Chapter 21 This Changes Everything
Tuesday afternoon practice dragged.
I got home at five, took a quick shower, and sat at my dresser wrapped in a towel, wet hair twisted into a messy knot.
I worked through the usual steps—moisturizer, primer, a light layer of foundation—then moved to my eyes.
Smoky brown shadow, a sharp black wing, mascara, liner.
A touch of blush across the cheekbones. Last came the darkest red lipstick.
I traced the edges carefully, pressed my lips together, and studied myself in the mirror.
I’d spent entirely too long getting ready.
You like him, my cat purred.
I ignored her and got dressed.
I chose a simple black dress, fitted but not tight, leaving my arms bare and my collarbone exposed. Black ankle boots with a low heel I could still run in if I had to. A thin gold chain at my throat.
No holster tonight. The knife went into my bag instead. I pulled my hair down, blow-dried it straight, and brushed it through until it fell where it wanted.
My phone buzzed.
Jackson: Outside.
I grabbed my jacket and headed out.
Jackson was leaning against the hood of the SUV, hands in his pockets. He straightened the moment the door shut behind me and went completely still as I crossed the driveway. His gaze moved over me slowly, dark and intent.
For a long second he didn’t speak. Then he said, low, “You’re really testing me tonight.”
I stopped a couple feet away. “Am I?”
“You have no idea.”
He opened the passenger door for me. I got in. When he slid behind the wheel, he still didn’t start the engine. One hand gripped the steering wheel while he looked at me.
“I’m trying to take this slow,” he said, voice rough. “But every time I see you, it gets harder to remember why.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”
He gave a short, strained exhale. “Because I want you. All the time. And right now you’re making it very difficult to behave.”
My cat preened, satisfied.
He pulled away from the curb and turned left, the opposite direction of every restaurant I knew in town. I tracked the turns for another block before I spoke.
“This isn’t the way to any place in Ridgeview.”
"No."
"Any particular reason."
He glanced over. “I made a reservation at a restaurant in Hawthorne.”
I studied him. Hawthorne was far enough that no one from pack territory would casually see us. Maybe he wanted privacy. Maybe he simply liked the restaurant. Or maybe he didn't want his father hearing about us from someone else.
I looked out the window. "Why Hawthorne?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"I don't want my father hearing about you from someone else."
I kept my face toward the window a moment longer, then turned back to him. He watched the road, jaw tight but calm. No defensiveness. Just stating a fact.
Something twisted in my chest anyway. Stupid. I had two bodies behind me and two names left on my list. The last thing I needed was pack gossip. Being invisible was the job.
So why the hell did it sting.
“Okay,” I said.
He glanced at me again. “It’s not because I’m ashamed of you.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
Silence stretched for a few seconds. He kept his eyes on the road. I studied the tight line of his jaw.
"Does he usually keep tabs on your life?"
A quiet breath left him. "Let's just say he's used to knowing everything."
I filed that away and looked back out the window.
A minute later, he tapped the screen. Low music filled the car, a rough male voice and acoustic guitar, quiet enough to leave room if we wanted it.
The restaurant occupied the ground floor of a brick building off the main street. Inside, the room was quiet, with maybe twenty tables. The hostess smiled the moment she saw Jackson and led us to a booth in the back.
Once we sat, I asked, “How’d you find this place?”
“My mother used to bring me here.”
I looked up. He held my gaze for a beat, then opened his menu like he hadn’t just offered me something private.
I let the silence sit between us.
The waiter arrived a moment later. I ordered the first thing that sounded good; Jackson did the same and asked for sparkling water. When it came, he poured both our glasses without comment.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Always.”
“Why Environmental Science?”
He set the bottle down. “That’s not really the question you want to ask.”
I didn’t deny it. “Why me, then.”
Jackson leaned back slightly, eyes steady on mine. “I’ll answer that when you’re ready to hear it. You’re not there yet.”
“Try me.”
A small, knowing smile. "Not tonight."
I held his gaze another second, then gave up and looked away.
The food came and it was excellent. We ate in comfortable silence for a while. Eventually I circled back. “You said your mother used to bring you here.”
He set his fork down. “Yeah. She loved this place. We came whenever she could get away.” A pause. “She died when I was ten.”
“I’m sorry.”
