Chapter Twenty
Sage
When the brothers announce the next day that they're fine with me going back to Cole's, I'm surprised.
I don't push, but suspicion sits heavy in my chest. They agreed too easily, which means they're hiding something, just like I am.
Protecting each other while lying through our teeth—what a perfect little family we make.
Kayden drives me, cracking jokes the whole way, easy as ever. But his hands grip the wheel too tight, his glances too frequent. He masks the reluctance, covering the part of him that wants to turn the car around and drag me back to the house.
When we pull up, he leans over the console, voice low. "Now be good, wifey. I'll come pick you up after your shift. Don't go alluring half the bar into your orbit."
I smirk. "Can't promise anything." Then I slip out before he can say more.
Yeah. Too easy.
Inside, Cole's is buzzing, fuller than I've seen it. Jace is behind the bar in a dress shirt and suspenders, looking like he walked straight out of a New York speakeasy and lost his way. A little out of place, but that's Jace—endearing, in his own overpolished way.
"Jace," I call, tugging on my apron. "Help is here."
"Thank the gods," he mutters. "I sorely need it."
I glance at the packed tables. "Who are all these people?"
"Out-of-towners," he says, flicking his chin toward a table of men in tailored suits. "Some from other counties, some from out of state. Word's gotten around about Darius's big deal. Entrepreneurs sniffing around, seeing if they can latch on, offer add-ons, whatever."
He eyes them with a mix of longing and something heavier.
"And here you are, stuck behind the bar," I guess.
His shoulders slump with a sigh. "That obvious, huh?"
I arch a brow. "You've got ideas, don't you?"
He nods reluctantly. "Quite a few. I looked into green industries back in New York.
Renewable energy, tech, startups… lots of opportunities.
I've got notes, research, outlines even.
But these guys?" He nods toward the suits again.
"They already have their companies. I don't even know the fine print of the Hawthorn deal to make a real pitch.
" He catches himself and adds quickly, "Not that I'd ever work with him. "
I pat his back, grabbing bottles from the shelf. "I wouldn't mind. If the deal's as good as Donna said, maybe there's real potential. If this ends in peace, maybe we all get a piece of what we want."
Jace's eyes narrow, suspicion sparking. "What do you mean?"
"I'll tell you later." I smile thinly, evading. "Where's Winston?" I ask, stacking drinks onto a tray.
"Meeting the pack," Jace says quietly, his expression tight.
There's something under that. I deliver drinks, grab new orders, and when I circle back, I ask, "You don't look too happy about it."
He shrugs, eyes fixed on the bar top. "He's trying to rally support for what we're doing, explaining about Darius, the supernatural undercurrent behind it. If more of our people came to work at Cole's, it would be safer."
"You don't look convinced," I say, reading his expression while I keep my hands busy polishing glasses.
We talk low and careful, pretending this is a normal small-town conversation and not one about satyrs and coyote shifters.
"How much do you know about our pack history?" Jace asks, his voice tight. "Did Asher tell you?"
"He told me coyote packs aren't as tight as wolf packs. That you're more scattered. That's it."
Jace nods, eyes distant.
I make another round of drinks, serving customers, then return to find him looking even heavier.
"You don't have to tell me," I say gently.
"It's all right. You should know. You're one of us now.
" He swallows hard, then goes on, "Yeah, coyote packs aren't as close as werewolves, but ours is worse.
When I was eight, we clashed with another pack.
Misunderstandings turned into a fight, and then into a war.
My parents… they were killed." His voice catches but doesn't break.
"We won, if you can even call it that. The other pack was gone.
But ours tore itself apart afterward—blame games, fighting over who started it, who spilled the first blood.
In the end, there wasn't much of a pack left.
Winston took me in, raised me after the fallout. I haven't spoken to the others since."
I reach across the bar and squeeze his fingers. "I'm sorry, Jace."
He gives me a small, sad smile. "Thanks."
The orders pile in, and the swell of customers pulls us back into the rhythm of work. But his words stick in me. As I move through the crowd, serving, smiling, laughing on cue, one thought sharpens inside me like a blade: I'll protect them. All of them. Whatever it takes.