Chapter 4
ZACK
My legs felt weak, muscles loose and trembling, my breath stuttering out of me in uneven gasps.
Mark was pressed close, heat everywhere, his weight grounding me even as my body kept shivering through the aftershocks.
I tried to move with him when he shifted, tried to keep up, but it only made the sensation crest again.
It was too sensitive, too much. A soft, broken sound slipped out of me before I could stop it.
Mark groaned and then went still, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as he caught his breath. A second later, his body sagged against mine, tension finally giving way.
We stayed like that for a moment, tangled and slick and breathing hard, the room filled with the quiet hum of the heater and the sound of our lungs slowly calming down.
I laughed softly, more breath than sound.
It felt too good. Way too good.
I nudged him, pushing at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back and swung a leg over, straddling him.
He let out a surprised huff, hands coming up automatically to steady my hips.
“Don’t tell me you’re tired already?” I teased, still a little unsteady, warmth buzzing through my veins.
His eyes were dark, mouth curved into something loose and satisfied.
He looked relaxed. Content. Like this wasn’t just sex to him, like he wasn’t already halfway out the door.
That should’ve been my first warning.
I leaned down anyway, pressing a kiss to his mouth, then his jaw, letting my lips trail lower.
His skin was warm beneath my lips, damp with sweat. I traced the line of his collarbone with my tongue, tasting salt, feeling the way his breath hitched under me.
That was when his hand came up.
His palm cupped my cheek, thumb brushing lightly along my jaw, guiding me back up until our faces were level again.
He kissed me softly. More a brush of lips than anything else.
It lingered just a second too long, unhurried, intentional. When he pulled back, it was slow, like he was savoring it.
Something in my chest jolted.
My wolf stirred, suddenly alert, a low, pleased hum rolling through me like a purr.
Recognition. Warmth. The urge to lean in closer instead of away. I froze.
Mark smiled at me then, like this was exactly where he wanted to be.
“Hey,” he murmured. “We can just lie here for a bit, if you want.”
That did it.
Mark shifted onto his side and tugged me down with him, settling behind me, an arm slipping around my waist.
His chest was warm against my back, his breathing steady and deep. My wolf practically melted at the contact, curling inward, wanting to nuzzle closer, wanting—
Stay.
The thought came unbidden, heavy and insistent. I went still.
This wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
This was supposed to be a distraction. A mistake.
Something sharp and reckless to dull the sting of my ex’s name still echoing in my head.
I hadn’t planned on liking him. Hadn’t planned on the way my wolf reacted, or the way my chest felt tight instead of empty.
I told myself it was the alcohol. The heat. The convenience of a warm body and an open bed. It had to be.
Mark’s arm tightened slightly, instinctive, like he could sense the shift in me.
He pressed a slow kiss to the nape of my neck, right where I could feel my pulse quicken.
It was warm and familiar in a way that made no sense at all. My wolf whimpered.
I swallowed hard and reached down, brushing my fingers over his arm where it rested across my waist.
He sighed softly, already half-asleep, trusting enough to let himself relax around me, and that settled like a weight in my chest.
I couldn’t do this. Not now. Not when I didn’t know what it meant, or whether I’d want it in the morning.
Quietly, carefully, I waited until his breathing evened out. Until I was sure he was asleep.
Then I eased his arm away, ignoring the sharp twist of guilt that followed.
I dressed in silence, every movement feeling louder than it should’ve been, my wolf protesting with every step.
Stay, it urged again. I didn’t listen.
I slipped out the door without looking back, telling myself it was better this way.
Present
I brushed my thumb over my lips without realizing I was doing it.
The memory came back sharp and uninvited. The warmth of Mark’s mouth, the way that last kiss had lingered just a second longer than it should’ve.
I dropped my hand quickly, glancing around the shop like someone might’ve noticed.
Two years.
And somehow, impossibly, it was really him. In Pecan Pines.
Walking around like he hadn’t rearranged something fundamental in my life with one night and a smile I still remembered too well.
I exhaled slowly and focused on the guitar I was restringing, fingers moving on autopilot.
I still couldn’t believe I’d agreed to perform with him. The words had come out of my mouth last night before I’d fully thought them through.
I’d considered canceling at least five times since his call.
There was the obvious problem: I’d left him. No note. No explanation.
I’d slipped out of that hotel room like a coward before sunrise.
