Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jared
The espresso machine hisses behind the counter as I check the time on my cell phone for the third time in five minutes.
Ten past five. I asked Kyle to let me off early today so I could come to this meeting without Emily, but I’d like to meet her at the dock with a coffee when the six o’clock water taxi arrives.
The table I’ve chosen sits in the back corner of Harbor Café, far from the windows and the curious ears of the afternoon crowd.
Two coffees steam in front of me, one black for me, the other with a splash of cream for Leif. My fingers drum against the wooden tabletop, leaving faint moisture marks from the early-December chill still clinging to my skin.
The door chimes announce another customer, and I straighten, but it’s a woman in a red raincoat, not the mauve-haired Omega I’m waiting for.
A twinge of guilt pricks at my conscience.
Emily doesn’t know about this meeting. She trusts Leif, excuses his absences, and waits up for his texts.
But lately, I’ve watched her happiness dim too often when Leif cancels plans at the last minute or when she wakes to find he’s gone before dawn with only a note left on the kitchen counter.
She’s purposefully blinding herself, but I refuse to ignore the pattern and the way it echoes Auren’s manipulation.
Was I wrong to encourage her to open the pack? At the time, I wanted to make her happy, and I thought Leif was a decent guy under his standoffish outer appearance, but maybe I was wrong.
The bell above the door chimes again, and this time Leif steps through, water dripping from his coat onto the worn wooden floor. Dark circles hang beneath his eyes, the periwinkle blue dulled by exhaustion. His shoulders hunch forward, and his movements lack their usual grace as he scans the café.
When he spots me, he weaves between tables, bumping a chair and murmuring an apology to its occupant.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says as he drops into the chair across from me. Water beads on his coat sleeves and drips onto the table. “I had to run back to my hotel for some documents for the—”
“I got you a coffee.” I push the mug toward him, cutting off his stream of excuses. “Splash of cream, no sugar.”
Leif blinks at the interruption, his attention dropping to the coffee. “Oh, thank you.”
He fumbles with his coat buttons, fingers clumsy with cold and fatigue. When he shrugs it off, the sweater beneath hangs loose on his frame. He’s lost more weight.
A pang of concern cuts through my frustration. Whatever’s happening to him isn’t good. But concern for Leif doesn’t outweigh what this is doing to Emily.
“You look like hell,” I say, not softening my assessment.
His hands wrap around the mug, seeking warmth. “It’s been a long week.”
“It’s been a long month,” I correct him. “Maybe longer.”
The steam from his coffee rises between us, carrying the bitter scent of roasted beans. Rain streaks the windows at the front of the café, blurring the outside world into smudges of gray and blue. Inside, the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes create a barrier of white noise.
“Jared, if this is about missing dinner on Wednesday, I already explained to Emily—”
“This isn’t about Wednesday.” I take a sip of my coffee, the bitter liquid burning a path down my throat. “This is about what’s happening to Emily while you figure out whatever the hell you’re figuring out.”
His fingers tighten around his mug. “I don’t understand.”
“Let me tell you about Auren,” I say, setting my mug down with a decisive thunk.
Leif’s posture stiffens with recognition at the name. Good. At least Emily has shared that much with him. Hopefully he remembers Auren’s performance at the market too.
“Emily met him when she was twenty-two. Young, just starting in the world, and eager to start her own pack.” I lean forward, though no one sits close enough to overhear. “Auren presented himself as this delicate, artistic soul who needed protection from a world too harsh for someone so sensitive.”
A barista calls out an order at the counter, the name lost in the ambient noise, while outside, the rain intensifies, drumming against the glass.
“At first, it was small things. Auren would have bad days and needed Emily to drop everything and comfort him. He’d create crises that required her immediate attention. If she ever pushed back, he’d turn cold or start crying. Either way, Emily became responsible for his emotional state.”
Leif hasn’t touched his coffee. His focus remains on the surface of the liquid, faint ripples forming from the tremor in his hands.
“Soon, her whole life revolved around anticipating his needs. She stopped seeing friends because Auren would fall apart if left alone too long. She worked herself to exhaustion providing what he demanded. She poured every ounce of herself into making him feel secure, while he took and took and never gave back.”
