeah, you look fine.” His voice is dry. “Real picture of a great date happening over here.”
“Milo.”
He holds up one hand, backing off. “I’m just saying. Kitchen’s open if you want food. Or, you know, a conversation starter.”
I glare at him until he retreats to the bar. He doesn’t go far—just far enough to pretend he’s not watching.
The silence returns. Heavier now.
Cara wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. Her scent goes thin and desperate—honey souring with hurt—and every instinct I have screams at me to reach across the table. Pull her close. Fix it. My hands actually twitch toward her before I catch myself and flatten them against the table.
But I don’t move. Don’t speak.
Tell her you’re sorry. Tell her it’s not her fault. Tell her anything.
My mouth stays shut. The words stay trapped.
Comforting her would mean opening a door I can’t close again.
“I don’t know what you want me to do. I’ve apologized. I’ve explained. I’ve tried to—”
“I know.”
“Then what? What else can I do?”
I stare at the table. At my hands wrapped around the coffee cup. At anything except her face.
“Nothing,” I say finally. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Believe what you want.”
“Nate—”
“Some things can’t be fixed, Cara.” I push the coffee cup away. “Some damage doesn’t just go away because you want it to.”
“You don’t mean that.”
Don’t I? I’ve spent a decade building walls. Learning how to function without her. Convincing myself that I was fine, that I didn’t need her, that the hollow space in my chest was something I’d learn to live with.
And then she came back, and all of it crumbled. Every wall, every lie I’d told myself. One look at her face and I was eighteen again, standing in her grandmother’s driveway, waiting for her to come home.
She never came.
“This was a mistake,” I say, reaching for my wallet.
“What?”
“This. Today. All of it.” I drop some bills on the table and stand up. “I shouldn’t have said I’d try again.”
“Nate, wait—”
“I’ll drive you home.”
She stands too, blocking my path out of the booth. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to shut down every time things get hard.”
“Watch me.”
“Nate.” She grabs my arm.
Her touch burns through my jacket, and my whole body lights up. Alpha instincts roaring to life—touch, more, pull her close, make her stay. I have to fight every cell in my body not to lean into it. Not to wrap my hand around hers and hold on.
“Please. Tell me what you’re thinking. What you’re feeling. Something.”
I look down at her hand on my arm. Then up at her face. At the tears on her cheeks and the desperate hope in her eyes and all the things she wants from me that I can’t seem to give.
“I’m glad you’re back,” I say.
Hope flares in her expression.
“I’m glad you’re here for Lucas and Theo.” I pull my arm free. “They need you.”
The hope dies. I watch it happen—watch her face crumple as she realizes what I’m saying. What I’m not saying.
They need you.
I don’t.
It’s not true. I know it’s not true even as I say it. But the alternative is admitting how much I want her back, and I can’t make myself do it. Can’t force the words past the wall in my throat the way Lucas and Theo seem to do so easily.
So I lie instead. It’s easier than being honest.
“Nate...” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“Let’s go.” I step around her and head for the door. “I’ll take you home.”
The drive is silent. She doesn’t try to talk to me, and I don’t offer anything. The hum of the engine. The weight of everything unsaid pressing down on both of us.
I drive on autopilot. Turn left on Main. Right on Oak. Past the station where I should be working. Past the park where we used to meet in high school, back when everything was simple, back when I thought we’d be together forever.
Forever. What a joke.
Cara stares out the passenger window. I can see her reflection in the glass—the set of her jaw, the shine of unshed tears. Her scent has gone muted, pulled in tight, like she’s trying to make herself smaller.
Good. This is good. This is what I wanted.
So why do my instincts feel like they’re clawing at my insides, demanding I fix this?
I grip the steering wheel tighter. My scent is locked down so hard it hurts. One crack. That’s all it would take. One moment of weakness, and everything I’ve built would come crumbling down.
When I pull into Eileen’s driveway, she doesn’t move for a long moment. Sits there, staring at the dashboard.
“Is that really what you think?” she finally asks. “That you don’t need me?”
I keep my eyes forward. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
I don’t answer. Can’t answer. If I speak now, everything I’ve held back will come pouring out. And the truth would destroy everything.
She waits another moment. Then she opens the door and climbs out.
“For what it’s worth,” she says, leaning down to look at me through the open door, “I don’t believe you. I felt your scent crack yesterday. I felt you shaking when your hand touched mine. You feel something, Nate Thorn, whether you want to admit it or not.”
She straightens up.
“And I’m not giving up on you. No matter how many walls you build.”
The door closes. She walks up the path to the house, and I watch her go, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ache.
I should drive away. That’s the smart thing. The safe thing. Put the truck in reverse and go home and pretend this day never happened.
Instead, I sit there like an idiot, watching her climb the porch steps. Watching her pause at the door. Watching her look back at me one more time before she disappears inside.
She’s wrong. She has to be wrong.
Because if she’s right—if she can see through me that easily—then I’m in more trouble than I thought.
I put the truck in reverse and pull out of the driveway. My scent is still locked down. My face is still blank.
