Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Emily
Grady closes the folder with a quiet snap. His plan is laid out with the skill of someone who’s spent years negotiating contracts. “I think that’s all we can do for now.”
Hope and exhaustion war in the set of Leif’s jaw and the droop of his shoulders. The storm outside has softened to steady rain, tapping the windows in a gentle rhythm.
Jared turns to him. “Do you think you’ll be okay?”
“Yeah,” Leif says, but his eyes have gone glassy.
The adrenaline that carried him through his confession has drained away, leaving him pale beneath his bruises. His hand trembles as he reaches for the empty water glass.
“Let me get this,” Jared says, gathering glasses from the table. “Grady, do you want anything?”
“No, I’m good.” Grady tucks the folder back into his messenger bag. “I’ll move my things to the couch in the office for the night.”
That gains Leif’s attention, and he straightens. “Oh, no, I can take the couch. Or…” He swallows hard and casts me a furtive look. “I can go to a different hotel for the night.”
“Nonsense. You’re staying here for the night.” Grady rises and grasps his cane. “And don’t fight me about the couch. You’d never fit.”
“Not sure you’ll fit much better.” Jared comes back from the kitchen and walks with him. “I’ll help with your bag.”
Grady opens his mouth to protest, before he gives a rueful shake of his head. “I appreciate it. The knee likes to quit when I get too tired.”
“No need to risk a tumble,” Jared teases.
Leif attempts to stand, swaying as he braces one hand on the table. The split in his lip has closed, but it’s angry red, the side of his mouth swollen beneath the bruise spreading across his cheekbone toward his eye.
“I’ll help you to the guest room,” I tell him, wanting to wrap my arm around his waist for support but holding myself back.
His personal space has already been violated. I won’t touch him without an invitation.
He blinks at me with uncertainty. “You really don’t have to put me up for the night. I’ve interrupted your Friday evening plans enough already.”
“You’re not driving anywhere tonight.” I move to his side. “Not with a possible concussion.”
Leif doesn’t argue, which tells me more about his physical state than anything else could. He leans into my offered support, his weight settling into my side with care, as if afraid to burden me too much.
I guide Leif down the hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath our feet in the familiar pattern I’ve memorized over years of midnight trips for water or restless pacing.
His breathing is shallow and quick, his muscles stiff.
“Here we are,” I say, pushing open the door.
The cedar dresser I refinished last spring stands against the far wall, its woodsy scent mingling with the lavender sachet I tuck between the sheets after each washing.
Amber lamplight from the bedside table spills across the quilt that I pieced together during last winter’s snowstorm, and the pattern reminds me of ripples in still water.
Leif stops on the threshold, his eyes moving around the room.
“Sit before you fall,” I tell him, guiding him to the bed.
He sinks onto the mattress, lifting a bandaged hand to where the bruise has spread far enough to begin to swell his eye shut.
I realize he’s still clutching the now-warm ice pack in his right hand, forgotten while discussing Grady’s plan. I take it from his unresisting fingers.
“Let me get you a new one.”
I hurry from the room, almost colliding with Jared on the way out. Concern creases his brow as his attention shifts toward the open doorway, but all I can do is give a helpless shrug. We won’t know until later how much this has affected Leif.
In the kitchen, I swap the ice pack for a fresh one, fill a glass with water, and return to the guest room.
When I enter, I find Leif still sitting where I left him.
“Here.” I place it in his slack hand and guide the cloth-wrapped ice back to his cheek. “The cold will keep the swelling down.”
He lets me position the ice over his bruise, watching me in a way that spreads heat up the back of my neck. I adjust the cloth to ensure the cold reaches the worst of the discoloration without pressing too hard on his tender skin.
His scent fills my nostrils, mixed with the metallic tang of dried blood and the faint trace of hotel soap. Beneath it all are his clean linen and sun-warmed cedar pheromones, muted now by pain and exhaustion.
“You should lie down,” I tell him.
“I shouldn’t have come.” His words slur around his swollen lip. “I don’t know why I did. It was…”
“Instinct,” I say. “You knew you’d be safe here.”
“But after the way I broke things off…” He searches my face for anger or resentment for the weeks he stayed away. Finding neither, his shoulders drop a fraction. “It was a huge mistake.”
I step back, giving him space to move as he toes off his shoes and shifts his legs onto the bed with careful movements.
The springs creak as he settles into the pillows, his large frame making the queen-sized bed appear smaller than it is. He winces again as he adjusts the ice pack.
“I should have told you about Carson sooner,” he says as I tug the crocheted blanket up from the foot of the bed. “I thought I was protecting you.”
“We can talk about everything tomorrow.” I straighten. “For now, just rest.”
Leif catches my wrist as I turn to leave. “Thank you, Em. I don’t deserve your kindness.”
A band wraps around my heart and squeezes. “Of course, you deserve kindness.”
“I owe you.”
“No, you don’t.” I gently tug my arm free. “I’m helping you because it’s the right thing to do, not because I expect anything in return.”
Tears threaten, and he uses the cloth around the ice pack to soak them up.
The band around my heart tightens. “Are you sure about going back to the Academy?”
“Walking away again would only give Carson another victory,” he says, pain turning his periwinkle irises hazy. “I’m done running.”
