Chapter 20
Faye
The irony wasn't lost on me.
My journey at Ironclaw University had begun with me trying to be invisible. I had worn grey sweaters. I had sat in the back of lecture halls. I had walked with my head down, terrified that if I made a noise, the world would realize I didn't belong in the land of predators.
And now, on the last Saturday of May, I was standing in the center of the Ironclaw Arena, wearing a bright red dress that hugged every curve, holding a bouquet of roses that weighed five pounds, and surrounded by twenty massive, howling werewolves who were currently chanting my name.
"SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH!"
Jax was leading the chant, of course. He was wearing his graduation gown open over a tuxedo t-shirt, a bottle of champagne in one hand and his diploma in the other.
I laughed, shaking my head, my cheeks hurting from smiling so much.
"I don't have a speech!" I shouted over the noise. "I'm just the girlfriend!"
"You're the MVP!" Kael roared, lifting me off the ground in a bear hug that cracked my back in three places. "If you hadn't fixed Cap's shoulder, we wouldn't have the rings! You're the Pack Healer!"
He set me down, and I stumbled, dizzy and breathless.
The arena floor had been converted for the graduation reception. Tables with white linens covered the ice (well, the floor over the ice). Faculty, parents, and graduates milled about. But the Hockey corner was a riot of noise and celebration.
I looked around the circle of faces.
These monsters. These terrifying, aggressive, loud apex predators.
They were my family.
Six months ago, I had been terrified to tape their ankles. Now, I knew their coffee orders. I knew which ones were afraid of spiders (Kael) and which ones cried during Pixar movies (Jax). I had spent nights at the Lodge helping them study for finals. I had patched them up after bar fights.
I looked down at the "Pack Healer" sash someone (probably Sloane) had draped over me.
I wasn't invisible anymore. I was seen. I was known. And I was loved.
"Alright, break it up," a low, gravelly voice commanded from behind me. "Back off, animals. She's mine."
The circle parted instantly.
Oakley Thorne stepped through.
He was wearing his graduation gown, the black fabric billowing around his broad shoulders. The gold stole of the Honors Society (a miracle, and a testament to my tutoring) hung around his neck. His mortarboard cap was tilted slightly askew, giving him a rakish, dangerous look.
But it was his eyes that held me.
They were gold. Warm, liquid, and focused entirely on me.
He didn't look like the brooding, isolated boy I had met in the Ice Room. He looked like a king.
He stepped up to me, ignoring his teammates' jeers and wolf-whistles. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me flush against his side.
"You okay?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. "They can be overwhelming."
"I'm fine," I smiled, leaning into him. "I was just thinking about how much has changed."
"Yeah," he agreed, looking out at the arena. "A lot has changed."
He scanned the crowd. I knew who he was looking for. Or rather, who he wasn't looking for.
Elias Thorne hadn't come.
He had sent a generic congratulations card and a check that Oakley had immediately donated to the local animal shelter. The rejection should have hurt. A year ago, it would have devastated him.
But today?
Oakley looked down at me, and his smile didn't falter. He didn't need his father's approval anymore. He had his own gravity.
"Come on," he whispered, his hand sliding down to squeeze my hip. "Let's get out of here. I have a surprise."
"Another surprise?" I teased. "We already did the apartment key. And the dog adoption papers. I don't know if my heart can take much more."
"This one is for us," he said. "Come on."
He grabbed my hand and led me away from the party. We slipped through the crowd, dodging professors and crying parents, heading toward the tunnel.
The tunnel where we had first kissed after the championship. The tunnel that led to the bowels of the arena.
The noise of the reception faded behind us, replaced by the familiar hum of the ventilation system and the smell of rubber mats and cold air.
We walked in silence, hand in hand, until we reached a heavy metal door.
The Hydrotherapy Room.
My heart gave a funny little skip.
Oakley swiped his keycard—his access still active until midnight. The light turned green.
He pushed the door open and gestured for me to enter.
I stepped inside.
It was exactly the same as the first day I had walked in. The grey slate tiles. The humidity. The three massive stainless steel tubs. The steam rising from the hot tub in the corner.
It was silent. Empty.
Oakley closed the door and locked it. The click echoed in the large room.
He turned to face me. He took off his graduation cap and tossed it onto a bench. Then he unzipped his gown, letting it slide off his shoulders to pool on the floor. Underneath, he was wearing a crisp white dress shirt and black slacks. He looked devastating.
"Do you remember?" he asked softly.
"How could I forget?" I laughed nervously, the memory washing over me. "I was lost. I was holding a clipboard like a shield. And you..."
"I was a dick," he finished, walking toward me. "I was naked, wet, and trying to scare you."
"It worked," I admitted. "A little."
"You didn't run, though," he reminded me, stopping right in front of me. "You handed me a towel. You told me to cover up."
"And you told me I smelled like vanilla and fear."
He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "You don't smell like fear anymore."
