Chapter 14 - Skylar
I’ve replayed my conversation with Bryan on the porch a hundred times over the last two days, turning each confession over in my mind like a stone I can’t stop examining.
The guilt he’s carried for a decade. The missions that turned him into someone he barely recognizes.
The twisted logic that made him believe walking away was the only way to keep me safe.
I understand now. I do. But understanding doesn’t erase the years of wondering what I did wrong, and it doesn’t magically rebuild the trust he shattered when he left me standing alone under that oak tree.
Still, something between us has changed.
The silence in the cabin feels different now.
It’s less hostile, more cautious. Like we’re both testing the ground beneath our feet, trying to figure out if it will hold our weight.
He still sleeps on the couch, and I still retreat to the bedroom each night, but the door doesn’t feel quite so much like a barricade anymore.
I’m finishing up the last of my patient notes at the medical center when Bryan appears in the doorway of my office.
He’s dressed for patrol in dark jeans and a fitted Henley, and his black hair is still damp from a recent shower.
The sight of him makes my stomach somersault, no matter how stupid my brain thinks that reaction is.
“Hey,” he greets me.
“Hey.”
He leans against the doorframe, watching me. “I’m heading out to check the eastern perimeter. James wants extra coverage after what happened to Landon last week.”
“Makes sense.”
A pause. Then, almost hesitantly, he adds, “You could come with me. If you want.”
I set down my pen and look at him, cocking my head to the side. “You want me to join you on patrol?”
“The medical center is closing soon anyway. And you’ve been cooped up inside for days.” He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Might be nice to stretch your legs. Get some fresh air. Your wolf probably needs a good run.”
He’s not wrong about that. I’ve been so focused on work and on avoiding the complicated feelings that surface whenever Bryan is near that I’ve neglected the part of me that craves open sky and soft earth beneath my paws.
Part of me thinks spending more time with Bryan is a terrible idea, that every moment in his presence chips away at the walls I’ve spent a decade building.
But another part of me is tired of being angry. Tired of fighting. Tired of pretending I don’t feel the pull between us every time he walks into a room.
“Fine,” I hear myself say. “Let me grab my jacket.”
The forest is beautiful this time of evening.
Golden light filters through the canopy, sending dapples of light along the trail as we walk.
The scent of pine and damp earth fills my lungs, mingled with the faint sweetness of wildflowers blooming somewhere nearby.
A woodpecker drums against a distant tree, and somewhere to our left, a stream babbles over rocks.
Bryan sets an easy pace, shortening his long stride to match mine.
We don’t talk at first, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable.
It’s almost peaceful, actually. Two wolves moving through their territory, alert but not anxious.
Our footsteps fall into an easy rhythm, crunching against the carpet of fallen leaves and pine needles.
I steal glances at him when I think he isn’t looking.
The way he eyes the tree line, taking stock of every sound and movement.
The new scars I’ve noticed on his forearms, pale lines against tanned skin that speak to years of violence I can barely imagine.
The set of his shoulders, still vigilant even in this quiet moment.
He’s different from the boy I fell in love with; there’s no denying that, but every now and then, I catch glimpses of the person he used to be.
The way his mouth quirks when something amuses him.
The gentleness in his voice when he asks how my day was.
The careful way he moves around the cabin, always giving me space, never pushing for more than I’m ready to give.
“Anything suspicious?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“Not so far. The patrols have been quiet since the last attack.” He steps over a fallen log and offers me his hand without thinking.
I take it, also without thinking, and the feel of his palm against mine sends a jolt through my entire body.
We both let go quickly once I’m over the obstacle, neither of us acknowledging the moment.
“James thinks Rafe is regrouping. Planning something bigger.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I didn’t say it to scare you.”
“I know.” I duck under a low-hanging branch, and its leaves brush against my hair. “I just hate waiting. Not knowing when or where they’ll strike next.”
“That’s the hardest part. The anticipation. You learn to live with it eventually. The constant vigilance becomes background noise. You stop jumping at every shadow and start trusting your instincts to alert you when something’s actually wrong.”
“Is that what it was like? In the agency?”
He’s quiet for a moment, considering the question. “Sometimes. Other times, it was just action. Move, fight, survive. Repeat. There wasn’t much room for anything else. You couldn’t afford to think too hard about what you were doing or why. You just did it and dealt with the aftermath later.”
I want to ask more, but something in his face tells me he’s reached his limit for today. So I let it go, and we continue walking in silence.
We’ve covered maybe a mile when Bryan suddenly stops. His entire body goes still, and for a heart-stopping second, I think he’s spotted a threat. My wolf rushes forward, ready to fight or flee.
Then I follow his gaze and see the rabbit.
It’s sitting in a patch of clover about twenty feet away with its nose twitching as it nibbles on something green, completely oblivious to the two predators standing nearby. Its brown fur blends almost perfectly with the undergrowth, and its ears swivel lazily, unconcerned.
Bryan drops into a crouch so exaggerated it’s almost comical. He creeps forward one slow step at a time, making his movements theatrical and intentionally clumsy. His knees stick out at odd angles, and he places each foot with cartoonish care. The rabbit’s ears perk up, but it doesn’t run.
I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.
He glances back at me with one eyebrow raised in mock offense. “Something funny?”
“Your form is terrible.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’d never catch anything stalking like that. You look like a drunk bear trying to sneak up on a picnic basket.”
The rabbit finally bolts and disappears into the underbrush with a flash of white tail. Bryan straightens and turns to face me with his lips twitching with suppressed amusement.
“A drunk bear?”
“Maybe a very uncoordinated mountain lion. With a limp.”
“I’ll have you know I was an excellent hunter in my youth.”
“Sure you were.”
