Chapter Seventeen #2
“Upsetting him,” I said. “I don’t exactly know what I did but I do know it was me.”
“About that,” Stan murmured as he struck a match, lighting the gas under the stove burner and setting a well-loved cast iron skillet over the small flame. “I think I can offer a little bit of insight, if you want?”
“Really? Did he tell you what was wrong?”
Stan shook his head, testing the skillet with a few drops of water and nodding in satisfaction when they danced on the hot pan. “No but far in my distant past, I was in love with someone who didn’t feel the same way, so I think I might know how he feels.”
I felt my brows knit together. “I think I was maybe talking too fast. I’m the one with the stupid crush, not him.”
Stan chuckled and laid a salmon fillet in the skillet. “You’re right,” he said agreeably. “Otto doesn’t have a crush. He’s head over heels in love with you and doesn’t have the first damn clue what to do about it.”
What now?
“But..”
“No buts,” Stan said, his voice still gentle.
“Think about the evidence you just laid out for me. Granted, it’s hardly a stretch for a young man to hit every willing target when he’s horny, but the other things he did?
Bringing your coat to you, trying to defend you in that bar?
Hell, he not only came up to search for you when he thought you were missing, he went full-on jealous mate mode when he saw you with me, and then, when you stepped between us, he didn’t just back down so you wouldn’t be injured, he submitted to you and shifted. ”
I shrugged. “Then he also took off and left me.”
“He did,” Stan agreed, flipping the fish.
“Although, if a man I was in love with had just told me we were fuck buddies and said that I treated him like a cheap hooker, I might not be in the best frame of mind, either.” He shook his head.
“Honestly, even if I was fuck buddies with someone, I would be upset to find out I made someone feel like that.”
“Then he shouldn’t have done it,” I snapped.
“That’s true and I’m not trying to defend him,” Stan assured me, bringing me the plate of pan-seared fish and salad I didn’t even notice him preparing.
“But didn’t you also tell me that he spent several years in prison and just got out recently?
He may not have had the opportunity to learn proper relationship etiquette.
” He smiled when I moaned after a bite of fish.
“The thing is, it seems to me that what you saw as attempts at cheap payment might have been him trying to take care of you but not being sure how to.”
“Do you think that?” My fish was gone, and I was halfway through my salad already.
“I think the only way to find out is for you to talk to him.”
“Can’t you do it?” Yup, I was whining. “Every time I’m near him I try to jump his bones.”
Stan laughed. “Sorry, kiddo, but this is something you’ll have to do for yourself.”
I groaned and set my empty plate on the coffee table.
“Sorry,” Stan said lightly, taking the plate back to the sink. “So, what do you want to do now?”
Another sigh, this time a deep one. “I think I might as well go home.” I pulled out my phone and tapped on the Uber app.
“Don’t bother ordering a ride,” Stan said. “I’ll clean up the dishes and then run you home.”
“It’s almost an hour away,” I protested.
“It’s also the middle of the night,” Stan pointed out. “Any driver willing to drive to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night to pick you up is probably an ax murderer.”
That made me laugh. “I think that’s probably an exaggeration, but if you’re sure you don’t mind, I appreciate it.”
“No problem at all, Dex. Why don’t you get your stuff together and we’ll be on the road soon?”
~*~
Otto
The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.
Since the mountain road that led up to the vacation rentals curved back and forth to save wear and tear on tourists’ cars, the direct path down the mountain was less than a third of the forty or so miles it took to drive up in the first place.
Burning off my feelings by traveling back to Unity on four paws seemed like a great idea until it didn’t. And I hit that point when I was nearly halfway there and suddenly realized my cell phone was in the pocket of my pants on the cabin porch.
Fuck.
The dead run I started at lasted only a couple miles -the maximum distance a bear of my size could travel at top speed- before I settled into the bear equivalent of a fast jog, slowing more when the human part of my brain pushed forward to consider the cellphone problem.
Stopping next to a trickle of water running down the rock face, I drew in several mouthfuls and turned the problem over in my mind. Returning right then was simply not an option. I could do it physically, of course, but my heart wasn’t up to catching another arrow from Dex’s bow right then.
That left me with the options of writing the phone off completely and buying a new one -no major loss since I rarely used it – or catching a ride back to the cabin at a later date to see if the bundle of clothes was still there.
With my thirst sated, I shrugged the problem off and decided that since I wasn’t going back for it, the problem of the phone could wait until I made it home and had some sleep.
Decision made, I took another drink of the sweet water and turned back to the east, lumbering onward but moving slower than before I stopped.
After all, it wasn’t like there was anyone waiting for me at home.
The sun was barely peeking up over the horizon when I limped into my yard on sore, swollen paws. The pads were scraped and lacerated from the miles traveled over rocky, uneven terrain in the dark.
Dropping to my butt in the cool, dew-damp grass, I gave serious consideration to whether it was really worth the energy to shift and go inside or if I should simply give in to the exhaustion and sleep where I was.
The desire to hole up away from the world won out and I braced my body and leaned into the shift, sighing with relief when the exhausted bear surrendered easily and let our human form push forward.
I pushed the door open, closed it behind me, and then collapsed onto the sofa closest to the door and waited for sleep to overtake me.
Nothing.
Well, not nothing, exactly. Just nothing that was going to help me sleep as Dex’s words swirled around in my mind.
Let’s get this over with.
At least we have better snacks for you to pay me with.
We can flip a coin to see who leaves who.
Pulling a cushion over my head didn’t help. Why would it when the words I wanted to drown out were inside my own fucking head?
If the bone-deep exhaustion wasn’t enough to keep my brain from racing around in circles, I needed something to numb me up enough to fall asleep, giving my body a chance to heal even if my heart would still be torn up in the morning.
Wincing when my sore feet hit the floor, I shuffled down the hallway to my dad’s study.
Crossing my fingers, I pressed the button that released the catch on the hidden door concealing the built-in bar.
Sure enough, when the house had been cleaned of perishables, the discreet door had been missed and the shelves still held the vintage glassware my dad spent years collecting, the dusty bottles filled to varying degrees reflected in the equally dusty mirror behind the display.
Blowing the dust out of a tumbler, I uncapped a bottle at random and dumped half the contents into the glass and drained it in two swallows, shuddering when the fiery liquid burned its way to my gut.
I waited for a minute and when nothing happened, I refilled the glass, emptying the bottle and drained it again.
Still nothing.
Leaving the empty bottle on the small countertop, I grabbed the bottle that sat next to it on the shelf and abandoned the glass next to the empty bottle, returning to the living room to wait for the anesthetic properties to kick in.