Chapter Six
Sloane entered the apartment after Jamie, glad he hadn’t needed an excuse to come upstairs this time.
Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of coffee and something vanilla—candles, maybe, or air freshener.
Sounds drifted from deeper inside, the clatter of dishes, running water, someone humming off-key.
“Nick’s home,” Jamie said, toeing off his shoes by the door. “Fair warning, he’s going to interrogate you.”
Before Sloane could respond, a guy emerged from the kitchen, dish towel slung over one shoulder. Shorter than Jamie, maybe five-two, with bleached tips in his dark hair and a smile that could sell used cars. His tank top showed off lean arms, and his jeans sat low on narrow hips.
“Oh my god, you brought him home!” Nick’s gaze swept over Sloane, assessing him with the speed of someone who’d clocked plenty of dates. “I’m Nick. Jamie’s told me literally nothing about you, which means you’re important.”
“Sloane.” He offered his hand, and Nick shook it with surprising firmness.
“How’s the head?” Nick’s attention shifted to Jamie, concern replacing the playful energy. “You look terrible. Did the cops catch the guy?”
“Not yet.” Jamie dropped onto the couch, wincing when he moved too fast. “Owen took our statements. Said he’d patrol the area.”
“You should’ve called me. I would’ve left work early.” Nick perched on the armrest, fingers hovering near Jamie’s bruised temple without quite touching. “You need ice? Tylenol? A hug and some wine?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You got assaulted.” Nick’s voice went tight. “That’s the second time this week someone’s put hands on you. I warned you about William.”
Sloane’s attention snapped to Jamie. Who the fuck was William? That must’ve been the guy who’d hurt Jamie’s arm. Sloane filed it away as his wolf snarled, clawing at his ribs.
“Can we not do this right now?” Jamie asked.
“We’re doing it later then.” Nick stood, crossing his arms. “You can’t keep pretending everything’s okay when it’s not.”
“Do you want to do something relaxing?” The words came out steadier than Sloane felt. “Get your mind off today?”
Jamie froze, jacket half-off. His shoulders went rigid, tension bleeding through his frame. The air between them shifted, crackling with unspoken assumptions.
“Relaxing,” Jamie repeated slowly, turning to face him. “That’s very...specific.”
Sloane caught the edge in his mate’s voice, the defensive wall slamming into place. Realization hit him a second later. Jamie thought he meant sex, thought Sloane was propositioning him in front of his roommate after the worst day imaginable.
“Nothing naughty,” he clarified. “I promise. Just something fun. Get you out of your head for a bit.”
Pink crept up Jamie’s neck, flooding his face with color. “Oh. I thought…never mind.”
“Oh my god, you two are adorable.” Nick grinned, bouncing on his toes. “Jamie, go. You need this. Plus, if you stay here, I’m going to mother-hen you into insanity.”
“I don’t—”
“Go.” Nick nudged Jamie’s shoulder, voice softening. “You’ve been stressed for weeks. You deserve to have fun.”
“But—”
“No buts. Go do something that doesn’t involve cleaning guinea pig cages or hiding from psychos.” Nick turned to Sloane, pointing at him with exaggerated sternness. “You. Bring him back in one piece. If he comes home with so much as a paper cut, I’m hunting you down.”
Sloane nodded solemnly. “One piece. Got it.”
Jamie huffed, but his mouth twitched toward a smile. “You two are ridiculous.”
“You love us,” Nick said cheerfully. “Now go change into something comfortable. And for the love of everything holy, fix your hair. You look like you fought a tornado and lost.”
“My hair is fine!”
“Your hair is a disaster. Go.”
Grumbling, Jamie disappeared down the hallway. A door clicked shut, leaving Sloane alone with Nick, who immediately dropped the playful expression.
“He won’t tell me everything,” Nick said quietly, voice pitched low enough that Jamie wouldn’t hear from the bedroom. “But his ex, William, did something. Something bad enough that Jamie flinches at raised voices now.”
Fury coiled through Sloane’s gut, hot and vicious. He’d suspected, but having it confirmed made his vision pulse red at the edges.
“William,” Sloane said.
“Yeah.” Nick’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know details. Just how jealous William was. Jamie texted me two nights ago about a fight he’d had with William and that they’d broken up.”
The timeline clicked into place. Jamie had been hurt, had gone to Frothy Pine to escape, to forget. Had ended up drunk and vulnerable, passing out in Sloane’s car because fate had decided to intervene.
Or the universe. Or whatever forces governed mates finding each other across impossible odds.
“Jamie’s had a rough time lately. He deserves someone who actually gives a damn.” Nick narrowed his eyes. “I was serious. And by one piece, I mean relatively undamaged. Current damage doesn’t count. If you don’t, I’ll hunt you down. I know people.”
Sloane met his gaze. Normally, he’d snarl at such a threat, but Nick was too tiny and only looking out for his friend. “I won’t let anything happen to him,” he promised, meaning it with every cell in his body.
“Good.” Nick held his gaze for another beat then nodded.
Jamie emerged before Sloane could respond, wearing dark jeans and a soft gray henley that made his eyes look more green than hazel.
