21. Liam
Liam
The drive back to Pine Hollow seemed to take longer than usual.
The road itself had not changed. The same turns appeared in the same places. The same trees leaned over the sidewalk. My truck moved over the quiet stretch of highway, while the mountains rose dark on either side.
But my thoughts refused to settle. I had fucked up and made the situation even worse than it already was.
Why had I done a perimeter run when she’d asked me to leave?
I should have respected her boundaries. I did respect them…
internally. But in practice, my compulsion to protect her at all costs was stronger than my need to respect her boundaries. And I didn’t know how to fix that.
Zoey’s last words kept returning to the front of my mind.
Please don’t reach out to me.
I had agreed, because it had been the correct response.
Respect the boundary. Give her space.
I had to accept the consequences of my mistake.
None of that settled me, though.
By the time I turned onto the gravel road leading to the lodge, the tension in my chest had settled into a steady pressure that refused to move. I parked near the front entrance, but I didn’t get out of the truck yet.
The lights in the main lodge were on, glowing softly against the dark hillside.
I needed a drink.
Technically, my body processed alcohol quickly. Shifter metabolism had advantages and disadvantages, and the inability to stay drunk for long periods was firmly in the second category.
Tonight, I would settle for temporary relief.
I stepped inside the lodge and walked to the bar.
Pete stood behind the counter polishing a glass while a single guest sat on the stool closest to the wall.
Pete looked up when I entered. “Uh-oh.”
That was not encouraging.
“What?”
He studied my face. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I need a drink.”
Pete raised an eyebrow. “Just one?”
“A triple.”
He nodded slowly and reached for the bottle. “That kind of night?”
“Yes.”
The guest beside me glanced over as Pete poured the glass. “Same thing I ordered.”
He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with dark hair and the relaxed posture of someone who had spent a long day outdoors.
“Liam, this is Connor. He comes up here at the beginning of every fall. Shifter too.”
He lifted his glass. “Shifter metabolism barely lets me get a buzz,” he added. “Might as well start strong.”
That caught my attention. I rarely encountered other shifters in casual settings. Most of us who didn’t live in packs kept to our own territories or moved quietly through human spaces without drawing attention.
I picked up the glass Pete set in front of me.
“Fair point.”
I lifted the drink slightly toward the man beside me, then took a long swallow.
The burn settled briefly in my chest before fading.
Pete watched me for a moment. “You want to talk about it?”
I set the glass down and looked at the bar. “Yes.”
Pete leaned his elbows on the counter. “Well?”
I exhaled slowly. “I really fucked things up with Zoey.”
Pete winced. “That’s not the opening line I was hoping for.”
Running a hand through my hair, I told him what had happened.
Pete listened without interrupting. The man beside me stayed quiet as well, nursing his drink while I finished explaining.
When I stopped speaking, Pete gaped at me. “Whoa,” he said finally.
“Yes.”
“That’s… a lot.”
“Yes.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But I can see where you were coming from.”
“That doesn’t make it acceptable.”
“No,” Pete agreed. “But it does help explain it.”
I finished my drink, and Pete refilled it without asking.
“You care about her,” he said.
I nodded. “Obviously.”
Connor slid his glass over to Pete for a refill. “Sounds almost like she’s your fated mate.”
Something in my memory stirred at that.
I had heard the term before. Stories from the old pack gatherings. Conversations that had happened when I was younger.
Rare connections. Deep bonds. A fated mate was someone who triggered instincts you couldn’t easily ignore.
I frowned slightly. “I’ve been out of the shifter world since I was a kid,” I said. “That possibility never crossed my mind.”
Connor studied me.
“It would explain the intensity.” I stared at the glass in front of me.
The connection with Zoey had felt immediate from the beginning. The pull toward her had grown stronger each time we crossed paths. No matter what I did, my thoughts wandered to her.
It would explain the impulses and the constant awareness, the constant need to make sure she was safe.
I rubbed my temples. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?” Connor asked.
“Because I already ruined it.”
Connor took a small card out of his wallet. “I’ve had a lot of junk to work through,” he said casually. “There’s a therapy group for shifters a few towns over. Helps with some of the instinct stuff.” He slid the card toward me. “Might be worth looking into.”
I picked it up and studied the simple print on the front.
Shifter Support Group. Weekly meetings.
“Thank you.”
He finished his drink and stood.
“Good luck,” he said as he headed to the door.
“To a certain extent, you’ve always had these tendencies,” Pete said quietly. “Checking things. Getting stuck on problems.” He tapped the bar lightly. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. You’ve managed it for years.”
“I know.”
“But if it starts affecting your life negatively,” Pete continued, “or the people around you, it might be time to talk to someone who understands how your brain works.”
I rolled the small card between my fingers.
“I know it’s not normal,” I said.
Pete shrugged. “Normal is overrated.”
“That doesn’t change the problem.”
“No,” he said. “But it might help you figure out what to do next.”
I took another drink as Zoey’s face flashed through my mind.
Her firm expression when she told me she needed space. The way she had stood there, holding the boundary even though I could see the conflict in her posture.
I set the glass down slowly.
Whatever came next, I would have to respect that—even if it meant learning how to live with the silence she had asked for.
I stared down at the glass in my hand, the silence at the bar stretching out.
Making mistakes had never been safe where I came from.
My father believed control was the same thing as strength. Discipline was constant. Expectations were clear. You did the right thing every time, or you accepted the consequences.
There was no room for hesitation. No room to misjudge. No room for the kind of impulsive decision that had just destroyed the most important relationship I had stumbled into.
Our pack had been small, but rigid. Every action reflected on the family. Every failure carried weight. When something went wrong, my father didn’t ask questions. He corrected it.
My shoulders tightened at the memory. My body still remembered the sting of those lessons even after all these years. The sound of a chair scraping across the floor. The heavy quiet before the correction came. The expectation that I would stand there and take it because the mistake had been mine.
Pain had been simple.
You endured it. You learned. You adjusted your behavior so it never happened again.
That system had made sense to younger me. It had rules. Clear cause and effect. Clear paths to improvement.
What I was feeling tonight had no such structure. No rule to follow. No correction to make it right. All I knew was that I had crossed a line Zoey needed me to respect, and that the damage might not be repairable.
I turned the glass slowly in my hand.
If my father had been here tonight, the situation would have ended very differently. He would have delivered the lesson.
The pain would have passed.
The problem would have been closed.
Instead, I was sitting in a quiet bar, with a hollow feeling in my chest and the knowledge that the person I wanted most in the world had asked me not to contact her again.
I would have gladly taken a beating over this.
At least then there would have been something I could do about it.