Anger burns through me all over again on Emily’s behalf. If I’d been around back then, I never would have let him hurt her like that, and I won’t let Leif hurt her now.
“It was emotional manipulation disguised as vulnerability,” I state, the words falling between us like stones.
“And when you keep disappearing, when you refuse to explain what’s going on, when Emily has to worry and wait and rearrange herself around your absences, you’re putting her right back in the same position. ”
Leif’s breathing changes, becoming shallow and quick, and the blood drains from his face. “I’m not trying to hurt her.”
“I believe you.” And I do. Whatever demons are chasing Leif, he’s not Auren. But it doesn’t change the impact. “But intent doesn’t matter if the effect is the same.”
A group of teenagers erupts in laughter at a table near the window, the sound jarring. Leif flinches at the noise, his shoulders drawing inward.
“Emily hasn’t said anything,” he says, a question hidden in the statement.
“She won’t. That’s the problem.” I take another drink of my coffee to steady myself. “Auren trained her to accept scraps of attention and call it love. He taught her that her job was to wait, to understand, and to make allowances.”
Leif opens his mouth, about to speak, but I’m not finished. The words I’ve been holding back for weeks need release.
“She deserves better than half a relationship with someone who’s only present when it’s convenient.
She deserves better than to wonder if she’s overstepped in some way when you disappear without explanation.
She deserves better than watching you waste away under some pressure that you refuse to share. ”
He slumps further with each sentence, as if my words carry physical weight. I almost stop, almost soften, but I remember Emily after three canceled plans in two weeks, her eyes downcast as she insisted it was fine, she understood.
“The worst part is, she’s falling for you,” I continue, my voice dropping lower. “Really falling, but it’s causing her to backslide. She worked so hard to rebuild her confidence after Auren crushed her, and you’re destroying all her progress.”
Leif’s head snaps up. “I’m not Auren.”
“No,” I agree, studying his haggard face. “But from the outside, Emily is carrying emotional labor she never volunteered for. She’s being asked, again, to wait, to worry, and to be understanding without being told why.”
The door to the café opens again, bringing a gust of cold air that curls around our ankles. Leif shivers, though whether from the temperature or my words, I can’t tell.
“I care about her,” he says, the words rough with emotion.
“I know you do.” And this is the tragedy of it all. “But caring isn’t enough if your actions keep hurting her.”
His eyes drop back to his untouched coffee. “She doesn’t tell you everything.”
“No, she stays quiet when she thinks it will keep the peace, and the only one it hurts is herself,” I say bluntly.
“Which doesn’t stop me from seeing everything.
I was there when Auren tried to drag her back down a few months back.
I watched her rebuild herself piece by piece.
I promised myself I’d never let anyone tear her down again. ”
Leif’s eyes lift to meet mine, filled with understanding. Not anger at my interference, not defensive justification, only quiet resignation, and my stomach sinks in response.
Whatever’s happening to Leif, it’s worse than I thought.
“Talk to us, Leif. We see your phone light up with text messages you ignore when you’re with us.
We see you check the time when you think no one’s looking.
We see you startle every time the door opens, like you’re expecting someone to walk in and catch you.
” I lean back, giving him space as the accusations land.
“And I see Emily pretend everything is okay because she’s so damn happy you’re there at all. ”
Leif’s mouth opens and closes, words failing him as the truth settles between us.
“Look,” I say, softening my tone without backing down. “I know you’re dealing with your own shit. That’s obvious. And maybe it’s big shit, complicated shit, shit you don’t know how to talk about.”
His shoulders hunch, but I press on.
“But when you keep it all locked inside, when you refuse to let us in, all anyone can judge is your behavior. And your behavior reads like you’re using her.
” I spread my hands on the table, palms up.
“Like you’re taking her strength, her stability, her affection, and giving back just enough to keep her invested without risking anything real. ”
A muscle twitches in Leif’s jaw, but he doesn’t deny it. He can’t.
