24. Chad
CHAPTER 24
Chad
The second Mason steps into the backroom, his shoulders tense, the air thickens between us. I follow close behind, more curious about what’s lurking beneath his alpha composure than the mystery of the toppled paint cans. But when we get to the door, all thoughts of teasing vanish. It’s wide open, swaying gently in the night breeze.
“Shit,” Mason mutters, stepping closer. His hand grazes the doorframe as he checks the lock, his jaw tightening. “I thought you said it was locked.”
“It was,” Lakelyn answers, stepping beside me, her voice softer now, filled with the unease we’re all trying to ignore.
I scan the dark alley beyond, feeling that familiar instinct to deflect. “Maybe the wind just has something against you, Mason. It’s not like anyone broke in for free paint samples.”
He cuts me a glance, half-annoyed, half-amused. “You’re hilarious.”
The wind picks up, tugging at the door again. He steps outside then looks back at us. “Stay here,” he orders Lakelyn, like he can’t help himself. Then he disappears down the dark alleyway. When he returns, he pulls the door shut with a hard pull, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt.
I’m about to make another joke—anything to break this tension—when Mason glances back at me, his expression sharper, more serious. “Whoever opened the door is gone, but we’re not taking chances. I’m going to secure it better tomorrow once the hardwood store is open. And tonight, I’ll get this cleaned up.”
Lakelyn crosses her arms, a shiver running through her. The moment from earlier, when we were tangled up in something much less dangerous, feels like it’s slipping away, replaced by the unease settling thickly around us.
“We can help,” she says, her voice soft but firm.
Mason shakes his head, already heading toward the mess. “I’ve got this.”
“Don’t be stubborn.” She shifts on her feet, clearly unwilling to let him take this on alone, and moves across the room to grab a box of heavy-duty rags. She carries it over to him, her chin lifted in challenge. “It’ll get cleaned up faster with all of us helping.”
He lets out a long sigh, running his fingers through his hair. It’s obvious he’s about to cave. “Fine.”
Without another word, we all get to work, using the rags to blot and scrub at the spilled paint. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the occasional squeak of fabric against the floor. When Mason fills a bucket with hot water and soap, handing us coarse brushes, the three of us settle into a rhythm. By the time we’re done, anyone who didn’t know better wouldn’t notice the faint streaks left behind.
Lakelyn straightens with a quiet groan, dropping her brush into the bucket. Her gaze drifts to the back door, her brow furrowing like she expects it to swing open at any moment.
I stand, grabbing the bucket and heading to the sink. The dirty water swirls down the drain as I rinse out the brushes and clean the bucket. When I turn back, she’s still staring at the door, her expression troubled.
“Come on,” I say, nudging her lightly. “Let’s get out of here. You don’t need to stick around and stare at locked doors all night.”
She blinks, snapping out of whatever spiral her thoughts have pulled her into, and gives a small nod. Her gaze flicks to Mason, lingering for a moment before turning back to me. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
I glance at Mason, who’s wiping his hands on a rag, his features tight but calm. “Thanks for letting us help, Alpha.”
He looks up, his green eyes locking onto mine for a beat longer than necessary before shifting to Lakelyn. “Be careful getting home,” he says, his voice low but steady.
Lakelyn steps closer to him, offering a small, warm smile. “You too, Mason. Don’t stay here too late.”
“I won’t,” he promises, his lips twitching into something resembling a grin. “See you both tomorrow.”
She hesitates, as if considering saying more, then simply nods. I motion for her to follow me, and we head for the door, the tension still humming faintly in the air behind us. If the interruption hadn’t happened, tonight would have had a much different outcome.
As we make our way out of the shop, part of me still hums with need for what could have been. The heat of it, so close to spilling over, now smothered by this stupid interruption. We were so close to our goal.
But before I can dwell on it too much, Lakelyn pulls me back to the present with a soft offer. “You don’t have anywhere to stay, right? If you want, you could crash at my place.”
I quirk the corner of my mouth up. “Crash at your place?” I repeat, teasing her a little. She blushes a pretty shade of pink. Nibbling on her lip.
“My bed’s big enough to share.”
“I’m afraid that you’ll no longer be innocent if we share your bed,” I reply.
Lakelyn’s blush deepens, but she doesn’t shy away. Instead, her gaze locks on mine, steady and sure, with a flicker of something darker, something bold behind those wide, innocent eyes. Her lip slips free from her teeth, and she takes a step closer, her voice soft but unmistakably confident.
“I’m not as innocent as you think, Chad,” she says, her words teasing but with an edge of truth. “And I’d be okay with that.”
My heart stutters, a mix of surprise and desire hitting me square in the chest. The way she looks at me—open, willing—it stirs something primal I didn’t know existed inside of me. But I can’t let this spiral out of control. Not like earlier.
I arch an eyebrow, trying to keep things light, even though her words, her whole stance, is making it hard to think straight. “You sure you know what you’re offering? ‘Cause once we cross that line…”
She steps even closer, her fingers brushing against my arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “I know what I’m offering,” she murmurs, her eyes never leaving mine. “And I’m not afraid.”
