Chapter 5
The next morning, I'm making breakfast because I don't know what else to do, and I suppose we need to eat, when Emmett comes into the cabin.
He's wearing the same flannel he wore last night when he ran away, but it's certainly worse for wear. Torn in places, muddy in others. I turn and press a hip against the counter as he comes in the front door.
He doesn't say a word, just lowers his head in a nod and disappears down the hallway. I have no idea what I'm going to say to him, but at the moment, it doesn't matter. I'm focused on making French toast. It was the only thing he had all the ingredients for. Well, that, and steak and potatoes.
When he comes back, he's dressed in clean clothes.
“Did you sleep alright?” he asks. He's still buttoning the top button of his new flannel, blue instead of red, and he glances over at the fire.
I kept it going all night, added to it, but he's almost out of firewood and everything he has outside will be soaked through for days.
“I was fine,” I say. “I found a blanket.” I nod toward the wool blanket I fell asleep under last night on the couch, folded right where I left it.
“You could have slept in the bed—” he starts.
I drop my spatula and spin to face him. “I saw you, Emmett.”
His dark, thick eyebrows draw in. “You saw me?”
“Last night, in the storm, I saw you. Through the window.” I point to the front window as if he isn't sure where to find it.
He doesn't give anything away, just lets his eyes roam over to the window like that strange creature he turned into might still be standing out there. “I’m not sure what you—”
I cut him off. “Please stop lying to me. I know what I saw. What was that? What are you?”
For a long moment, we just stand there, staring at each other, breathing heavy. And then his shoulders sag, and he drops onto the bench seat at the kitchen table.
“I didn't mean for you to see,” he says. “I couldn't keep myself away. I thought you'd be asleep.”
“I was, but—”
Some of the French toast behind me starts to sizzle unpleasantly, and I scoop it all onto a plate and unplug the griddle. I put the plate in the middle of the kitchen table, but it seems completely preposterous that we would try to eat now while having this conversation.
Nevertheless, I snatch up the bottle of maple syrup from the counter and set it beside him.
“I want to know what's going on. Is this why—” I can't bring myself to finish that sentence. Not out loud.
Is this why he left? Is this why he's been gone for two years? Is this why he ruined our marriage? The marriage that I thought was perfect?
He scrubs a hand down his face. “Sit down.”
I do what he says. I'm afraid that if I make a fuss, if I do anything wrong, that he'll clam up again. That he'll keep his secrets. The secrets that he owes me.
“Yes,” he says. “This is why I left. I didn't know how to explain it.”
“Well, figure out how. I need to know.”
It was so confusing two years ago when he left, trying to come up with answers, trying to decide if he was alive or dead.
I tore myself apart trying to put a puzzle together without any of the pieces. And now he's going to give me all the answers.
He doesn't speak for a long time. Then, he slowly unbuttons his flannel.
“What are you—” I start to say, but then I see the marks on his chest.
Big, angry-looking scars. Three slashes, like claws, but then a mottled section of skin in the middle of his chest.
“Oh my God, Emmett, what is—”
“I was attacked,” he says. “It's a very long story, but I was attacked. And I didn't tell you. It healed kind of quickly, and I thought everything would be fine.”
“I remember,” I say automatically, not even aware I’m going to say it until it’s out of my mouth.
His brow furrows. “What do you remember?”
“I remember you refusing to take your clothes off. Or let me see you.” The memories are starting to flood back. Weeks before he vanished, he started acting strange. He didn't want to take a shower with me. He didn't want to take off his clothes when we fucked.
And the very last time we had sex, he put me on my knees, fucked me from behind. Certainly not strange, but when I tried to turn around after it was over, he had already disappeared into the shower, the door locked behind him.
He didn't want me to see him. And this is why?
“Tell me what it is.”
“I was out hiking one night while you were at work, and I came across a big dog in the park.
