Chapter 10 – Billy
BILLY
The apartment above Taaffe’s is smaller than my room in Black River, but it’s mine. Or will be, once I sign the paperwork which Sean’s sliding across the bar.
“Rent’s included with the job,” he says, eyeing me with the careful assessment of someone who knows exactly who my father is. “Ethan vouched for you, but I need to know… is this going to bring trouble to my door?”
“No, sir.” I meet his gaze steadily. “My trouble’s in Black River. I plan to keep it there.”
He studies me a moment longer, tapping the pen against the bar. The afternoon light catches the scars on his knuckles… old fights, old stories.
“Bar opens at eleven, closes at two. You’ll work five nights a week, help with inventory, handle the rougher customers when needed.” He leans back, arms crossed. “Questions?”
“When do I start?”
“Tomorrow night work?”
“Yes, sir.”
He slides a key across the bar with deliberate slowness. “Apartment’s yours then. Welcome to Grey Ridge.”
I pocket the key and head for the narrow stairs. Each step creaks under my weight, the sound echoing in the empty stairwell. The apartment is sparse. There’s a bed, a small table, a tiny kitchen. But there’s a window overlooking Main Street, and it doesn’t smell like fear and violence.
But it doesn’t smell like home, either. Not now.
I drop my bag on the bed and try not to think about how Carla is doing less than two miles away. Try not to remember how she couldn’t meet my eyes when we said goodbye. How she walked into that packhouse without looking back.
It’s been a week. Seven days since I left her at the packhouse. Seven nights of restless sleep, my bear pacing constantly, wanting to check on our mate.
The physical effects aren’t as bad as I expected. I can eat, sleep, and function. But the need to protect her, to be near her, is a constant ache in my chest. Like someone carved out a piece of me and left it with her.
My phone rings as I’m unpacking. Marcus.
“You settled in?”
“Just got here.” I move to the window, watching wolves pass on the street below. “How are things in Black River?”
Marcus is one of the oldest. Along with Mitch, he’ll have the best chance of keeping our clan calm and orderly while they figure out what to do.
There’s a heavy pause. Static crackles on the line before he speaks.
“Mitch is handling it. But Billy... it’s not good. Craig and his crew are calling for your head. Say you dishonored the clan, betrayed your blood.”
My bear growls at the mention of Craig. I grip the windowsill hard enough to leave marks.
“Let them talk.”
“It’s more than talk. Mitch had to break up two fights already. Some of the younger bears think supporting you means we’re traitors.”
I can hear the exhaustion in his voice, the weight of watching our clan fracture.
“He’s holding it together, but barely. Half the clan wants revenge for what happened to Dad.”
“And the other half?”
“Keeping their heads down, waiting to see which way the wind blows. You know how it is.”
I do. The Lennox clan has always been held together by fear and force. Without Leon’s iron fist, they’re fracturing. Breaking apart like ice in spring.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and meaning it. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for Mitch.”
“You saved an innocent woman’s life. Don’t apologize for that.” Marcus’s voice softens. “How is she?”
My chest tightens. I turn away from the window.
“I don’t know. She made it clear she needs space.”
“Billy…” Marcus is mated, but it wasn’t easy. They were apart for a long time. I can hear the sympathy in his voice.
“It’s fine.” The lie tastes bitter. “She’s been through hell. She needs time to heal.”
“And you? What do you need?”
To see her. Make sure she’s safe. Hold her until the nightmares stop. Feel her breathing against my chest. Taste her mouth again.
But I can’t tell Marcus that. Can’t admit that leaving her feels like dying slowly.
“I need to work,” I say instead. “Keep busy. Let things settle.”
The next evening, my first shift at Taaffe’s is an education in small-town dynamics. The bar is warm, all dark wood and amber light, but the wolves eye me with varying degrees of suspicion and curiosity.
I wipe down glasses, feeling their stares like physical weight.
