The pack broke rank; the other guys fanned out, casing the room with practiced ease. I followed my nose and found Aspen and Maddie at a high-top in the far corner, half hidden by the edge of the dance floor. Aspen sat hunched over a mostlyempty Cosmo, cheeks wet, hair a little wild. Maddie had her arm around her, giving comfort but also keeping her upright.
When Maddie saw me, she flagged me over with a look that said help, then slid out of the chair and gave me the space. Aspen looked up, blinking slow. Her green eyes were glassy and rimmed with red, the eyeliner smeared to raccoon levels.
“Oh, hey,” she slurred, trying to muster a smile. “It’s Big Papa. What chu doin’ here?”
I put a hand on the table to keep from shaking. “I might ask you the same thing, Sunshine. What areyoudoing here?”
She laughed, weak but real. “I was…having fun. I wanted to try being normal.”
Maddie hovered behind her, eyes wide, but didn’t say a word.
I tried to keep my voice gentle, but it came out as a growl. “You callthisnormal? Getting drunk until you can’t stand, letting some piece of shit put his hands on you?”
Aspen shrank into herself, and the anger in me twisted, quick as a snake, into something else. Guilt, maybe. Fear. Love.
She blinked, and for a second I saw the old Aspen—the one who was free with her sarcasm. “I didn’tlethim butthead,” she whispered. “He just…did it.”
I glanced at Maddie, and she nodded. “She told him to back off. He didn’t listen. I made sure he got the message. Gator took care of the rest.”
I nodded, my chest still tight. “You don’t understand. You could’ve been hurt.”
Aspen shook her head, then stopped, hand to her forehead. “No.Youdon’t understand. I wanted to be brave. I wanted to be like everyone else for once. But I’m not.”
The words hit me sideways, and I realized I’d scared her more than the asshole from Morgantown had. I reached out, my hand shaking, and tucked her hair behind her ear.
“You don’t have to be like anyone else,” I said. “You just have to be you.”
She looked at me, and the mask fell away. All the pain, all the hope, every ounce of pride—gone. Just a girl who’d been hurt too many times, and wanted someone to say she was enough.
“Can you take me home?” she asked, so soft I almost didn’t hear it.
I nodded. “Yeah. I can.”
Maddie helped her up, and Aspen wobbled, then sagged into my side. I wrapped an arm around her, careful but tight enough that she knew she was safe. I looked at Maddie, who smiled—a real smile, relieved.
“Thank you,” I told her. “You did good.”
She shrugged and handed me Aspen’s purse. “That’s what friends are for.”
I led Aspen toward the door. The bar watched us go, silent. Wrecker and Arsenal formed a screen as we passed, and the rest of the pack fell in behind.
At the truck, I unlocked the door and guided her inside, buckling her seatbelt before I got behind the wheel. The guys waited, engines idling, ready to follow if I needed them. But this wasn’t a mission for the pack. This was mine.
The drive to her place was quiet. She leaned her head against the window, watching the streetlights go by. She didn’t speak until we were almost home.
“I made a fool of myself,” she said, not looking at me.
“No, you didn’t,” I told her. “You tried something new. It just didn’t work out. That’s all.”
She turned, face blurry with tears and booze. “I ruined everything. You probably hate me now.”
I pulled the truck over, right there on the shoulder, and turned to face her. “I could never hate you, Aspen. Not in a million years.”
She stared at me, searching for the lie, but there wasn’t one to find.
She nodded, then closed her eyes, and I drove the rest of the way with my hand resting on her knee, her scent filling the cab, my wolf finally at peace.
When we pulled up in front of the bakery, I parked and turned off the engine. Aspen didn’t move. She just sat there, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep.
