“Sunshine, I wanted to talk to you about some things,” I said. The words barely landed before Aspen’s eyes sharpened, as if she was bracing for a gentle let-down. I felt the small tremor in her as she slowly sat, boots barely touching the floor, hands folded in her lap like she didn’t want to leave crumbs on my upholstery.
My house was the polar opposite of the Iron Valor clubhouse—no animal heads, no neon beer signs, just navy walls, wooden shelves lined with books, and a brick fireplace I’d built with my own hands two summers ago. The couch was big, brown, and overstuffed; it’d held me through every heartbreak, injury, and playoff disaster since I’d retired from the service. This was my bunker, and tonight she was the only person on earth who could breach it.
“Bathroom’s the first door on your right,” I told her, voice low. “I left something in there for you to change into. If you want. You’re welcome to stay in that if you’re more comfortable, but you might want out of those boots.”
She looked up, relief already winning out over nerves. “Thank you,” she said, and the words came out soft, round, just like her. She shuffled off, boots thumping on the floor, and I let myself have a few seconds to catch my breath.
I’d made up my mind before we left Wrecker’s house. There were lines I wouldn’t cross, not until I knew exactly whereAspen’s lines were. I’d seen too many men mistake softness for an invitation, and I swore to myself I’d never be that kind of fool.
Still, when I heard the bathroom door open, my heart did a little double-time.
She came out wearing the pink plaid flannel pants I’d set aside, rolled twice at the waist and twice again at the ankle. The t-shirt swallowed her whole, the sleeves grazing her wrists. Her hair was down, a little damp from the sink, and she looked so goddamn wholesome I wanted to drop to my knees and thank the Great Creator for her.
She hesitated in the doorway, one hand gripping her elbow. “I love these. They’re so soft. And the shirt smells like you.” She quickly added, “I like your house,” she said, turning her head to look at me instead of the floor. “It feels like it’s got a story.”
I’d poured two fresh mugs of coffee, made hers creamy and sweet, plain black for me, then walked her back to the living room. “That’s ‘cause it does. I built it when I got out of the corps. Didn’t know what the hell to do with myself, but I knew I needed something that wouldn’t blow away if the wind changed. The pack helped with the roof. Wrecker did all the wiring. Even Bronc hammered nails on the weekends. My parents wanted to send in a team of contractors to put in all the bells and whistles. Mom was convinced I’d lost the use of all my limbs. She forgot I was a wolf. I’d been blown to hell, but we heal up close to perfect if you can get to all the parts fast enough. I was damn lucky.”
“I’m glad you were.” She smiled when she took the mug, cradling it in both hands, and sipped. Her lashes fluttered as the taste hit her. “You remembered how I like it,” she said, voice just a whisper.
“Of course I did.” I watched the blush rise up her throat, a hot pink that made me want to bite down and see if it spread.
She took the cup and sat down beside me on the sofa, her bare toes curling into the rug. We watched each other in the lamplight, the silence comfortable but charged.
“I meant what I said,” I started. “I want to talk.”
She nodded, waiting.
“Can I ask you some personal stuff?”
She took a sip of coffee, then set the mug on the table. “If you wanna know if I’ve ever been with anyone, the answer is no. Not even close. The girls at the coven made sure I never forgot what a nobody I was. You were my first kiss, Papa. The very first.” She was looking down at her hands, that twisted in her lap.
“Closest I ever got to a date turned out to be the worst night of my life. Care to hear that sad story?”
I squeezed her hand. “I want to know every single thing about you.” I told her. And I meant it.
“In my last year of school, a boy asked me to the Winter Ball. I couldn’t believe it. I’d never had a boyfriend or a date or anything. I was so excited. I bought a pretty dress and everything. I was to meet him at the dance. When I got there, I saw him kissing one of the girls in my coven. I just stood there, frozen. Before I could run out, they saw me, and several of them walked up to me giggling. I asked him why he’d done such an awful thing. He just laughed and told me it was a joke. And another girl told me they’d been practicing a new spell. A hex.”
She looked down at the table as a tear slid down her cheek.
“They turned my nose into a pig snout and gave me pink pointed ears. I even felt my tailbone extend into a curly tail. Thank God you couldn’t see it through my dress. As I ran out of the gym to my car, I heard them yelling ‘Run, piggy piggy.’ I hated going home. My mother wanted to go right back up there. But I begged her not to. She was so powerful, she’d have killed them all. Then where would I have been? Thank goodnessthe spell wore off by morning, and she just withdrew me from school. I finished online. ”
My fists curled tight. I’d seen grown men laugh at shit like that in basic, but never at a child. “Jesus, Aspen.”
She smiled, but it was a brittle thing. “Mama told me it’s the people who are the ugliest on the inside who try the hardest to destroy the most beautiful things.” She shrugged. “I try to remember that.”
I didn’t say anything for a long minute. Instead, I let my anger bleed off, then reached for her face, cupping her jaw so she had to look at me. “If you had been mine back then, I’d have burned that whole fucking coven to the ground.”
She laughed for real this time, the sound wet and free. “That’s the scariest and sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I mean it,” I told her, voice gone rough. “Nobody makes you feel less again. Not while I’m breathing.” I tried to find the right words, measured and careful. “I’ve been with people, Aspen. Enough to know that what I want with you is more than a one-night deal. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” I looked at her, searching for any sign of fear. “I need you to know what you’re signing up for.”
She bit her lower lip, her eyes going big and honest. “What am I signing up for exactly?”
“Me. All of me. Which is a lot,” I said, and she smiled, the tension breaking like a thin layer of ice. “If we take this next step, I won’t want to stop. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever.”
She let that hang in the air, then reached for my hand. Her fingers were small and cool, and she interlaced them with mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I want that too,” she said, voice trembling with both nerves and hope. “But I don’t know how to do this. I’m scared I’ll mess it up.”