He takes a step toward me, and something in his eyes makes my pulse quicken. Not fear. Something else. Something that makes my skin prickle with awareness. “Think you could do better?”
“I know I could.”
“Prove it.” He gestures at the forest around us as his grin widens. “Catch me.”
Before I can respond, he pulls his shirt over his head and calls on his wolf.
The transformation is fast, almost instantaneous, and then a massive black wolf stands where Bryan was a moment ago.
His fur is thick and dark as midnight, his eyes are the same striking gray they are in human form.
He shakes out his coat, gives me a look that can only be described as smug, and bolts into the trees.
I stare after him for exactly two seconds.
Then I’m stripping off my own clothes and calling on my wolf. The change ripples through me in a rush of sensation. My paws hit the ground, and I’m running, chasing his scent through the undergrowth with my tongue lolling and my heart pounding with something that feels dangerously close to joy.
He’s fast. Faster than I remember, probably from years of hunting things far more dangerous than rabbits.
His black form weaves through the trees ahead of me, always just out of reach.
But I know this forest better than he does now.
I’ve spent a decade learning every game trail, every shortcut, and every hidden path that cuts through the dense undergrowth.
I veer left and cut through a thicket he has to go around, gaining precious seconds. His scent grows stronger as I close the distance, musk and pine. I can hear him now, crashing through ferns up ahead, not even trying to be quiet.
He wants me to catch him.
The realization makes something warm bloom in my chest, and I push harder, my muscles burning with the effort. Branches whip past my face, and leaves scatter beneath my paws.
I catch him in a small clearing and launch myself at his hindquarters, sending us both tumbling across the grass.
We roll in a tangle of fur and limbs, nipping and dodging like pups playing in the den.
He pins me for a moment, and his teeth graze my ear in a gentle warning.
I twist free and dart away before he can claim victory.
We chase each other through the trees until my lungs burn and my legs shake.
He feints left and goes right, and I fall for it, overshooting and having to scramble back through a patch of ferns.
I fake a stumble and catch him off guard when he slows to check on me, bowling him over with a triumphant yip that echoes through the forest.
By the time we finally collapse in a meadow, both panting and exhausted, the sun has dipped below the tree line. I lie on my side in the soft grass in my wolf form, sprawled without dignity, and let the evening breeze cool my overheated body. Every muscle aches in the best possible way.
Bryan is a few feet away, equally wrecked. His tongue flops out of his mouth, and his sides heave with each breath. He looks ridiculous. He looks happy. I can’t remember the last time I saw him look this unburdened.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this light.
Eventually, we both call for the change.
I turn my back while he dresses, then do the same while he returns the courtesy.
When we’re both human again, we settle back into the grass, lying side by side and staring up at the darkening sky.
The first stars are beginning to appear, faint pinpricks of light against the deepening blue.
“I won,” I announce.
“You cheated.”
“I used superior tactics.” I meet his gaze, and he’s already looking at me with something soft in those gray eyes. Something flutters low in my stomach. “Admit it. I’m a better hunter than you.”
“Never.”
We lie there in comfortable silence, watching the stars multiply overhead. The grass is cool beneath my back, and the sounds of the forest settling into the night surround us like a blanket. Somewhere nearby, a cricket starts to sing, soon joined by others until the meadow hums with their chorus.
“Can I ask you something?” Bryan asks, quiet and careful.
“Depends on what it is.”
“What happened while I was gone? With you, I mean. I know about your work at the medical center, but...” He trails off, leaving the question open.
I stare at the sky, considering how much to share. This is the part I’ve kept locked away, the grief I’ve never fully processed because processing it would mean accepting that I’m truly alone in a way I never expected to be.
“My parents died,” I tell him. “Two years after you left. They had a car accident on the highway outside of town. A truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and crossed the median. They never even saw him coming.”
Bryan goes very still beside me. “Skylar, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How could you? You were gone. It was fast, at least. They didn’t suffer. One minute they were driving home from visiting my aunt, and the next...” I swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat. “The next, they were just gone.”
“Is that when you threw yourself into healing?”
“I was already training, but yes. After they died, I committed to it completely. It was the only thing that made sense.” I pick at a blade of grass, twisting it between my fingers until it shreds.
“Grief has a way of swallowing you whole if you let it. I needed something to hold onto, some reason to get out of bed every morning. Healing gave me that. It gave me purpose when everything else felt meaningless.”
“You built something incredible,” Bryan muses. “The way people talk about you at the medical center, the respect you’ve earned... Your parents would be proud.”
My throat goes tight, and I have to blink rapidly to keep the moisture at bay. “I hope so. I like to think they’re watching somehow. That they can see I turned out okay despite everything that happened.”
The cricket chorus swells around us, filling the silence with sound.
“I haven’t let anyone get close since they died,” I admit, and the words surprise me even as they leave my mouth.
“Ruby and Luna, sure. But really close? The kind of close where someone could hurt me again?” I shake my head.
“I couldn’t risk it. Losing them nearly destroyed me.
Losing you had already broken something inside me that I didn’t know how to fix.
I couldn’t survive another loss like that. ”
Bryan rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me. His face is half in shadow, half illuminated by the emerging starlight. “And now?”
“Now I don’t know.” I meet his eyes, letting him see the confusion and fear and fragile hope that I’ve been trying so hard to hide. “Part of me wants to keep you at arm’s length forever. It’s safer that way. Easier. But another part of me...”
I trail off, not sure how to finish.
“Another part of you what?”
“Another part of me is tired of being safe.”
The admission floats into the evening air, more honest than anything I’ve said in years.
I don’t know what it means or where we go from here.
I only know that lying in this meadow with Bryan beside me, the stars scattered overhead, and the forest breathing around us, I feel something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
I feel like maybe I don’t have to carry everything alone.