But underneath it all, something cracks.
A hairline fracture. Barely there.
But enough to hurt.
I don’t go straight home.
Instead, I drive. Out past the town limits, up into the mountains, through the winding roads I know by heart. I’ve always done my best thinking out here. Away from people. Away from expectations.
I pull off at a turnout and kill the engine. Sit there in the silence, staring at the snow-covered trees.
They need you. I don’t.
I thump my palm against the steering wheel. Stupid. That was stupid.
Theo’s going to kill me. Lucas is going to give me that disappointed look he’s been perfecting since medical school. And Cara...
Cara looked at me like I’d just confirmed every fear she had about coming back.
She gave me a dozen chances. A dozen openings to say something real. “Talk to me. Yell at me. Something.” And I sat there like a statue while she cried and apologized for things I should have forgiven years ago.
What kind of alpha does that?
The thing is, I know better. I literally told Seth last month that he needed to stop selling himself short. Told him any omega would be lucky to have him. Told him that multi-alpha packs work because you communicate and compromise and show up for each other.
Great advice. Real helpful. Maybe I should try taking it sometime.
But it’s different with Seth. He’s my partner. I can see his situation clearly, tell him what he needs to hear. With Cara? Everything gets tangled up. Every time I try to find the right words, I think about her leaving, and the words dry up.
I’m not good at this. Never have been. Lucas can talk about feelings for hours. Theo can charm anyone. And I just... stand there. Hoping people will understand what I mean without me having to say it.
That worked great when we were eighteen. Look how well that turned out.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out.
Theo: Heard you took her to The Barn. At noon. Milo already texted us.
Lucas: Cara just called. She’s upset. What happened?
Theo: Nate. What did you do?
I shove the phone back in my pocket without responding. I’ll deal with them when I get home.
For now, I sit here, watching the sun move across the sky, trying to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to do this.
I’ve spent a decade not talking about her. Not thinking about her. Building a life that didn’t include her.
And now she’s back, and Lucas and Theo have already let her in, and I’m supposed to... what? Pretend the last decade didn’t happen? Open up and share my feelings like some kind of normal person?
I’ve never been able to do that. Even before she left. Lucas and Theo used to tease me about it—”Nate the stone wall,” they’d call me. The one who’d rather fix your car than talk about his day.
But fixing things doesn’t work here. And I don’t have any other tools.
I start the engine and head home. Lucas’s car is in the driveway. Theo’s truck too. Of course they’re both here.
I sit in the truck for a minute, steeling myself. Then I head inside.
They’re in the kitchen. Lucas is at the stove—his grandmother’s chili, from the smell of it. Theo’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed. The second I walk in, both of them turn to look at me.
“There he is,” Theo says. “The man of the hour.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Lucas sets down the spoon. “Don’t ask why Cara called me crying?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Shocking.” Theo pushes off the counter. “Nate Thorn doesn’t want to talk. Must be a day ending in Y.”
“Theo.” Lucas’s voice is a warning.
“No, I’m serious.” Theo steps closer. “We’ve been patient. We’ve given you space. But you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep pushing her away and then acting like nothing happened.”
“I’m not pushing her away. I’m being realistic.”
“Realistic.” Lucas shakes his head. “Is that what you call it?”
“She left, Lucas. She left for ten years. No calls, no visits, no explanation. And now she’s back and everyone expects me to act like that’s fine?”
“No one’s expecting that.” Theo’s voice softens slightly. “But holding it against her forever isn’t going to help anyone. Including you.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
“What did you even say to her?” Lucas asks.
I stare at the floor. “That you and Theo need her.”
Silence.
“And?” Theo prompts.
“And nothing. That’s what I said.”
More silence. Then Lucas lets out a breath. “Jesus, Nate.”
“What?”
“You told her we need her. Not you. Just us.” He runs a hand through his hair. “No wonder she was crying.”
“I didn’t mean—” I stop. Because I did mean it. That’s exactly what I meant. And they both know it.
“You’re an idiot,” Theo says, but there’s no real heat in it. “You know that, right?”
“I’m aware.”
“She’s not going to give up on you,” Lucas says quietly. “She told me as much on the phone. Said you can build all the walls you want, but she’s not going anywhere.”
My throat goes tight. “She should.”
“Yeah, well. She’s stubborn. Must be why you liked her in the first place.” Theo claps me on the shoulder. “Chili’s almost ready. You want some, or are you going to sulk in your room?”
I should go upstairs. Should avoid this conversation, avoid their questions, avoid thinking about any of it.
“I’ll eat,” I hear myself say.
Theo grins. “Progress.”
We eat at the kitchen table, the three of us, like we’ve done a hundred times before. Lucas talks about a patient. Theo complains about a landscaping client who keeps changing her mind about hydrangeas. Normal stuff. Easy stuff.
Nobody mentions Cara again.
But when I finally head upstairs, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking about what Lucas said.
She’s not going anywhere.
I don’t know if that’s a promise or a threat.
I turn off the light and wait for sleep that takes a long time to come.