38. Chad
CHAPTER 38
Chad
I run.
I don’t even think about it; my legs just move on their own. The cool night air bites at my skin, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to calm the fire burning in my chest. My heart’s pounding, the sound of it thundering in my ears louder than the music still pulsing from the bar behind me. Every step feels like I’m trying to outrun something bigger than myself—something I can’t control.
Why did Mason have to say that? Why now? Why in front of everyone? Lakelyn and I had a plan, and I just screwed it all up.
The words “scent-bound” keep echoing in my head, bouncing around and making everything worse. It’s too much. Too fucking much.
Adding to that is Dean’s insistence that it’s true—that he wants me now. But I remember what my mom and dad said after shoving me into the car to get me somewhere to ride out my first heat. That boy doesn’t want Chad; he’s reacting to his hormones. It’s normal in young alphas to not be able to resist the pull of an omega. He’ll come to his senses.
They continued like that as if I hadn’t been in the car. And my heat-addled brain took in every word, searing them into my heart. Dean didn’t really want me; he pitied me. His words when I ran into him at the club after were part of that pity, part of that kindness that had always been him. I couldn’t let him be stuck with me just because he kissed me and followed his instincts during a heat. The memories hit me like a truck rolling me over, and I ran harder.
My feet hit the pavement, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts as I tear down the street. I know I’m being stupid. I know I’m running like a goddamn coward, but I can’t stop. Not now.
“Chad!”
Lakelyn’s voice slices through the chaos in my mind, and I slow down for a second, just enough for her to catch up, her footsteps echoing behind me. I keep moving, though, because if I stop, all of this—everything I’m feeling—is going to crash down around me, and I’m not sure I can handle it.
“Chad, wait!” she calls again, her voice closer now, desperate and full of concern. “Please.”
I stumble to a stop by the edge of a park, my breath coming out in harsh pants, and I grip the back of my neck like that’ll somehow hold me together. I’m shaking, barely holding it in. The last thing I need is Lakelyn seeing me like this, but she’s already here. Already seeing too much.
“Chad...” Her voice is soft, but it’s enough to send another wave of emotion crashing over me. I hear the rustle of her steps as she comes closer, and I clench my fists to stop my hands from trembling.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, the words hollow and not convincing to anyone. Least of all myself.
“No, you’re not,” she says gently, and I can feel her warmth behind me even though I’m trying so damn hard to block everything out.
The words spill out before I can stop them, raw and jagged, laced with every bit of panic clawing at my chest. “You don’t get it,” I snap, my voice rough, breaking as it grates through my teeth. I spin around, and the second my eyes lock with hers—those wide, concerned eyes—I feel everything inside me unraveling. The walls I’ve fought so hard to build start crumbling, piece by piece. “You have no idea what this is like, Lakelyn. This… this fucking mess inside of me. I’ll ruin it all. You, Mason, Dean—everything. You don’t want what I really am. No one does.”
Lakelyn doesn’t flinch. She just watches me, her gaze soft but steady, like she’s pulling all the broken pieces of me into focus. And I know she feels it. All of it. The storm that’s been swirling inside me for years, the panic and confusion, the pain I’ve buried so deep, it’s a wonder I haven’t shattered. It’s pouring out of me now, and I can’t stop it. Not with her standing this close.
“I feel it,” she whispers, her voice so gentle it almost breaks me further. “Chad, I know what you’re feeling.”
“Then you know how fucked up this is,” I choke out, fingers twisting into my hair, tugging like I can physically stop the chaos in my head. “You know I can’t—” My voice cracks, sharp and painful, and I swallow the rest of the words. Words I don’t want to say. Words that hang between us, heavy with promises I’ve made to her, promises I can’t even be sure I can keep. I marked her, and now, when my next heat comes, she’ll go through hell because of me.
Her gaze never wavers, holding me steady even though I’m on the verge of collapsing. “I don’t know everything that’s going on inside you,” she says, voice solid, grounding. “But I know you don’t have to do it alone. You’re not alone, Chad. You never were.”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. I want to believe her. I want to let go, to let someone in. I thought I let her in already. But all I can feel is the crushing weight of years spent pretending. Pretending I didn’t want this. Pretending I wasn’t terrified of what would happen if I let myself need someone. And now this—this pack, this scent-bound madness—it’s too much to handle.
“I’m not like you,” I rasp, my voice barely holding together. “I’m not like Mason. You two… you have each other. You know what you want. I can’t even figure out who the hell I am. And now there’s this whole scent-bound pack bullshit and soulmates and—fuck.” My voice cracks again as I met her steady gaze. “I don’t even know how to deal with any of it.”
Lakelyn steps closer, her presence warm, like she’s slowly peeling away the layers I’ve wrapped myself in. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she murmurs, and her words sink deep, steadying. “But you can’t keep running. From me. From Mason. From Dean. Nothing has really changed. Being soulmates doesn’t change how I feel about you. I’m sure it doesn’t change how you feel about me. Just like being scent-bound won’t change any of our plans.”
Our plans. Dean. The second his name leaves her lips, something snaps inside me, a rush of fear flooding my veins. I can’t. I can’t handle that, can’t face him.
“Dean doesn’t—” I stammer, backing away, shaking my head like that’ll somehow make all of this go away. He rejected me years ago, at least to my twisted-up memories, there is no way he is back to claim me now. Playing with him, pretending that I could really have him in my pack, was one thing. I was in control. Now I’m not. “I can’t do this.”
