Chapter Eighteen
brYCE
Bryce woke with Tom curled against him, warm and familiar, like he’d always been there. And just like that, he knew.
His wolf had stilled, and his breathing had matched Tom’s without thought. When Tom shifted closer with a sigh, it wasn’t surprise that hit him—it was certainty. They were mates.
And Bryce couldn’t fucking breathe. Because this wasn’t a gift. It was a trap. Something he hadn’t asked for, couldn’t control, and didn’t trust.
Tom had turned toward him, smiling, so open it hurt to look at. “You felt it too, right?”
Bryce should have lied, said he didn’t understand what Tom was talking about. That would have Tom doubting what he felt, and Bryce wouldn’t have had to face this. Instead, he’d looked away and said nothing because he didn’t know what to say. Not to Tom.
“Bryce?” Tom’s voice was quiet and careful.
And still, Bryce said nothing. He got up instead. Pushed the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed, chest tight, hands braced on his knees.
“Don’t,” he said finally, still not looking back. “Please don’t say anything else.”
There was silence behind him, followed by movement as Tom sat up.
“You know what this is,” Tom said, his voice almost steady. “Don’t you?”
“I know,” Bryce said. “And I can’t—” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t want it.”
He heard Tom’s breath stutter. Heard the pain, even in that tiny sound. But Bryce couldn’t stop now. He had to get it out, to make Tom realize.
“I don’t want this. I never have. Being tied to someone forever, because of biology, because our wolves think it’s right? That’s not love. That’s—that’s a sentence.”
He turned around then, because it wasn’t fair to say it without looking him in the eye.
Tom’s expression was rigidly controlled, not a flicker of emotion on his face. Like a wolf so badly wounded that the only way to protect themself was not to let it show.
“You don’t want me,” Tom said, his voice sounding like it shredded his throat.
Bryce’s jaw clenched. “I—That’s not—” He stopped. Forced his voice steady. “You’re a good man. But that’s not what this is about.”
“Isn’t it?”
Bryce didn’t answer. Because he didn’t know. He did want Tom, more than was safe. Not the quiet yearning ache he’d carried for years for Matt, but something messier, more alive. And that was the problem.
So he got up and started pulling on his jeans, every movement sharp and deliberate.
“I’ll get Jason to take you into town,” he said, keeping his tone flat. “Or I can do it, if you’d rather.”
“No,” Tom said after a beat. “Jason’s fine.”
His voice didn’t crack. His hands were steady as he got out of bed and started dressing, calm and precise. Like Bryce hadn’t just sent a wrecking ball into something that could’ve been—
No. He wasn’t thinking about that. He couldn’t.
He strode across the yard toward the bunkhouse that Riley and Jason shared with Karl. Christian’s horse neighed disconsolately at the sight of him, desperate for attention. Christian had spoiled a perfectly good horse with a kindness he gave to no one else.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled in its general direction, only to be ignored as it carried on creating a racket that would raise the dead from their graves.
He found Jason and Riley entwined in their doorway, kissing like they hadn’t been together all fucking night, like they didn’t spend nearly all day every day together, and like Jason was about to go off to war, not spend the morning cooking in the local diner. For fuck’s sake.
“Jason.” He just about managed not to snarl it.
They pulled sharply apart. They’d been too wrapped up in one another to notice his approach, and that made Bryce even more furious.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asked, immediately concerned, taking a step toward Bryce.
He moved back. “Tom needs a lift into Elk Ridge. Think you can do that?”
“Of course.” Jason was still staring at him, and Bryce was done. He turned on his heel and left.
As he neared the yard, he knew if he heard that damn horse neighing at him one more time, there’d be horsemeat on the menu later.
He’d be quite happy with that, but it might upset Christian a little, so he changed direction and headed away from the corral and away from the house, where Tom still waited, his presence like salt in a raw wound.
He headed deep into the woods, fighting his wolf. Because if he gave in to its urging as it twisted and rose inside him, clawing and desperate, he’d be back at the house, claiming Tom and never letting him go. He couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to do that.
He pushed himself up the steep track toward the high pastures. And for the first time in his life, he hated his wolf.
TOM
Jason’s voice was quiet behind him. “Tom?”
He flinched, taken by surprise. Too many thoughts had crowded out his awareness. “Yeah.”
Jason stood a few feet away, keys in hand. “You headed back to town?”
Tom nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak again.
The drive was short, but it felt endless. Jason didn’t say anything, for which Tom was grateful. He kept his gaze fixed out the window, watching trees blur, each mile taking him farther from Bryce. From that bed, still warm. From the way Bryce had looked at him—and then looked away.
Jason kept glancing over at him, clearly wrestling with something. By the time they pulled into the hotel lot, he couldn’t hold it in.
“Bryce is the heart of our pack. He always cares about everyone,” he said, his words rushed and challenging. “So if you’ve done something or said something—”
Fury burned in Tom as he shoved the door open and got out. “It’s not me you should be having that conversation with,” he said.
He didn’t slam the door. He wasn’t seventeen. But he did close it with firm finality and walked away without looking back.
He ignored the receptionist’s cheery good morning in the empty lobby, took the stairs two at a time, and swiped into his room without breathing. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a sterile, quiet space. His jacket went onto the chair. His necktie followed. And then he just stood there.
He could still feel the imprint of Bryce’s body behind his, the warmth of his breath. Bryce’s voice, low and warm, saying his name like it meant something. As if it always would. The way his wolf had gone still in absolute contentment. It had been a kind of peace he hadn’t even known to dream of.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Stared at the blank TV screen, but scarcely saw it. The truth looped in his head, quiet and inescapable—we’re mates.
That should have been everything. It should have changed the world. Instead, Bryce had looked at him like it was a death sentence.
Tom braced his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands tightly together, and bent his head until it touched his thumbs. He sat there like that for a long time. Breathing. Not thinking. Trying not to break.
But it was already too late.