Was he pissed about that? Was he offering to perform together as a way of getting back at me?
And of course, I’d had to run into him again when I was already off-balance.
Drunk. Frustrated. Missing my band. Missing my dad. Apparently, that was my cue to reopen old wounds.
I forced myself to straighten and roll my shoulders back.
Professional. That was the plan.
This mattered too much to let personal history screw it up.
The Winter Festival wasn’t just another gig. It was the gig. New Year’s Eve. Biggest crowd of the year.
Even without Noah and Ethan, it was still a chance. A real one.
I’d promised my dad I’d make it onto a stage like that someday. I wasn’t backing out now.
“Zack?”
I looked up to see Mr. Crest, the owner of the music store, leaning against the counter, keys in hand.
“Yeah?”
“You still okay with closing up tonight?” he asked. “I’ll be heading out early if you’ve got things handled.”
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “That’s fine. Are you sure it’s okay if I use the studio after?”
He waved a hand. “You’ve got a key. Just lock up when you’re done.”
“I will, thanks,” I said.
Mr. Crest gave me a knowing look, then grabbed his coat and headed out, the bell over the door chiming softly behind him.
The rest of the afternoon felt like a blur. I rang up strings and picks, answered questions about amp settings, and helped a dad choose a beginner keyboard for his kid.
Somewhere in the middle of explaining scale length to a teenager, I caught myself glancing toward the front windows again. And again.
I adjusted a row of straps near the counter, pretending to straighten them while my eyes flicked outside. Nothing yet.
I went back to work, helping a girl choose a guitar strap. She kept going back and forth between a black leather one and something obnoxiously neon.
“Trust me,” I said, holding up the leather strap. “This one won’t clash with everything you own in six months.”
She laughed. “Fair point.”
I rang her up, handed her the receipt, and then looked up. Mark was standing just outside the shop.
My chest tightened before I could stop it.
He hadn’t seen me yet, gaze tilted toward the sign above the door like he was double-checking he was in the right place.
He looked the same, yet different, broader somehow, more settled, but unmistakably him.
I swallowed and forced myself to breathe. I stepped around the counter and held the door open. “Hey. Uh—come in.”
Mark glanced up, a flicker of something crossing his face before he smiled and stepped inside.
“Give me a second,” I said. “I just need to close up.”
“No rush.”
I moved through the motions automatically, flipping the sign to “Closed”, locking the front door, killing the main lights so the shop fell into a softer glow.
I counted the register, slid the drawer back into place, and scribbled a note for Mr. Crest on the pad by the counter.
All the while, I was painfully aware of Mark’s presence.
He drifted toward the wall displays, running his fingers just shy of the instruments like he was afraid to touch them without permission.
He stopped in front of a row of vintage acoustics, head tilted, studying the grain of the wood.
I glanced over. He looked up at the exact same moment.
We both looked away immediately. Heat crept up my neck.
I cleared my throat and finished locking the back cabinet, pretending to be far more invested in a box of spare cables than I actually was.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it felt like we were avoiding something neither of us wanted to say.
“Alright,” I said finally, grabbing my jacket. “This way.”
I led him past the counter and down the narrow hallway toward the back of the shop where the studio was.
I flicked on the lights. The room came alive in a dull yellow glow, revealing mismatched sound panels, an old couch shoved against the wall, and a couple of mic stands that probably should’ve been replaced years ago.
I cranked the heater on, the unit rattling before it kicked into a low, steady hum.
“You can set up over there,” I said, nodding toward the side wall. “Plug in, get comfortable.”
Mark nodded and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair.
He took a seat, resting his guitar on his thigh, and lightly brushed his fingers over the strings, testing them, letting a few quiet chords ring out as he tuned.
I watched him longer than I meant to.
I shook myself and went to grab my own guitar, setting it up across from him. My fingers fumbled a little more than usual as I plugged in.
Before we could start, I cleared my throat.
“Hey. Before we begin.” I hesitated, then forced myself to keep going. “I need to ask you something.”
Mark looked up, brows knitting slightly.
I swallowed. “Why do you really want to do this? Pair up, I mean.”
He blinked, clearly thrown. “You said the rest of your band couldn’t make it.”
“Yeah, but—” I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. “I just wanted to make sure this isn’t… I don’t know. Some way of getting back at me.”