Unlike Marcus, who left Black River years ago to become a sheriff, I’m fresh from Leon’s compound. Fresh from betraying my clan.
“You’re the Lennox who helped Carla,” a grizzled wolf says from his corner stool. Not quite making it a question.
“That’s right.”
He studies me over his beer, weathered face giving nothing away. Then he grunts, neither approval nor condemnation, and returns to his drink.
Sean watches from the end of the bar, polishing a glass that’s already clean.
“Thought I was hiring someone who’d make my life easier,” he mutters after the third awkward interaction. A younger wolf had stared at me for five solid minutes before ordering. “Didn’t know you’d be as surly as your brother.”
“Sorry.” I force my expression to smooth out. “Just adjusting.”
“Adjust faster. Shitty attitudes are bad for business.”
I nod and focus on the work. Pour drinks.
Wipe tables. Ignore the whispers that stop when I pass.
But every wolf that walks in carries trace scents of the pack, and sometimes, faintly, I catch hints of her.
Pine and vanilla, and that unique sweetness that made our two nights in the motel so intense.
Those two nights. My bear remembers every second. He remembers exactly how she felt beneath me, around me, her nails raking down my back. How she tasted when I put my mouth on her. How perfectly we fit together.
The heat had made everything more intense, more primal. No wonder the separation feels like missing a limb.
“Billy Lennox?”
I turn to find a young wolf, barely out of his teens, jaw set with determination.
“That’s me.”
“You worked for Leon. Helped him do terrible things.”
The bar goes quiet. Conversations stop mid-sentence. I set down the glass I was drying, careful to keep my movements slow and unthreatening.
“I worked for my father, yes. Until I couldn’t anymore.”
“How do we know you’re not here to cause trouble? To spy for your clan?”
His friends shift nervously behind him, but he stands his ground. Brave kid.
“Because I betrayed them to save one of yours,” I say evenly. “That should tell you where my loyalties lie.”
The kid doesn’t look convinced. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.
“Leave it, Tom.” An older wolf places a hand on his shoulder. “Cooper vouched for him. That’s enough.”
They move away, but I feel the weight of their distrust settling on my shoulders. This is my life now. Caught between two worlds and fully trusted by neither.
The week drags on. Each shift blends into the next. I work, I sleep, I try not to think about Carla. But she’s everywhere. I pick up a faint hint of her in the scent trails around town, in the casual mentions by customers, in the empty ache where our bond should hum with her presence.
“Heard the Campbell girl is doing better,” someone says on my third night. “Maya’s been checking on her.”
I keep my face neutral as I pour their drink, but my bear perks up, desperate for any scrap of information.
“That’s good,” I manage.
“Shame what happened to her. Three weeks in that basement.” The wolf shakes his head. “Your father was a real piece of work.”
My hands tighten on the bottle. “Yes. He was.”
By day seven, I’m exhausted from fighting my instincts. My bear wants to patrol her territory, to ensure she’s safe. The protective drive is worse than any physical discomfort. It’s a constant need to watch over her, especially after what she’s been through.
I’m wiping down tables after closing when my phone rings. Unknown number.
My bear goes instantly alert.
“Billy? This is Maya. I’m with Carla.”
Everything in me goes still. “Is she hurt?”
“Not hurt. She had a panic attack in town. Pretty bad one. I’ve got her back at her cabin, but...”
A pause. I can hear muffled voices in the background.
“She needs you.”
I’m already grabbing my keys. “I’m on my way.”
The drive feels endless, though it’s only minutes. My hands grip the steering wheel hard enough to creak. What if she’s worse than Maya said? What if the panic attack triggered something deeper? Or what if she’s…
No. I force the thoughts away. She needs me to be calm. Steady.
When I pull up to her cabin, Maya meets me at the door. Her face is tight with worry.
“She’s on the couch,” she says quietly. “Been asking for you.”
I push past her, following Carla’s scent, that’s mixed with the sharp tang of panic and distress. The living room is dim, just one lamp casting shadows on the walls.