I just assumed it was a wolf, and what a fucking wolf would be doing in the middle of fucking Central Park, I don't know… But anyway, I got bit but it closed up really fast, even though it scarred over. And then, things got bad.”
“Bad?”
“A few weeks later, I turned for the first time. It happened while I was at work. I was sawing through a board. I cut my finger open, and I just, you know, got a surge of adrenaline, no big deal. And then, it just happened. Luckily, we were working on the outskirts of town. I ran into the woods.” He pulls his shoulders back, clears his throat.
“I was gone for most of the day, but by the time I was back to normal, it was time for me to come home to you.”
He takes a deep breath that draws my eyes to his chest, where the top button of his flannel is still undone.
“I acted like nothing was wrong. You didn't notice anything, so I… I don’t know…
I guess I thought it was over. But it happened again a few days later.
I don't know what I thought I was going to do at that point.
It's not like I could keep going with my normal life. My body felt weird and different, unfamiliar…”
He trails off, swallows. I watch his Adam's apple bob in his throat. “It fucking killed me, Brynne. Leaving you fucking killed me. But I was terrified. I had no control over it anytime I got angry or…” He trails off again.
“Or what?”
His blue eyes flick up to mine. He holds my gaze. “Right before I left, we were... One night we were, um…” He sighs, and I roll my eyes.
“Just say it, Emmett. There's no reason to hide anymore.” I’ve never known Emmett to be timid, but he can barely look at me now. I think he might be blushing.
“Right. We were having sex, and... I felt it start. I freaked out. I wasn’t able to... I didn't even…”
I think back to that last time. Me on my hands and knees, and him behind me. Did he not even finish that night? I must have been so caught up in myself that I didn't even notice. It’s not something that’s ever been in question before.
“I ran away, and I was able to calm down, but... I just got so fucking scared, Brynne. I got so fucking scared.” His voice trembles and his hands are fists on the table between us.
“You don't have to be scared.” I start to reach across the table. But when my fingers just barely brush his, he yanks away from me and shoots up out of his chair.
“I don't have to be afraid? Brynne, I can barely control it. Anytime I feel anything that's too big…” He shakes his head.
I think back to yesterday, him pushing me against the wall and kissing me. That's why he ran away then, too.
He's still shaking his head, pacing back and forth, his veined hands on his hips. “I’m not going to do this to you, Brynne. I'm not going to hurt you.”
“But you won't divorce me.”
He spins around, eyes landing heavy on mine. He clenches his jaw. “You're mine. My wife.”
I shove away from the table, too. I rush over to him. “How can you even say that to me? I'm not your wife if you're here and I'm there. If you won’t come anywhere near me.”
“And what am I supposed to do, Brynne?” he says. “Come home? Be half-wolf with you in the city?”
“No, we can stay here.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
You would have thought I suggested that we both move to Pluto, the way his brow furrows. “We can't live here.”
“Why not?”
“Brynne, even if you could give up the city, which we both know you couldn’t, I can’t…” He shakes his head again, like he’s talking himself out of something. “I can't do that to you. You can't... live this fucked up life with me. I don't even know what I am.”
“I don't care.” I take another tentative step toward him.
And this time, he doesn't back away. “I don't care what you are. What you are is my husband. What you are is…” I trail off.
What you are is the man I love. That's what I want to tell him.
That there was never any chance that I was ever going to stop loving him.
But I can't go on like this. And he knows it.
He's breathing heavy, his eyes on my mouth like he can see the words, the ones I won't say. “So you want to live in a cabin in the mountains with a monster?”
I take one more step toward him, so close that I have to crane my neck to look up at him. “I want to live with you. I want to be wherever you are.” I still can't say the fucking words, even though I’m starting to feel that they might be the one thing that could convince him I mean it.
He gives his head one more sharp shake. “I can't put you in danger.”
I take the last step so that I'm pressed against him. “I can't live without you, Emmett. Either have me now or let me go.”