8. Callum #2
I watch him drive out onto the main road and disappear round the corner. Then I follow Ash’s scent to the back of the building.
He’s sat on the kerb in front of a padlocked gate, sun shining down on him as he tilts his face up to it, lips slightly parted. They’re full and pink, inviting in a way that makes my cock twitch. I reach down to adjust myself before I realise what I’m doing and stop.
He’s still not seen me and I want to roll my eyes.
I’ve been watching him for a good two minutes and he’s not so much as glanced my way. His instincts could be better.
He sighs and runs a hand through his black hair, pushing it off his face. It looks thick and soft, and for a second, I imagine running my hands through it as he—
Fuck no.
I shake off thoughts of Ash on his knees and stroll over to him.
When he still doesn’t open his eyes, when I know he can hear my footsteps, I realise I’ve misjudged him.
“Thought you were going to stand there watching me all day.”
I laugh. “Thought you hadn’t noticed me.”
He finally looks at me, eyes full of amusement as his gaze trails over me from head to toe, then back again.
I like it.
“You’re pretty hard to miss.” He gets to his feet.
We’re about the same height, similar build.
I like that too.
Out here, his scent is diluted, the gentle wind whisking it away before I can get a good lungful. It’s enough to catch his faint arousal, though, and I can’t help the smug satisfaction that I get from it.
But that’s not why I’m here. “What did Wilson want?”
Ash stiffens, all amusement vanishing from his expression, and I’m instantly alert again.
“He came to check security footage for some shoplifters. Unfortunately, I went into the office to do some training—” He lifts his injured wrist. “—since I can’t do much else.
They were just finishing up, so he decided to linger and talk about my attack. ”
I want to ask more, but Ash is suspicious enough about us. I don’t want to make it worse before Morgan talks to him. After? Well, then I guess we can tell him everything if he still wants to know.
Ash moves into the shade and leans against the wall. “Why are you here?”
I lift the bag I’m still holding. “Shopping.”
“Right.”
The heavy sarcasm isn’t a surprise. He’s about to say something else but his phone rings, distracting him. Standing this close, I can’t help but listen to the conversation.
“Mum? Everything okay?”
There are sniffles on the other end, then, “No baby. It’s . . . You need to come say your goodbyes.”
“Shit.” He rubs a hand over his eyes, bottom lip trembling. “I thought we’d have more time.”
“We all did.”
There’s another sniffle and then a man’s voice takes over. “I’ve already called your brothers, Ash. They’re on their way. Can you get yourself here, or shall I come get you?”
“No.” Ash shakes his head, even though his dad—I presume—can’t see him. “You stay with Mum. I’ll get an Uber.”
“Okay, son. See you soon.”
“Bye.”
Ash tips his head back and lets out a shaky breath, followed by a whispered, “Fuck.” He’s clutching his phone hard and staring at nothing, and I think he’s forgotten I’m even here.
“I’ll take you.”
He startles, proving me right, then shakes his head again. “I’m not getting on the back of your bike.”
“Why not?”
He ignores me in favour of talking to himself. “Shit. I need to tell work.” And then he rushes inside, coming out a couple of minutes later with a rucksack over his shoulder.
I wait patiently as he unlocks his phone and tries to order a ride. Harlington isn’t a small town, but it’s the middle of the day on a Thursday. I’m not surprised when he struggles to get a driver.
“Fuck’s sake.” He starts pacing, injured hand holding his phone as he scowls at it, the other buried in that thick hair. “Why won’t someone take the fucking job?” His scent hangs heavy in the air now the wind’s dropped. He’s a big mess of sadness, frustration, and despair, and I’ve had enough.
I step up to him and pluck his phone out of his hand. “Come on.”
“What? No. I’m not—”
“You’re not getting a ride anytime soon and you need to get to the hospital.”
He’s torn; it’s written all over his face. I might not be his only option but I’m the quickest, and time is the one thing he doesn’t have right now.
His shoulders sag, and he lifts his injured arm. “I can’t ride with this.”
“Sure you can.” My voice is softer than I intended, but he looks so fucking broken. “Hold on tight with your good hand. I’ll keep you safe.”
I’m surprised how much I mean that too.
And not just because he’s Morgan’s friend.
I push that aside for now, though, because he’s still not convinced.
“Come on,” I take a chance and grab his hand.
It’s big and warm and feels far too good wrapped around mine as he lets me lead him across the car park to where I stashed my bike.
I hand him my helmet. It’s the only one I’ve got, and predictably, he shoves it back at me.
“I’m not taking that.”
“You are. I’ll be fine.”
“But—”
I grab his shoulder, shaking him enough to get him to stop and look at me. Big hazel eyes stare back at me, full of worry and fear and a helplessness that tugs at something deep inside me.
Not now.
Not him.
My body has its own agenda and instinct takes over. I slide a hand along his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek, and whisper words I never thought I’d say to a human.
To this human.
“Trust me.”
His eyes widen, but they never leave mine as he takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly as he finally nods. “Okay.”
My heart stutters, my wolf ecstatic at that small concession.
Fuck.
He pulls my helmet on without further argument, and I help him get settled behind me on my bike. There’s a second’s hesitation before he wraps his arms around my waist, his chest pressed snug against my back.
He’s a wall of solid warmth, his scent subtly changing as some of the desperation bleeds out, replaced by a hint of excitement.
I can feel him, smell him, and as much as I try to ignore the feeling of right settling deep in my bones . . . there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to.
I tap his hand, telling him to hold on, biting my lip as he presses closer.
Pretty sure I’ve never ridden as slowly or as carefully as I do all the way to the hospital, but I meant it when I said he was safe with me.
It doesn’t take long for him to relax against me, and I know in that moment he feels it too.
I’m hit with another flare of guilt.
He might feel safe with me now, but will he still feel the same come Saturday?
I really fucking doubt it, and the thought of that hurts way more than it should.