Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
brYCE
Bryce found himself tapping the steering wheel with two fingers as he pulled away from the hotel.
Something had shifted at the diner, and he didn’t know what.
Tom had smiled, sure, had asked questions and kept the conversation moving, but between one moment and the next, it had felt like talking to someone through glass.
As if a smooth surface had descended between them that Bryce hadn’t been able to get a handhold on.
He ran their interaction back in his head, trying to pinpoint where the tone had changed, what he’d said wrong. But he couldn’t think of anything that would have caused Tom to withdraw the way he had.
He drummed his fingers again and tried to tell himself he was overthinking it. But when he thought back to the time on the porch, with Tom softer and more open, he knew he wasn’t. He’d felt something take root between them then, quiet but undeniable.
Now? He couldn’t tell if it was still there.
He sighed and flicked on the radio, hoping the drive would clear his head. The sun was out, the roads were quiet, and technically he had a few days off. Everything should’ve felt good. Instead, he was twisting himself in knots over a guy, and he didn’t know why.
Tom was beautiful—Nerissa Taylor was spot on about that, like always—but it was the rest of him that was sucking Bryce in deeper.
The dry humor, the watchfulness that spelled intelligence and competence, and the sheer decency.
And that clean, sharp scent, like rain after a long dry spell.
It teased at the edges of Bryce’s senses like a half-remembered song.
He gripped the wheel tighter. If Tom hadn’t been Council affiliated, Bryce would’ve hit on him the first time they met. They’d have screwed, had a great time, gone their separate ways, and he’d never have known all that Tom had to offer.
But now he did know. And Tom pulling away from him like that—it stung.
Back home, he stepped into the kitchen to grab a drink and take it out to the porch, where he could sit in the sunshine and hopefully stop his mind circling around Tom.
Both he and Matt had taken a week’s vacation to deal with the forthcoming dog-and-pony show.
And he’d better remember not to call it that in front of Jesse again, because he was losing his sense of humor by the hour and seemed to think Bryce was making fun of him.
But the sight that greeted him in the kitchen brought him up short.
Tristan and Colby were pressed close together as they kissed, long and slow.
He wasn’t a prude by anyone’s measure, but the intimacy between them made him uncomfortable.
The reverence in Colby’s touch, the way Tristan looked at him…
Bryce had always known he didn’t want a mate, and that hadn’t changed. But something in his chest ached slightly. A feeling of emptiness, almost.
He snorted. It was too long since he last got laid, that was all.
With all that had been happening, he hadn’t made it to Denver lately, with its clubs and large, welcoming pack.
Too long since he’d been someone’s focus for a night.
He didn’t need a soulmate. He just needed to get laid.
And Tom Barrington’s presence wasn’t helping, because it was keeping Bryce on a constant low simmer.
Romeo and Juliet had finally noticed his presence and let go of one another.
“You managed to tear yourself away from Tom, then?” Tristan asked, raising his eyebrows cheekily.
Something about his statement hit a nerve, with Bryce still confused over what had just happened with Tom. But he knew Tristan hadn’t meant any harm, so he pinned a smile to his face and made a vague sound of agreement as he took the coffee Colby offered him.
“I never knew political aides could be hot,” Tristan continued. “I’m kind of stunned you haven’t hit on him.”
He laughed automatically, but it caught in his throat a little on the way out. Right now, he was pretty sure that if he hit on Tom, he’d be turned down. Politely, smoothly, and definitively.
“Yeah, well,” he said, and headed for the back door. He was unsettled and bad company, and the last thing he wanted was to be around starry-eyed lovers. He forced himself to raise the mug in friendly salute as he left. “Thanks for the coffee, Colb.”
Out in the fresh air, he wandered over to the picnic table in the middle of the yard to sit and drink his coffee in peace.
As he looked at the pile of lumber waiting to be moved to the outbuilding Karl and Christian were renovating, he thought about following Karl’s example and moving out from his current room.
He could cope with either Matt or Tristan all wrapped up in their mate, but both of them?
Might be easier to move out of the house, to keep a little distance.
He’d been an important part of their lives for so long, but things had changed, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. He wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t. Just... displaced. He was the part of the puzzle that had fit until the picture changed around him.
He studied the table’s rough grain, scarred with ring marks from years of faithful service.
He wondered if they should get another, larger one given the rate at which the pack was expanding, but there was something about this one that nothing could replace.
He and Matt had taken Tristan shopping that first weekend he’d been with them, and this table had been one of the things they’d let him choose.
It had been a way to try and let him know he was here to stay.
He ran a hand over the rough surface, tracing grooves and gouges worn deep by time and weather and lives layered together. Bryce still remembered the proud look on Tristan’s face, how he’d circled it three times before pointing and saying that one. The table had been a promise. A marker.
But Tristan had grown up, and now he’d moved on. Matt, too.
Bryce was happy for them both. He really was. But he didn’t know where any of this left him.