Damn. I suck in a breath, the air between us crackling with tension, and it takes every ounce of willpower I’ve got to keep my hands at my sides.
The thought of claiming her, of finally closing that distance, is almost overwhelming. This beta is my everything. I can feel it down to my core.
But I don’t want this moment to be rushed. Not with her.
“I know,” I say, brushing a strand of her hair away from her cheek. “But not like this.”
Her lips part, a soft exhale escaping, and for a second, I think I see relief mingling with that hunger in her eyes. She nods, a slow understanding settling in, but that doesn’t stop the tension from simmering between us.
“But the offer still stands,” she whispers, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “The bed, I mean.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re gonna drive me insane, you know that?”
“I’m okay with that,” she quips, her playfulness returning.
Her apartment is small, cozy, with soft lighting that makes everything feel warmer than it is. Lakelyn shrugs off her jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair before glancing back at me.
“I’m gonna shower real quick. Make yourself at home.”
I give her a nod, watching as she disappears down the hallway, leaving me standing in the middle of her living room. The place feels lived in. Soft blankets are draped over the couch, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air. Her art supplies are scattered around—sketchbooks, paints, brushes—all neatly organized but clearly used.
The kitchen island separates the spaces, and a small dining table sits right behind her comfortable looking couch. It isn’t my apartment in New York, the one Rich and I were on a waiting list for what felt like forever for. I thought I had it all back then. An alpha to take care of, an apartment to make my own, a life. But I know now none of it was real, because this feeling inside my chest when I’m around Lakelyn is nothing like how I felt then.
I make my way over to a small table by the window, where a half-finished painting sits. It’s beautiful—soft strokes of color blending into something abstract, something I can’t quite name but that feels familiar. There’s a quiet passion in the way she works, like she pours herself into her art the way I do into music. Or used to pour myself into music at least…I lost that joy somewhere along the way.
I touch the edge of the canvas lightly, feeling that pull again, that connection to her that’s more than just physical. She’s more complex than she lets on. I’ve seen the fire in her, but this... this is a different side. Softer. More vulnerable.
The sound of the shower running in the distance pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn away from the painting, glancing around the rest of her space. There’s a bookshelf crammed with old novels, some dog-eared and worn. A stack of records sits beside it, and I smile, recognizing a few of the artists.
She’s got taste. I’ll give her that.
I move toward the couch, intending to sit, but my gaze catches on something hanging on the wall. It’s a framed drawing, small and delicate—two figures standing side by side, their hands barely touching. The lines are soft, like a memory. Something about it tugs at me.
“Chad?”
I turn around, startled by the sound of her voice. She’s standing in the doorway, towel-drying her hair, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the shower. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her bare legs drawing my gaze for just a second longer than it should.
I clear my throat, trying to get my head back on straight. “I was just... admiring your art.”
Lakelyn glances at the painting, a hint of pride in her eyes before she shifts her gaze to me. “I didn’t know if you’d like it.”
I shrug, sinking down onto the couch, doing my best to keep things casual. “There’s more to me than a pretty face and sharp wit, you know.”
Her lips curve into a soft smile, and there’s something warm and genuine in her eyes that makes my chest tighten in a way I can’t quite explain. “Yeah, I know.”
Her words sink deeper than I expect, settling somewhere I’ve kept guarded for too long. She knows. Not just the version of me I show the world—the playful, confident Chad everyone sees—but me . The real me .
For a moment, that recognition hangs between us, and I have no idea how to respond. But she speaks again, her voice quieter, more serious this time.
“Your dad’s wrong about everything he said. Things got a little—” she pauses, a blush rising in her cheeks, “heated earlier, but I need you to understand that.”
I sink down to the couch, and she lowers herself next to me, tucking one leg underneath her as she faces me, eyes earnest. The closeness, the softness in her expression—it’s almost too much, but in a good way. The kind of good that makes me want to pull her close, kiss her until we both forget whatever worries are lingering.
But instead, I force a small smile. “He’s always been wrong. About a lot of things.”
Her brow furrows like she wants to say more, but I can feel my emotions building again, so I decide to cut through it before it drowns us both.
“Besides,” I say, leaning back and tossing her a wink, “you didn’t have to kiss me just to prove him wrong. You know I’m irresistible anyway.”
She blinks in surprise, and then a laugh bursts out of her, light and musical, and just like that, the serious moment evaporates into something easier. She gives me a playful shove, shaking her head.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says through her laughter.
“Yeah, but you’re laughing, aren’t you?” I grin, feeling more at ease now that the heavy conversation has lifted. “Works every time.”
She rolls her eyes, still smiling, and then pushes off the couch. “Come on, Mr. Irresistible,” she teases. “Want some ice cream? I’ve got this mint chocolate chip that’s going to blow your mind.”
“Mint chocolate chip?” I raise an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. “You might’ve just earned yourself some serious points, Lakelyn.”
“Yeah, yeah. You can thank me later,” she says with a wave of her hand, heading to the kitchen.
I watch her go, the lightness of the moment settling into a comfortable rhythm. And for once, I’m not thinking about everything that went down earlier. I’m just... here. With her. And that feels kind of perfect.