Chapter 12
“You look like someone kicked your puppy.”
Chloe glanced up from the caramel apple she’d been pretending to eat, and found Ginger’s sympathetic green eyes studying her across the festival booth.
“That obvious?”
“Little bit.” Ginger linked her arm through Chloe’s, steering her away from the apple stand toward the town square where jack-o’-lanterns floated in mid-air, courtesy of the local coven. “Let me guess. Tall, blond, extremely repressed doctor?”
Heat crept into her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh.” Ginger’s grin was infectious. “You’ve been scanning the crowd every three minutes for the past hour. And you get this little crease right here—” she tapped between Chloe’s eyebrows, “—every time you don’t find him.”
She sighed, giving up the pretense. The festival was beautiful—twinkling orange lights strung between buildings, the scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke in the crisp autumn air, children in costumes running between booths while their parents laughed and chatted.
Everyone from trolls to orcs to fairies was enjoying themselves.
Everyone except a certain reclusive doctor.
She should be enjoying herself—she wanted to enjoy herself—but Victor’s absence felt like a missing tooth she couldn’t stop probing with her tongue.
“He’s not coming,” she admitted quietly. “I didn’t really think he would, but I guess I hoped…”
“That one kiss would magically fix decades of trauma and self-imposed isolation?” Ginger’s tone was gentle, not mocking. “Trust me, I understand.”
They wove through the crowd towards where Houston stood near the dunking booth, his massive minotaur frame impossible to miss.
He was listening patiently to old Mr. Henderson complain about property lines, his expression calm and attentive despite having heard the same complaint at least monthly for the past year, according to Ginger.
“It’s different with Victor,” she said. “He actually believes—” She broke off, not sure how to explain the depth of his conviction that he posed a threat.
“That loving someone makes him a monster?” Ginger finished softly. “Yeah. I’ve heard some of the stories about his father. About how controlled everything had to be, and how his mother learned to be small and quiet.”
Her chest tightened. “He told you?”
“Not directly. But Houston knows things. And in a small town, people talk.” Ginger squeezed her arm. “The point is, Victor’s terrified. And terrified people don’t show up to crowded festivals where they might lose control in front of everyone they’ve spent years proving themselves to.”
Of course he wouldn’t come. Not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too much. Because his fear of hurting someone—of becoming his father—outweighed everything else. Even her. The thought stung more than it should.
“I’m being stupid,” she muttered. “We’ve kissed twice. That doesn’t exactly give me the right to—”
“To want him here? To hope he’d make the effort?
” Ginger stopped walking, turning to face her fully.
“Chloe, you’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to be disappointed when you don’t get them.
Just because your ex was a complete waste of carbon doesn’t mean you have to lower your standards to nothing. ”
Chloe blinked against the sudden sting in her eyes. “That’s not—I’m not—”
“You moved halfway across the country pregnant and alone. You left everything familiar because that jackass couldn’t be bothered to be a decent human being.
And now you’re interested in a guy who kisses you like you’re his last breath and then pushes you away because he’s terrified of his own feelings.
” Ginger’s voice was firm but kind. “You deserve better than scraps of attention when it’s convenient and safe. ”
Ginger was right. She had accepted Travis’s money and his abandonment because it seemed easier than fighting for someone who didn’t want to fight for her.
She’d packed up her life and started over because being alone seemed preferable to being unwanted.
And now she was doing it again, making excuses for Victor, and accepting his fear as justification for keeping her at arm’s length.
“So what do I do?” The question came out small and uncertain.
Ginger smiled. “You decide what you’re willing to accept, and then you tell him clearly, with no room for misinterpretation.
” She paused, glancing over at Houston, who’d finally extracted himself from Mr. Henderson and was heading their way.
“But maybe give him a little time first. Sometimes the stubborn ones need to come around on their own.”
Houston reached them, and she saw the exact moment he noticed her distress.
“Everything all right?” His deep voice rumbled with genuine concern.
“Boy troubles,” Ginger said lightly. “Nothing that can’t be solved with excessive amounts of festival food and maybe some inappropriate quantities of hot cider.”
Houston’s lips twitched. “Jekyll?”
She sighed. “Does everyone in this town know my business?”
