Chapter 8
EIGHT
KAI
Nothing beats a Heat Mountain afternoon in early winter.
The sun hits the peaks just right, casting long shadows across Main Street while the air carries that perfect bite—cold enough to wake you up but not enough to freeze your ass off.
I breathe it in deep, savoring the pine-scented breeze as I stroll toward the general store.
The fresh air and clean breeze are almost enough to take my mind off the email I just got from my financial advisor about how much money I’ve blown this month with nothing to show for it.
Another failed business venture. Another brilliant Kai Trujillo idea that crashed and burned spectacularly. This time it was custom-designed snowboards with built-in Bluetooth speakers. Turns out, not many people want to blast their music while shredding down a mountain. Who knew?
Everyone. Everyone knew except me.
But hey, that’s the beauty of inheritance money—I can fail upward indefinitely.
People might like to tell me I need a “real job” and a “purpose in life,” but I’ve got a better plan: a six-pack of beer and absolutely zero thinking about my future until at least next Tuesday. Maybe Wednesday. Possibly never.
I round the corner onto Main Street, whistling some half-remembered tune, when I spot a familiar figure emerging from Caroline’s shop. The skull-patterned bandana is a dead giveaway—Grayson, looking furtive as hell. Which, to be fair, is typically his default expression.
He moves with a predatory grace that openly dares anyone to fuck with him, eyes scanning the street like he’s expecting an ambush. The bandana covers most of his face and the hood of his jacket casts his expression in shadow, but I can still read the tension in his shoulders.
“Well, well, well,” I call out, unable to resist teasing him. “What were you doing in there? Picking up supplies for Saturday night?”
Grayson’s eyes flick toward me, his expression barely changing, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. He’s annoyed. Perfect.
“Trading change,” he says flatly, gaze dropping to the sidewalk. “Store is running low on quarters.”
I snort. If there’s one thing I know about Grayson Lambe after all these years, it’s when he’s feeding me bullshit. And right now? The bullshit meter is off the charts.
“Why not just go to the bank?” I ask, falling into step beside him, my tone light but pointed.
“Bank’s closed.”
“It’s two in the afternoon on a Thursday.”
“They close early on Thursdays.”
“Since when?”
Grayson gives me a look that would make most people melt into the pavement. I just grin wider.
My attention shifts back down the street as the door to Caro’s shop swings open again. Out steps Dr. Holly Chang, clutching a small shopping bag like it contains state secrets. Her face is a fascinating mix of relief and barely contained panic.
The pieces click together in my brain, and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “Look at you stalking our new doc! Who are you, the neighborhood watch?”
Grayson’s jaw tightens visibly, even beneath the bandana. His eyes narrow to dangerous slits.
“Let’s go,” he mutters, grabbing my arm and steering me toward the general store with more force than necessary. “IPA you ordered is in.”
“Ow! Easy on the merchandise,” I protest, though I let him push me along. “I bruise like a peach.”
As we approach the store, I notice a small crowd of irritated-looking customers waiting outside. A handwritten sign in the window says he’d be back in five minutes, but judging by the collective grumpiness, Grayson has been gone for significantly longer than that.
“It’s been over an hour, Lambe!” calls out Mrs. Henderson, waving her empty canvas bag accusingly. “This is ridiculous. I should have dinner on the table by now.”
Grayson ignores her completely, fishing keys from his pocket and unlocking the door. He flips the sign around without a word.
I offer the waiting customers an apologetic shrug. “The customer service here is terrible. I’ve been saying it for years. You should all write strongly worded letters.”
“Inside,” Grayson growls.
I slip past him with a mock salute, the bell jingling cheerfully above my head.
The contrast between the darkness of dusk outside and the bright interior of the store makes me blink as my eyes adjust. Heat Mountain General Store is a fascinating mix of practical necessities and bizarre oddities—fishing tackle next to handwoven dreamcatchers, canned goods beside artisanal candles that smell like mountain courage—whatever the hell that is.
Grayson moves behind the counter, pointedly ignoring the line of customers now filing in with exaggerated sighs and muttered complaints.
“So,” I say, leaning against the counter and watching him sort through a stack of receipts, “what’s your opinion of our new doctor now that you’ve seen her in person?”
His hands pause for a microsecond before continuing their task. “Don’t have one.”
“Oh, come on. You were clearly following her. What’s the deal? You think she’s suspicious? Dangerous? Secretly plotting to overthrow the mayor and establish a medical dictatorship?”
Grayson shoots me a look that would make a lesser man’s blood run cold. I just wiggle my eyebrows at him.
“Drop it, Kai.”
“I’m just saying, if you’re going to stalk someone, at least be subtle about it. Following her into a heat supply store? Amateur hour, my friend.”