He’d run fingers through his hair, attempting to tame it into submission with mixed results.
The bruise on his temple had darkened further, purple spreading across pale skin.
Beautiful. Sloane’s wolf purred, content just looking at him.
“I’m ready.” Jamie grabbed a jacket from the hook by the door. “Where exactly are we going?” he asked as they descended the stairs. “At least give me a hint.”
“Nope. No hints.”
Jamie huffed out a laugh, the sound loosening something in Sloane’s chest. Getting his mate to laugh after the day he’d had felt better than it should.
Outside, clouds pressed against the horizon, thick and gray but holding their rain. The air tasted damp, promising a storm that hadn’t arrived yet. He led Jamie to the Charger, opening the passenger door before his mate could reach for it.
“Such a gentleman,” Jamie teased, but he slid inside without protest.
The engine purred to life, filling the interior with low vibration. Sloane pulled out of the lot, heading toward the highway that would take them out of town.
“Seriously, where are we going?” Jamie tried again, watching buildings slide past. “Because if this is one of those 'take you to a secluded location' horror movie setups, I should warn you I’ve seen every true crime documentary ever made.”
“Noted. I’ll make sure to avoid secluded locations.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Would it help if I promised you’d enjoy it?”
“A secluded location?” Jamie looked seconds away from jumping out of the car.
“What? No.” Sloane shook his head. The shit that went through his mate’s mind. “Where we’re going.”
“What if I hate it?”
“Then we'll leave and do something else.” Sloane merged onto the highway, heading west out of town. “But I don’t think you will. Trust me?”
The question hung between them, weighted with more than just an late-afternoon outing. Jamie studied him, teeth worrying his lower lip, that bruise on his temple a reminder of how trust could go wrong. But his mate had no idea he was in the safest hands.
“Yes,” he finally said.
Heat unfurled in Sloane’s ribs. His mate trusted him. After everything—William, the assault at work, all the reasons Jamie had to be wary—he still said yes.
Jamie watched the scenery pass, fingers drumming against his thigh. Nervous energy radiated off him. Every few minutes, his gaze would slide to Sloane, then away, questions building behind his eyes that he didn’t voice.
Sloane reached over, lacing their fingers together, grounding his mate with touch. Jamie didn’t pull away.
“Can I ask you something?” Jamie’s voice pulled Sloane from his thoughts.
“Sure.”
“Why are you doing this?” No accusation in the question, just genuine confusion. “We just met. You don’t owe me anything.”
How did Sloane explain that every cell in his body recognized Jamie as his? That walking away wasn’t an option, never had been, never would be? That from the moment their eyes met at the bar, something fundamental had shifted in Sloane’s world?
He couldn’t. Not yet. Not when Jamie already looked at him with wariness beneath the attraction.
Also, Jamie genuinely didn’t understand kindness that didn’t expect something from him. This man had been starved of safety for so long he couldn’t compute being cared for.
“Maybe I want to,” Sloane said instead. “Maybe spending time with you isn’t exactly a hardship.”
Pink crept up Jamie’s neck again, that telltale blush that Sloane was finding addictive. “You’re very smooth, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
“By who? Previous disasters you’ve rescued?”
“You’re not a disaster.”
“Tell that to my life choices.” Jamie’s fingers tapped faster against his thigh. “I have a gift for finding trouble.”
“Then it’s good you found me too.”
Jamie turned to look at him fully, hazel eyes searching Sloane’s face for something he couldn’t name.
“You’re really confident, aren't you?” Jamie asked softly. “Not in a cocky way. Just...certain.”
“About some things.”
“About what?”
“About you. About us. About the fact that I’d fight anything that tried to hurt you. About knowing a good thing when I see it,” Sloane said instead.
Jamie opened his mouth, closed it, then turned back to the window. But his reflection in the glass showed a small smile, secret and pleased.
They turned into a parking lot, pulling up in front of a building painted in bright stripes of blue and yellow.
The building squatted at the edge of town, all concrete and faded paint, the kind of place that had survived decades through sheer stubborn determination.
Posters plastered the windows—birthday party packages, couple’s night specials, a disco ball promising “Saturday Night Fever.”
Jamie’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.” Sloane killed the engine, watching his mate’s expression cycle through disbelief, confusion, and something that might have been delight.
“A roller rink? You brought me to a roller rink?”
“Problem?”
“It’s...” Jamie stared at the building, then at Sloane, then back at the building. “How did you even find this place?”
“Google’s very helpful.”
“You googled 'things to distract my disaster of a—'“ Jamie stopped, catching himself. “Things to do around here?”
“Something along those lines.” Sloane climbed out, rounding the car to open Jamie’s door. “We can go somewhere else if—”
“No.” Jamie’s laugh burst out, startled and genuine. “I haven’t been skating since I was twelve. My mom used to take me every Saturday.”
The memory softened his mate’s expression, something warm and bittersweet crossing his features.
Sloane filed that information away, adding it to the growing collection of Jamie-facts he was hoarding.
Along with his laugh. Worth it. Every second of planning, every mile driven, all of it worth that gorgeous smile.