Chapter 16
Krystal
I let the swinging kitchen door thump into my hip as I stepped into the main room. I’d been braced for the everyday kind of chaos. But what I got instead was my nine-year-old on a barstool, and Zaden standing across from him, looking shellshocked.
Bryce looked small, sitting at the bar with his feet kicking air, and his hands wrapped around a soda. Zaden looked tense, yet looked at my son as if he knew. He knew that Bryce was his.
I froze, watching them. My first thought was to run. Then my wolf reminded me that I couldn’t outrun a dragon. Not that I wanted to run from Zaden. Just the awkwardness of the situation. So I forced my feet to move.
Three tables of late lunchers occupied the front room.
The old couple by the window. The bridge crew, who’d ordered pitchers and fries as if their lives depended on it.
A pair of college kids in ball caps, silently working through burgers and a mountain of fries.
All of them invisible, background noise to the scene at the bar.
Bryce didn’t notice me at first. His mouth moved nonstop, talking to Zaden about a book series, or maybe the new Mario game, hard to tell at this distance. Zaden nodded at each point, listening harder than any grown-up ever did, but also scanning Bryce’s face as if searching for clues. Or answers.
My hands shook as I untied my apron, walked behind the counter, and waited for a break in the conversation.
Bryce saw me, waved, and said, "Mom! Did you know he’s from Stock Creek, too?"
"Small world," I said, summoning a smile. "What happened? I thought you were supposed to be with Jack."
"Ethan's puking, so Jack had to bring me here."
Zaden looked at me with shock in his eyes. "He tried to get ahold of Nathan and Elle first but had to drop him off."
I nodded mutely and mustered a smile for Bryce. "Let’s get you settled at a table so you can work on homework."
He finished his soda in one go, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and hopped down. Zaden watched him go. When Bryce was past, Zaden looked at me, and I saw it, the accusation.
I guided Bryce around the bar to a side booth, the one farthest from the bar.
He slid in, oblivious, telling me about the new kid in science class, something about volcanoes and gummy worms. I pretended to listen while my eyes traced the bar.
Zaden hadn’t moved. He watched us making no show of it but also not caring who saw.
I fished my phone out and typed with my thumb under the table.
Emergency. Need you to pick up Bryce from the bar NOW.
I sent it to Nathan and prayed he wasn’t in the middle of Pack business.
Bryce poked at a menu, reading each item out loud with deliberate slowness. "What’s a Monte Cristo?" he asked, and before I could answer, "Can I get one? It’s like French toast with ham?"
"Maybe next time. It's a little early for your lunch."
He shrugged, eyes flicking up and over my shoulder. "Is it okay if I hang out with him? He’s funny."
"Who, Zaden?" Oh, geez that was hard to say.
Bryce nodded, earnest. "He said he’ll teach me how to shoot pool. Like for real."
I checked the phone. No response from Nathan. The old couple finished their lunch, left a ten on the table, and shuffled out. The bridge crew signaled for another pitcher, and Angel gave me a look that asked if I could handle it.
I left Bryce at the booth and went behind the bar. I could feel Zaden’s attention like a wire strung tight across the room. I poured the pitcher, dropped it at the table, and on the way back, let myself glance at him.
His eyes met mine. No malice, but no warmth either. He looked like he was trying to will the truth out of me, to force me to say it so he wouldn’t have to.
Back at the booth, Bryce had taken out his homework and gotten to work.
I checked my phone again. Still nothing.
Time stretched. The college kids left, dropping a couple crumpled bills on the table. Angel circled, wiping down surfaces, muttering about the NCAA and how no one ever tipped enough to cover the mess.
I texted Nathan again, this time in all caps.
WHERE ARE YOU. SOS.
Zaden finished drying the glasses, then started wiping down the bar, getting ready for the evening rush. He didn’t come over. He didn’t need to. The tension floated in the air, sharper than the bleach stink from the mop bucket Angel sloshed past the bathrooms.
I counted the minutes. Each tick of the wall clock above the bar scraped across my nerves. Bryce didn’t notice. I watched the front door, the side door, even the kitchen, willing Nathan to materialize.
When the bell finally jingled, I nearly knocked over the water pitcher. Nathan strode in and scanned the room, caught my eye, and came over.
"Hey, bud," he said, ruffling Bryce’s hair. "Ready to roll?"
Bryce frowned. "But I was gonna play pool—"
"Next time," I said, hurried over. "Right now, Nathan needs your help with something at home."