Both Grayson and Noah have shown an unusual interest in our new doctor. Noah has been adamant about keeping his distance from anything resembling attachment since he came back to town. Grayson has always treated social interaction like it’s a communicable disease.
Yet here they both are, circling this newcomer like they just can’t help themselves.
It’s not like Heat Mountain lacks attractive omegas.
We’ve got plenty, and enough are more than happy to engage in casual fun with no strings attached.
The three of us have always had an unspoken agreement to keep things simple—no complications, no weird pack dynamics, no messy emotions.
Just friendship and the occasional shared conquest when the mood strikes.
So what is it about Holly Chang that’s got them both so fixated?
“You know,” I say, lowering my voice as Grayson rings up Mrs. Henderson’s groceries, “Noah has been talking about her a lot, too. Like a little more than makes any actual sense. Seems like she made quite the impression.”
Grayson’s shoulders tense slightly. Interesting.
“Maybe I should introduce myself properly,” I continue, watching his reaction closely. “Get to know the woman who’s got you two all worked up.”
“Not worked up,” Grayson mutters as he hands Mrs. Henderson her change.
“Sure, sure. That’s why you’re following her around town, right? Standard procedure for all out-of-town visitors?”
He ignores me, turning to the next customer with a grunt that passes for a greeting in Grayson-speak.
I wander away from the counter, pretending to browse the shelves while I consider the situation. Something is definitely up.
A plan forms in my mind—ridiculous, over-the-top, and guaranteed to annoy Grayson. Perfect.
I make my way to the back where the bulk grocery items are stocked. Cases of canned corn are stacked in a precarious tower. Waiting until Grayson is looking in my direction, I deliberately knock one of the twelve-can boxes off the shelf, letting it land squarely on my foot.
“AAAAAARGH!” I howl, dropping to the floor and clutching my foot. “MY FOOT! I THINK IT’S brOKEN!”
The customers turn to stare. Grayson’s expression doesn’t change, but I can practically hear him counting to ten in his head.
“GRAYSON!” I wail, writhing dramatically on the floor. “I NEED MEDICAL ATTENTION! YOU HAVE TO TAKE ME TO THE CLINIC!”
“Get up,” he says flatly.
“I CAN’T! THE PAIN! IT’S UNBEARABLE!”
An elderly woman peers down at me with concern. “Should I call an ambulance, dear?”
“No!” Grayson and I say simultaneously, though with very different tones.
“No need to bother the medics,” I explain, giving her my most pathetic look. “This probably just needs an X-ray. Maybe some massage, or whatever you call that, you know, uh…medically.”
Grayson comes around the counter to survey my injury. “Look’s fine.”
“But Graaaaayson,” I whine, “what if it’s broken? What if I never snowboard again? What if gangrene sets in and they have to amputate?”
“I have customers,” he says, unmoved.
I clutch at his pant leg. “Please! I’m in agony here! Look at my foot—it’s already swelling!”
It’s not, of course, but I’ve always been an excellent actor. The high school drama teacher said I had a natural flair for the dramatic right before she kicked me out of the spring showcase for what she called a distracting amount of improvisation.
Grayson stares down at me, his eyes narrowing above the bandana. I can tell he knows exactly what I’m doing, but he’s also weighing the social cost of letting me continue this performance in front of his customers.
Marjorie Whitesong, who’s been quietly observing this whole scene while waiting to pay for her fishing line, nods with a knowing smile. “Go on, I’ll mind things here.”
“You’re an angel, Margie!” I call out, then yelp as Grayson hauls me to my feet with unnecessary force.
“Put weight on it,” he orders.
I do so gingerly, keeping up the charade with a pained wince. “It hurts, but I think I can hobble there if you help me.”
The look he gives me could curdle milk, but he doesn’t call my bluff. Instead, he loops my arm over his shoulders and half-drags me toward the door.
“You’re the best, Grayby,” I say cheerfully as we exit the store. “Always looking out for me.”
“I’m going to kill you,” he replies conversationally.
“Probably. But not before I meet our mysterious Dr. Chang properly.” I don’t drop the act when we reach the street, enjoying making him practically carry me. “Come on, admit it—there’s something about her that’s got you curious. Both of you.”
Grayson says nothing, but his silence speaks volumes.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” I sigh dramatically. “But just so you know, I’m expecting someone to give me a sponge bath while I recover.”
“Could leave you in the road. Truck might come by and finish the job.”
“You won’t, though.” I grin at him, resuming my fake limp as we turn onto Main Street. I love how much more loquacious he gets when annoyed. “You’re too curious about what I’ll do when I meet Dr. Chang.”
He doesn’t deny it, which tells me everything I need to know.