Her eyes search mine, and I know she sees it all. Every last fear, every shred of hope I’ve buried beneath years of doubt. The need to belong somewhere, the terror of letting myself get close enough to lose everything. And if she couldn’t see it all, she could definitely smell it on me. Shit, my perfume is out of control and bitter with fear, even to my own nose.
“You don’t have to be perfect,” she whispers, her hand lifting, hovering inches from my arm. She doesn’t touch me, but it’s enough to feel her warmth reaching for me. “You just have to be honest. With yourself. With us.”
For a split second, I want to reach back. I want to believe her—believe that maybe, just maybe, I can stop running. That maybe I don’t have to keep pretending. That maybe this is the future for me.
But it’s too much. It’s too raw, too real.
Before I can think, my body takes over. The panic rises like a wave, crashing through me, and I turn. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, my voice hoarse as I bolt, my feet hitting the pavement hard. I can hear her calling after me, but I don’t stop. I don’t look back.
I never do.
My lungs burn as I push forward, the streets blurring around me as I run. I don’t know where I’m going; I just need to get away. I need space. I need air. But no matter how fast I run, I can’t outrun the crushing weight inside me.
I barely register when I stumble over the tracks and through a different park, collapsing onto a bench, my head in my hands as my heart hammers against my ribcage. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I just let myself feel this—let myself want something without screwing it up?
“Chad.”
I don’t lift my head at the sound of Lakelyn’s voice. I don’t need to. She’s already here. Of course she is. She won’t let me run. She told me once already that she would follow me if I tried.
She kneels in front of me, her hand gentle on my knee, and I feel the tension in me coil even tighter.
“You’re not running from me this time,” she says softly, her voice steady but gentle, like she’s trying to hold all of my broken pieces together. “We’re in this together. If you don’t want the pack, we don’t accept the pack. But you and me?” Her thumb brushes lightly over my knee, and for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, I don’t flinch. “We’re already forever.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, biting down hard on the wave of emotions threatening to swallow me whole. I want to believe her, want to cling to her words like a lifeline, but there’s too much—too many years of pretending, too many lies I’ve told myself just to survive. She has no idea how wrecked I am inside. How twisted I am.
“Lakelyn…” I choke out her name, but it feels like my throat is closing. I pull my hands through my hair, fingers digging into my scalp. “You don’t get it. I don’t even know how to be this for you. For anyone. I’m not—” My breath comes out in a harsh, ragged exhale, and I feel myself spiraling. “I’m not what you think I am. I’m not strong enough to keep it together. It’s all pretend.”
Her hand tightens just slightly, and her eyes meet mine, soft and steady, pulling me out of the panic just enough to breathe. “I know you think you’ll break me,” she whispers, “but I’m not as fragile as you think. And neither are you, Chad. You’re strong, you’ve proven that, but you don’t have to be anymore. I’m here. Let me be strong for you.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a second, I can’t breathe. I feel her—feel everything she’s feeling. The concern, the fear, but more than that—the fierce, unshakable belief she has in me. In us.
“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice cracking as I let out the truth that’s been suffocating me. “I’m terrified of messing this up. Messing you up. Messing everything up. And now, with Dean, he’s saying what I’ve wanted to hear—it’s too much.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. Her eyes stay locked on mine, and there’s something solid in her gaze that keeps me from falling apart completely.
“You don’t have to have all the answers right now,” she says, her voice quiet. “You don’t have to know what to do with Dean or the pack. But you don’t get to push me away. Not anymore. Not after everything we’ve been through. I’m here, whether you like it or not. We’ll figure it out together.”
I can’t speak, my throat too tight, but I nod, just barely, my body trembling as I try to keep it together.
Lakelyn reaches up, her hand cupping the side of my face, her thumb brushing over my cheek, and the warmth of her touch makes something inside me crack wide open. How many times do we need to have this conversation or a version of it, before my broken pieces aren’t broken anymore?
“Stop running,” she whispers, and her words sink deep, pulling me back from the edge. “You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to do this on your own.”
I let out a shaky breath, and it feels like I’m finally breathing for the first time.
“I don’t know how to stop,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s the rawest truth I’ve ever said out loud. “I’ve been running my whole life. I don’t know how to stop.”
“You don’t have to know,” she says, her voice soft but sure. “Just trust me. Trust us.”
I want to. God, I want to so badly. But the fear is still there, gnawing at me, reminding me of all the times I’ve messed everything up before.
“What if I hurt you?” I ask, my voice breaking. “What if I ruin everything?”
“You won’t,” she says, and there’s no hesitation in her voice, no doubt. “I know you. Better than you think. And I know you’d never hurt me. Not on purpose. Not if you can help it.”
Her words wrap around me, warm and insistent, her pure blueberry perfume reinforcing them. The way she says it—without hesitation, without any doubt—makes something inside me buckle. It’s terrifying how easily she believes in me, how she can say with certainty that I won’t hurt her, not on purpose. I don’t trust myself half as much as she trusts me. But there’s something about the way she’s looking at me right now, so steady, so sure, that makes me want to believe her.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” I whisper, the words raw as they scrape out of me. “I’ve messed everything up before. I don’t want to do that to you.”
Her hand is still on my face, and when her thumb traces a slow, deliberate line across my cheek, it feels like it anchors me to this moment, to her. “Like I said, you’re stronger than you think,” she says, and her voice is so calm, so unshaken, like it’s a fact she’s known all along. “And I’m not going anywhere.”