At his words, the tightness in my chest loosens. It took strength for him to come to my door tonight despite his injuries.
“We’ll need to document your injuries before the swelling gets worse,” I say, practical considerations taking precedence. “Jared can take photos once you’ve rested a bit. The timing will show up in the metadata.”
“What will I tell the Wright Pack?” His lower lip trembles, and he turns his head away. “I won’t be able to hide the bruises from Quinn.”
Gingerly, I sit on the edge of the bed. “I can take Quinn to school on Monday. We’ll treat it as a fun surprise. As for the Wright Pack… I’ve known Blake for years. He won’t blame you for Carson’s actions.”
Leif’s eyelids droop, then snap back open, fighting the exhaustion. The ice pack slips from his fingers as his grip loosens, and I catch it before it falls, placing it on the nightstand beside the water glass.
“Try to sleep,” I tell him. “We have time to figure out the rest.”
“Will you stay?” he asks, the question slipping out unguarded. “Just for a minute.”
I fold my hands in my lap. “Of course.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, blinking up at the ceiling. “Not for tonight, but for everything before. The missed dinners. The excuses. The distance.”
“I know.” I don’t offer absolution, but I don’t reject it, either. “We’ll talk about it when your swelling has gone down.”
A ghost of a smile tugs at the uninjured corner of his mouth.
“It wasn’t you,” he says, dropping toward sleep. “I need you to know that. It was never about you.”
“I know that, too.”
His breathing deepens, eyelids growing heavier with each blink, but he fights it, watching me as if afraid I’ll disappear.
“You’re safe here,” I promise. “Get some rest.”
His eyes stay fixed on me as sleep claims him, the tight lines of pain around his mouth softening. The scent of his fear recedes, replaced by the cleaner notes of exhaustion and tentative contentment.
Slowly, I rise from the bed and step back into the hallway, leaving the door cracked in case Leif wakes confused.
I pause, listening to the quiet wheeze of his sleeping, and comfort washes over me at having him under my roof again, within reach if needed.
But not mine.
Steps heavy, I walk out to the living room to find Jared sitting on the couch, waiting for me. The table has been cleared, and the quiet swoosh of the dishwasher drifts from the kitchen.
He rises as I approach. “Everything okay?”
“He’s asleep,” I tell him, crossing to lean into him. “Thank you for stopping me earlier.”
His arms come around me, and a purr rises from his chest. “While you’d be hot in a prison uniform, I’d rather keep that to roleplay night.”
I chuff out a laugh. “Since when do we have roleplay night?”
“I’m keeping it in my back pocket for when I start to bore you.”
I turn my head and nip his neck. “Planning to bore me anytime soon?”
His purr rises in volume. “Nope.”
He draws back, the warmth of his body leaving a ghost in its wake as his hands rise to cup my cheeks with a tenderness that almost undoes me. He anchors me with the heel of his palm beneath my ear, his thumb skating along my cheekbone before settling beside my mouth.
The rest of the world falls away as he tilts my chin, and for the space of a drawn breath, I let myself exist nowhere but here, in the magnetic pull of my bondmate.
Then his mouth covers mine, and the world falls away. Heat radiates outward as our tongues curl together. His pheromones rise, warm salt air surrounding me, along with the faint undertone of the aftershave he used this morning, the combination grounding and dizzying all at once.
He pulls me closer, thumbs tracing the hinge of my jaw, and I melt, my hands curling into the fabric at his waist. His heartbeat thrums beneath my palm, and my breathing slows to match his, letting the rhythm soothe my ragged edges.
Instinctively, my body knows I’m safe with him, and I relax within his arms. Jared has never hurt me, never betrayed me. From the very start, he’s shown me over and over again that I can trust him.
The kiss deepens as he senses me opening to it.
There’s a question in the way he moves. Are you okay? Can I carry some of the weight for you tonight?
I answer every time with my mouth, with the way my arms tighten around him, with the faint, involuntary noise I don’t quite stifle when he nips at my lower lip.
He’s careful not to rush, the way he maps the contours of my face with delicate touches, showing me how no part of me is too much for him, no wound too raw, no edge too sharp.
It’s a kind of safety I never learned to crave until I met him, and the realization brings a sting behind my closed eyelids.
When we separate, he rests his forehead on mine, breath warm on the skin between my eyebrows. In the silence that follows, the only sound is the rain, steady on the roof, and the faintest echo of Leif’s snores from down the hall.
I don’t want to move, don’t want to let the night slide back into the uncertainty waiting outside this fragile, stitched-together moment.
But Jared, ever perceptive, picks up on the tension lingering in my body and the way my pulse beats a little too fast beneath his thumb. “You’re worried.”
“What if something goes wrong?” I ask, both of us turning toward the hallway where Leif sleeps. “What if Carson hurts him again?”
“He miscalculated this time.” Jared’s jaw hardens. “He thought hurting Leif would isolate him further.”
“Instead, it drove him to us.” Resolve settles over me. “And with Grady’s help, we’re going to destroy him.”
Jared’s purr returns. “I like this side of you. Our pack protector.”
Pack. The word settles around us.
Carson wanted Leif alone and afraid.
Instead, he drove him straight into the arms of the people who will fight beside him.