"What do I smell like?"
"Confidence," he murmured, leaning closer. "And vanilla. And me."
He kissed me.
It wasn't a desperate kiss, or a hungry one. It was a slow, deep savoring. It was a kiss that tasted of victory.
"I brought you here," he whispered against my lips, "because I wanted to overwrite the memory. I don't want this room to be where I tried to push you away. I want it to be where I claim you."
"You already claimed me," I whispered. "Everywhere. The library. The truck. The attic."
"Not here," he said. "Not where it started."
He lifted me up.
I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively. He carried me over to the edge of the cold tub—the empty one—and set me down on the wide metal rim.
He stepped between my knees.
"Dr. Aris gave me my final evaluation yesterday," I said breathlessly, my hands resting on his shoulders.
"Oh yeah?" He began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. "What did he say?"
"He said I have 'excellent hands'."
Oakley smirked. "He has no idea."
"And he said... he said I'm going to be a great physical therapist. He wrote me a recommendation for the program at Wayne State."
Oakley froze. His hands stopped on the buttons.
Wayne State. In Detroit.
"You're transferring?" he asked, his voice rough.
"I applied two weeks ago," I admitted. "I got the acceptance letter this morning. I didn't want to tell you until I knew for sure."
A slow, blinding smile spread across his face. The kind of smile that made the sun look dim.
"You're coming with me," he said. "Now? Not in a year?"
"I'm coming with you," I promised. "I'm not doing long distance, Oakley. I'm not spending a year staring at my phone waiting for a text. We're a team. Teams travel together."
He let out a shout of pure joy—a half-laugh, half-howl—and buried his face in my neck. He hugged me so tight I squeaked.
"Best graduation present ever," he mumbled into my skin. "God, Faye. I love you."
"I love you too, Wolf."
He pulled back, his eyes glowing.
"Okay," he said. "New plan. We pack the truck. We drive to Detroit. We get the apartment. We get the dog. And then..."
"And then?"
"And then I spend the rest of my life proving to you that betting on the monster was the smartest thing you ever did."
He kissed me again, and this time, the heat flared.
He pushed my dress up my thighs. I pulled his shirt open.
We made love right there in the steam room, on the edge of the tub where we first met. But this time, there was no fear. No hesitation. No power dynamic of predator and prey.
There was just us. Two broken people who had fixed each other. Two lonely souls who had found a home in the dark.
Oakley
The sun was setting as we walked out of the arena for the last time.
The parking lot was clearing out. The families were gone. The noise of the celebration was fading into the quiet hum of the evening.
My truck was idling at the curb, the bed packed high with boxes. My entire life—four years of memories, pain, and growth—was packed into that Ford Raptor.
Except for the best part.
She was standing by the passenger door, holding a coffee cup, looking back at the massive stone fortress of Ironclaw University.
I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder.
"Regrets?" I asked quietly.
She leaned back against me. "None. You?"
I looked at the arena. I looked at the banner hanging from the rafters inside—the one we had just put there. I looked at the spot where I used to sit in my truck and talk to my father, terrified of disappointing him.
I thought about the boy I was when I arrived here. Angry. Isolated. A ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
Then I looked at the woman in my arms.
"No regrets," I said.
Jax pulled up next to us in his Jeep, the top down despite the fact that it was only fifty degrees. Sloane was in the passenger seat, wearing sunglasses.
"Yo! Detroit!" Jax yelled. "Caravan leaves in ten! If you two start making out again, we're leaving without you!"
"Try it, Miller!" I shouted back. "I'm the only one with the map!"
"We have GPS, Grandpa!" Sloane shouted.
I laughed.
"Ready?" I asked Faye.
She turned in my arms. She reached up and fixed my collar, her eyes soft and searching.
"Ready," she said.
I opened the door for her. She climbed in.
I walked around to the driver's side. I paused for one second, looking up at the sky.
The moon was rising. A pale, sliver of white against the purple twilight.
The Wolf inside me stirred. He wasn't scratching to get out. He wasn't howling in pain. He was just watching. Content.
We have the mate, he thought. We have the pack. We have the hunt.
I got in the truck and slammed the door.
I reached across the console and took Faye’s hand. She interlaced her fingers with mine, her thumb rubbing over my knuckles.
"Play the playlist," she commanded.
"The Taylor Swift playlist?" I groaned.
"It's road trip law, Oakley."
"Fine."
I hit play. "Style" started blasting through the speakers.
I put the truck in drive.
We pulled out of the lot, Jax’s Jeep following close behind, honking his horn.
We drove past the dorms. Past the library where we fell in love. Past the bridge where I almost lost her.
We hit the main road. The sign ahead read: I-75 SOUTH. DETROIT - 400 MILES.
I squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.
I pressed the gas pedal.
The engine roared.
We left the past in the rearview mirror, disappearing into the dark, wide-open road of the future.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn't running away from anything.
I was running toward everything.