“I know you care about her,” I continue. “I know you’re not Auren. I even believe you’re not trying to hurt her.”
Leif’s breathing changes, becoming shallow and quick. His hands return to his coffee mug, seeking its residual warmth as his fingers tremble.
“But belief doesn’t outweigh pattern, Leif.” The truth of this settles in my bones as I say it. “And the pattern right now is that you take what you need and disappear. You bring your anxiety into Emily’s space without explanation and leave her wondering what she did wrong.”
The ambient noise fades as I focus on Leif. The exhaustion etched into his face speaks of more than sleepless nights. It suggests a bone-deep weariness born of constant vigilance.
“I care about you,” I admit, surprising myself with the truth of it. “I think you’re good for Emily when you’re actually present. I think you belong in our pack, and I think your connection to Emily is the same as mine.”
His eyes widen at the acknowledgment of what’s been building between the three of us. The potential pack bond that strengthens each time he stays the night, each time he shares a meal at our table, each time Mixie chooses his lap over mine.
“But if you keep disappearing, keep carrying anxiety back into Emily’s space without explanation, keep letting her fill in the blanks alone, I will step in and shut it down.
” The statement comes out lower, not in threat but with certainty.
“I won’t watch her rebuild herself around someone who isn’t all the way in.
She isn’t just my packmate, she’s my bondmate, and I will not sacrifice her for you. ”
The boundary settles between us, clear and unmovable, and Leif stills, as if this is the first time he’s fully understood how deep my connection with Emily runs.
The silence stretches between us, filled with the clink of cups on saucers and the scrape of chairs on the wooden floor. The murmur of conversations rises and falls around us like waves.
I study Leif across the table, seeing the constant tension in his body. “You stepped up to help me in the past. Let us do the same for you. Whatever’s happening, you don’t have to handle it alone.”
Surprise flashes before being replaced by sad resignation. “Some battles can’t be shared.”
“That’s bullshit,” I snap. “Pack means we share burdens. It means no one fights alone.”
A flash of naked longing crosses Leif’s face before he schools his expression, but I’ve seen now the depth of his desire for what Emily and I offer, and his conviction he can’t have it.
“You think you’re protecting Emily by keeping her in the dark,” I say, the realization dawning as I speak it. “You think whatever you’re dealing with would hurt her more if she knew.”
Leif’s silence confirms my guess. His finger traces the rim of his cold coffee, round and round in a nervous circuit.
“Have you considered how not knowing is its own kind of pain?” I ask. “How imagination fills in blanks with worst-case scenarios?”
A customer drops a mug near the counter, the crack of breaking ceramic triggering a flinch as Leif’s whole body tenses for attack.
“It’s Carson, isn’t it?” I ask, watching for his reaction. “He’s the reason you’ve been disappearing more and more often.”
Leif’s face drains of color, confirming my suspicions without words.
“Don’t,” he whispers. “Please.”
The plea carries weight beyond its simplicity. Don’t ask. Don’t pursue this. Don’t make me choose.
“You have people who care about you,” I say, reaching across the table. “People who will stand with you. Whatever this is.”
Leif pulls his hands back, rejecting my offer. “It’s not what you think.”
His fingers curl inward, nails digging into his palms. The hollow of his throat works as he swallows. I wait, hoping he’ll finally open up and explain so we can help him.
Instead, he pushes his untouched coffee away and stands, coat clutched in his hands.
“I need to go,” he says with a defeat that wasn’t there when he arrived. “I have a meeting soon.”
As he turns to leave, I reach out and catch his wrist. His pulse leaps beneath my fingers, a frightened bird trying to escape.
Immediately, I release him, holding his eyes instead. “Whatever this is, it’s not worth destroying what you and Emily are building. It’s not worth destroying you.”
For a moment, I think he might sit back down. But then he shakes his head with gentle firmness.
He slips his arms into his coat. “I’ll talk to Emily tonight.”
A moment later, he’s gone, the bell above the door marking his exit into the December rain, leaving me with two cooling coffees and the cold certainty that Leif is drowning and unable to grasp the lifeline I offered.