“What is that?”
Groaning, I drop my head into my hands as Gray touches his hand to my shoulder, his smoky scent wrapping around us. “It’s supposed to be a tree.”
“Huh. I can see it.”
“Liar.” It’s a disaster, the white plaster setting into more of a weird bush than anything resembling the majestic oak tree I had in mind when I started.
Sighing, I lean back against Gray’s warmth. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this anymore, Gray.”
Six years of creating, of using every possible medium – oils, clay, marble, wood – to create art. Awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping art. But the well is dry now. Reaching over to my desk, I pull out a letter and hand it to Gray, watching his electric blue eyes scan the contents before he looks up at me, his brows drawing into a deep frown. “Lo, you’re not a teacher.”
“A lecturer,” I correct him with a hint of embarrassment. When I first received the invite from the college in Navarre to join their Creative department, I nearly threw it away. But that was before I lost sight of everything that inspires me.
Gray moves in front of me, setting his hands on my shoulders as I watch the letter fall lazily to the floor. “You are not dried up, Logan. And that’s not a reason to teach. You should do it because you’re passionate, not because you feel you don’t have another choice. Look at me.”
A low growl vibrates in my chest as he tugs my face to him, my hand pushing him away as I meet his eyes with a hint of challenge. “I’m not some little omega you can manage, Gray.”
And maybe I’ve hit the end of my tether. I’m tired of living a double life – one where Gray and I are just members of the same Pack, considered closer than brothers but not good enough to stand at his side.
Gray’s hand drops as he maintains eye contact. “And I’m not your whipping boy for every time you feel a little lost, Lo.”
His words hit home, the apology in his eyes reaching his mouth a little too late. “Logan, I—”
“Enough.” Cutting him off, I stand and move to the door. My hand lingers on the handle for just a second, enough to see Gray’s reflection in the polished brass as he runs a hand over his face.
“It’s enough, Gray.” My words are quiet, but I know he can hear me. “We need to take a break. I can’t live like this anymore.”
“Logan.”
Shaking my head, I turn to face him. Gray stares back at me, his face pale, his copper hair in tousled disarray.
“Don’t do this,” he says firmly. “Don’t give up on us.”
My laugh is rusty. “There has never been an us, Gray. Not really.”
When the door closes behind me, I take a second. Just one second of giving in to the jagged shard carved into my chest. No footsteps follow me. No voice calling out for me to wait.
Pushing myself back, I walk away from my studio. And I don’t look back.
Entering the kitchen, I nearly turn around when Tristan raises his head and spots me.
“Lo. Have you seen Gray? Jax is on his way home and he wants to talk to us.”
Tristan looks awful. His face is almost gray, his hair all over the place. His eyes flick away from me as he stares down at the table.
“What’s the matter?” I ask him as Jax’s bike revs out in the courtyard, announcing his imminent arrival. Tristan has been the one most excited about the Bonding Trials. But his normally impeccable suit is crumpled, his tie askew as he drinks deeply from a full glass of whiskey.
“Nothing.” His eyes move to the door. “Sit down, Lo. Have a drink.”
Eyeing him as concern fills me, I move to the fridge and grab some beers, setting them out on the table. Gray walks in, his eyes moving straight to me before he breaks contact and takes a seat. Tristan watches us closely, a look on his face that I can’t decipher.
We sit in awkward silence for a few minutes until the door crashes open, Jax throwing himself through it with a wild grin on his face. “Pack, I have news.”
“As do I,” says Tristan tiredly. “Sit down, Jax.”
Jax ignores him, pacing up and down the length of the kitchen.
“I found her,” he announces suddenly, spinning towards us.