He gave a small nod. “She almost died having me. The doctors told my father not to risk another pregnancy. He didn’t listen. She went into labor too early. Neither of them made it.”
I stayed very still. Thomas Black wanted something, and people around him paid for it. I’d learned that at thirteen. Jackson had learned it at ten.
“And your father?” I asked.
Jackson looked down at his glass for a moment.
“He was there,” he said finally, “but he wasn’t present.
Not the way she was. After she died, he threw himself into pack business.
I became more of an heir than a son.” He lifted one shoulder.
“I was mostly raised by the staff. There was an older wolf named Agata. She used to help my mother with me when I was little. After everything happened, she stayed on. She’s the one who made sure I ate, did my homework, and didn’t turn out exactly like him. ”
A faint half-smile touched his mouth. “She still lives on the far side of the compound. I see her every week. She asked about you, actually.”
“Great,” I muttered.
“She thinks I’m handling this badly.”
I huffed a small breath. “Are you?”
“Depends who you ask.”
He reached for his water, then met my eyes again. “Your turn.”
I chose my words carefully. Anything I told him could find its way back to Thomas. I had to assume it would. So I gave him the version I'd told people for years.
“My father died when I was eleven. Car accident on a rainy night. He hit a tree two miles from home.”
He listened without interrupting.
“We had a little farm. Vegetables, chickens. My mother kept it running afterward. She was a teacher.” My throat tightened. “My sister was Harmony. Three years older. They both died the same night. House fire.”
I kept my voice even. “After that I went to live with my aunt Janet and her husband Brian.”
Jackson’s gaze stayed steady on me the whole time. When I finished, he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
His mouth softened. He reached across the table slowly, giving me time to pull away. I didn’t. His hand settled over mine, warm and solid, thumb brushing once across my knuckles.
We sat like that for a long moment. No words needed.
When the waiter approached, he slid his hand back. We skipped dessert. He paid before I could reach for my wallet.
Outside, the air had turned colder. Jackson opened the passenger door of the SUV, waited until I was in, then got behind the wheel.
Instead of heading back toward Ridgeview, he turned the opposite way.
The streets of Hawthorne gave way to darker roads, the lights of town fading behind us as we climbed into the hills.
I watched the unfamiliar turns for a minute before I spoke. “This isn’t the way we came.”
He glanced over, one hand loose on the wheel. “I want to show you something.”
I studied him for a second, then settled back into the seat. “Okay.”
The road narrowed, trees pressing close on both sides as we continued upward. After ten minutes he turned onto a gravel track that wound through dense pines before opening onto a wide, flat clearing at the edge of a long cliff. He killed the engine.
The view hit me hard. Hawthorne glittered in the valley below like scattered embers, Ridgeview a faint glow further north. The river caught moonlight in broken silver lines. Stars crowded the clear sky.
The silence was deep.
“I found this spot a few years ago,” he said. “Drove up here one night when I needed to get away from everything. I’ve been coming back ever since.”
“Alone?” I asked.
“Until tonight.”
I didn’t reply. The weight of that sat between us.
He got out, came around, and opened my door. Cold air rushed against my bare arms and legs, but I barely noticed. I walked to the edge of the clearing. He followed, stopping just behind me. Close enough that I could feel the heat of his body without him touching me.
I stood there another few seconds, feeling the night air and the solid presence of him at my back. No pressure. No demand. Just him, waiting. That kind of patience was rare. Dangerous, even. My cat liked it. I did too, more than I wanted to admit.
I turned.
He held his ground. I closed the last of the space myself and set my hand flat against his chest. His heart was already hammering under my palm.
“Harper.” His voice came out low and strained. “I’m trying to be good here.”
I didn’t move my hand.
“I didn’t bring you here for this,” he said, almost like a warning aimed at himself.
I didn’t look away. He was giving me an out. I could take it. Walk back to the truck. Keep everything simple. I already knew I wasn’t going to.
“Don’t be good,” I said instead.
I grabbed the front of his jacket with both fists and pulled him down. The kiss was mine. Hungry. Demanding. For a heartbeat he held still, then his control snapped. One hand fisted in my hair, the other gripped my waist, and he kissed me back like he’d been dying for it.
A low, guttural sound tore from his chest, more wolf than man. My cat answered with a low purr I couldn’t stop.