Nathan put a gentle hand on Bryce’s shoulder. "You remember that raccoon from last summer? There’s another one in the dumpster outside the pack house, and I need my best animal wrangler."
Bryce brightened, the disappointment erased. "Do I get gloves this time?"
Nathan grinned. "You get the whole suit. But only if we go now."
Bryce gathered his homework and his backpack. He gave me a hug, then followed Nathan out the door, not even looking back.
The room emptied. Angel had gone out. The bridge crew was gone, their table already wiped down. Only Zaden and I remained, separated by the length of the bar, the quiet stretching between us.
I busied myself, collecting glasses, stacking plates, wiping counters that were already clean. Zaden watched, not moving, as if waiting for me to make the first move.
The kitchen’s walk-in cooler hummed in the silence. My hands shook so bad I nearly dropped a tumbler into the sink.
Zaden spoke, quiet enough that only I heard. "You want to talk, or just keep pretending?"
I stacked three more glasses, then stopped, feeling the weight of his stare on my neck. "Of course, yeah, we need to talk."
When I finally turned, he was gone. I let out a breath, long and slow, and sagged against the counter.
When I came out of the kitchen, the bar was empty but for one man. Zaden sat at the farthest booth, hands clasped together in front of him, the stretch of his shoulders making him look twice as wide as the table.
I dried my hands on my jeans and walked over. Every step echoed. My knees trembled, but I kept moving.
He didn’t look up when I slid into the booth across from him. Didn’t speak, either. Just picked at a scratch on the tabletop.
For a while, we sat in silence. I braced for a fight, but Zaden just kept staring at the table, his jaw working.
Finally, he said, "He’s mine, isn’t he?"
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. My mouth opened, but the air felt too thick to let sound out.
He looked up. There was nothing soft in his expression, just hurt and the kind of anger that doesn’t need to raise its voice to terrify you. "Tell me the truth, Krystal. Now."
I tried to swallow, but my throat had gone dry. "Yes," I said.
His breath whistled through his nose. "How long have you known?"
I couldn’t meet his eyes. "I didn’t know until you told me about Knoxville."
"How could you not tell me?"
The accusation cut deep. But it also made me angry, like I was backed into the corner.
I snapped, "What was I supposed to do, Zaden? Run up to you at the party and say, Surprise! You’ve got a kid you never met.
That kind of news isn't something you blurt out. Besides, when you told me that you were my one-night stand in Nashville, I had to process. Hell, I haven’t even told Bryce. "
He flinched, then pursed his lips stoically. When he spoke again his voice was softer. "You should've told me. The second you knew."
"Like you ever wanted a family," I shot back. "Like you’d have stuck around if I had."
His hands clenched. I could see the bones, white and sharp under the skin. "That’s not fair."
I laughed. It sounded wrong, brittle. "Fair’s got nothing to do with it. I was scared because you said we were mates, but I still don’t feel it because of my stupid mother."
He stared me down. It wasn’t a threat, but I felt it all the same, a pressure, an expectation, a demand to answer for every decision I’d ever made.
The words tumbled out, unsteady and fast. "I spent nine years making up stories for that boy. Why his father wasn’t around.
Why he never got birthday cards, or a phone call, or anything.
I had to pick a name for you out of thin air because I didn’t even remember the real one.
You think I liked that? You think I wanted to raise him alone?
I tried to search for the man I barely remembered.
But I wouldn’t have found you because you were asleep. "
We stared at each other, the silence pounding with all the things neither of us had ever said. A headache bloomed behind my eyes, the kind that promised to last for days.
His features softened and reached over and covered my hand. "So, what now? Were you just going to keep pretending I don’t exist? Keep him hidden away, and what, hope he never figures it out?"
I shook my head, miserable. "I was going to tell you," I said.
"I swore to myself that I would, once I sorted out the mess with my mom.
And I tried to make myself tell you before then.
But every time I tried, I just…" My hands balled into fists.
"I chickened out. Every time. Because I didn’t want you to hate me or reject Bryce. "
His face softened, but only a bit. He was still pretty pissed, and I couldn't blame him, not really. "I don’t hate you. And I would never reject my son," he said, finally. "But I need time."
I nodded. Then I gathered my things and headed home. I didn’t know what would happen tomorrow. I didn’t know if Zaden would show up at my door or disappear for another decade.
All I knew was that the truth was out, and it would never fit back into the box I’d kept it in.