I find her curled on the couch, knees to her chest, and trembling. She looks smaller than I remember. Fragile.
“Hey,” I say softly, dropping to my knees beside her. “I’m here.”
Her eyes snap open, revealing those beautiful green eyes that haunted my dreams all week. They’re wide with leftover fear, pupils dilated.
“Billy?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m here.”
She reaches for me, and I gather her against my chest without hesitation. The moment we touch, my bear settles for the first time in seven days. This. This is what we needed. Our mate, safe in our arms.
She burrows into me, fisting her hands in my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against my chest. “I thought I could do this. Thought I was strong enough.”
“You are strong. The strongest person I know.”
I stroke her hair, marveling at how right this feels. How perfectly she fits against me.
“But we’re not meant to do this alone.”
Maya clears her throat from the doorway. “I’m going to go. But Carla? Next time, just call him instead of trying to prove something to yourself.”
After she leaves, I help Carla sit up, keeping one arm around her. She won’t meet my eyes, fingers still twisted in my shirt.
“Want to tell me what happened?”
She’s quiet for a moment, organizing her thoughts. When she speaks, her voice is small.
“I was going stir-crazy in the cabin. Maya’s been bringing groceries, checking on me every day, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to feel normal.”
Her voice drops to almost a whisper.
“I made it two blocks before the panic hit. Couldn’t breathe. Kept seeing Leon everywhere.”
My bear growls at his name, but I keep my voice gentle. “PTSD. It’s normal after what you went through.”
“I hate feeling weak.”
“You’re not weak, you’re healing. There’s a difference.”
She looks up at me then, and the vulnerability in her eyes breaks my heart. “I missed you. The nightmares are worse when you’re not here.”
“I missed you, too.” The admission comes out rougher than intended. “My bear’s been going crazy. Not being able to check on you, to protect you... it’s been hell.”
“I’m sorry I sent you away.”
“Don’t apologize. You needed space. I understand.”
“I thought I did.” She shifts closer, and I try not to notice how perfectly she fits against my side. “But I think what I really need is...”
“What?”
“Stay tonight?” The question is barely a whisper. “Just to sleep. I just... I sleep better when you’re close.”
My bear rumbles approval, but I force myself to think clearly. “Are you sure?”
“Please.”
“Okay. But we should talk about boundaries. I don’t want to take advantage.”
She silences me with a soft kiss. It’s meant to be quick and reassuring, but the moment our lips meet, seven days of separation explodes between us. She makes a small sound of need, her hands fisting in my shirt, and I’m lost.
I crush her against me, devouring her mouth like a starving man. She tastes like home, like safety, like everything I’ve been missing. My bear roars with satisfaction as she climbs into my lap, her body fitting against mine like she was made for me.
“Billy,” she gasps when we break for air.
Reality crashes back. She’s vulnerable. Traumatized. I can’t do this.
“We should stop,” I manage, though every cell in my body protests.
She nods, breathing hard. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I just…”
“Don’t apologize.” I rest my forehead against hers. “I want you so much, I can barely think straight. But not like this. Not when you’re dealing with so much.”
She slides off my lap, and we sit there, catching our breath.
“Still want me to stay?” I ask.
“More than ever,” she admits. “But maybe we should establish some boundaries.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re in her bed with a careful line of pillows dividing the mattress. It’s ridiculous. We both know it, but it’s necessary.
“This is very mature of us,” Carla says, her voice muffled by her pillow.
“Very,” I agree, trying not to think about how easy it would be to sweep the barriers aside.
“Goodnight, Billy.”
“Goodnight, Carla.”
I lie awake listening to her breathing even out, finally peaceful. My bear settles, content to have our mate close, even with pillows between us. This isn’t everything we want, but it’s enough for now.
Tomorrow, we’ll figure out more. Tonight, she’s safe, and I’m here to guard her sleep.
It’s enough.