“Perhaps there’s a magical grapevine = or perhaps it’s just typical small town nosiness. Pick your explanation.” Houston’s eyes were kind despite the deadpan delivery.
“Come on.” Ginger tugged her forward. “Let’s go win you an oversized stuffed animal at the ring toss. Nothing says emotional stability like carrying a three-foot plush werewolf through a harvest festival.”
The next hour passed in a blur of games and laughter. Ginger was relentlessly cheerful, and Houston’s dry commentary on the various festival attractions (“The haunted maze is just Gladys’s storage shed with some cobwebs and a smoke machine”) kept her spirits lifted.
But she couldn’t completely shake the awareness of Victor’s absence.
She couldn’t stop scanning the crowd even though she knew he wouldn’t appear.
By the time the festival wound down and the crowd began to thin, exhaustion was setting into her bones.
The baby had been active all evening, pressing against her ribs in a way that made deep breaths difficult.
“I should head home,” she said, suppressing a yawn. “Before I fall asleep standing up.”
“Want company on the drive?” Ginger offered. “We could follow you, make sure you get back safe.”
“I’m fine. It’s not that far.” She hugged her new friend, surprised by how much lighter she felt despite the disappointment still sitting in her chest. “Thank you for tonight, and for listening.”
“Anytime.” Ginger squeezed back. “And Chloe? Don’t give up on him yet. Some people are worth the wait.”
The drive home was quiet, the darkness broken only by her headlights cutting through the October night. She thought about Victor. About the way he’d kissed her—desperate and careful all at once. About the green glow in his eyes and the size of his hands when Hyde pushed close to the surface.
About the journal she’d given him and the secrets it might hold.
Balance is the answer. She’d read enough of Thaddeus Jackson’s entries to understand that his relationship with his Hyde had been fundamentally different from Victor’s.
Where Victor suppressed and controlled, Thaddeus had integrated and accepted.
The question was whether Victor could do the same, or whether his father’s legacy was too powerful to overcome.
Two days later, Chloe sat on the examination table again, trying not to fidget while he measured her blood pressure with professional efficiency. His hands were steady, and his expression neutral.
But she could see the tension in his shoulders. The careful way he avoided direct eye contact.
“Your blood pressure’s good,” he said, making a note on her chart. “Any concerns since your last visit?”
“Just one.”
He looked up, and for a moment their eyes met. His were carefully blank, but she saw the flash of green before he blinked it away.
“What kind of concern?”
“Why weren’t you at the festival?”
The question hung between them. His jaw tightened, and he turned away to set down the blood pressure cuff.
“That’s not a medical concern.”
“No. It’s a personal one.” She kept her voice even, channeling Ginger’s advice. Be clear. No room for misinterpretation. “I heard you asked Flora about me and how I was settling in. But you won’t show up to a public event where you might actually have to talk to me face to face.”
His hands flexed. “Chloe—”
“I’m not angry. I’m just trying to understand.” She took a breath, forcing herself to continue. “You kiss me like I matter, like both sides of you want me, and then you push me away. I need to know if this is going somewhere or if I’m just… convenient when it’s private and safe.”
The words came out more vulnerable than she intended, but she didn’t take them back. He was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “Crowds can be problematic.”
“Problematic how?”
“Too much stimulation. Too many emotions. Too many things that could go wrong.” He turned away, staring out the window at the November sunshine. “My father lost control at a town gathering when I was twelve. Someone bumped into my mother, hard enough that she stumbled. And Hyde—his Hyde—emerged.”
Her breath caught. “What happened?”
“He didn’t hurt anyone. That time.” His shoulders were rigid. “But he could have. Everyone saw what he was. Saw the violence in him. My mother spent the rest of the evening apologizing. Making excuses. And my father…” He stopped, jaw working.
“What did your father do?”
“Locked himself in his study for three days. When he came out, he’d developed the first version of the suppressant.” His reflection in the window looked haunted. “He spent the rest of his life trying to make sure it never happened again. Trying to prove he was safe. In control.”
The picture forming in her mind made her chest ache. A young Victor watching his father struggle. Learning that Hyde was something to be feared and that control was the only thing standing between safety and disaster.
“But he never hurt anyone?”