He grinned, teeth perfect and a little too white for a real cowboy. “You ever think about how stupid it is, makin’ yourself miserable over a girl who’s right here, wantin’ you?”
“She doesn’t want me,” I muttered. “She wants a life that never happened.”
Gunner rolled his eyes. “She’s here, isn’t she? She’s your mate. She’s sleepin’ in your bed. What the hell else does a woman have to do, paint it on your truck?”
I didn’t answer.
He finished his beer, set the empty on the ground. “You know, when I was a pup, my mom used to tell me that wolves who waste a second of happiness are dumber than a bag of hammers. Cuz not everybody gets a second chance.” He leaned in, voice dropping. “Don’t waste yours, Jess.”
I wanted to punch him. Instead, I drained my beer and stared into the fire, watching the way the coals shifted, the way the flames licked the logs and left nothing but ash.
Around us, the pack kept up the party. Laughter rolled across the clearing, high and wild. Kids shrieked. Music blared from somebody’s Bluetooth speaker, a mix of country and classic rock and one or two pop songs I’d never admit to liking. I watched the couples move through the crowd, arms linked, heads tilted close. I saw Wrecker and Parker sneak off to the shadows, her hand buried in his back pocket. I saw Big Papa wrap Aspen up in a bear hug, spinning her around until she screamed with laughter.
I watched it all, and for the first time, I didn’t feel like I belonged.
I sat there, bottle sweating in my hand, and tried to remember what it felt like to be whole.
I couldn’t.
I let the heat from the fire numb my face, the smoke sting my eyes, and waited for the night to end.
I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but I knew it would hurt.
I could only hope it would be worth it.
The fire burned higher as the night got drunker. By the time I’d grabbed my third beer, the pack clearing was thick with noise: laughter, shouts, the clatter of plates and the whine of a country tune. Every table was packed, and the air was heavy with the smell of sweat and mesquite and charred sugar from the s’mores kits the kids had started raiding early. I parked myself at a picnic table on the far side of the fire, facing the flames and the silhouettes that flickered beyond them, my back to the crowd. The heat felt good on my face. It was the only thing I trusted to burn hotter than the mess inside me.
A shadow detached itself from the mass at the brisket line and drifted my way. I knew the scent before I could even make out the face. Marisol. She walked with a sway that made the wolf in me perk up and wag, the kind of confidence that said she’d never once been afraid of rejection. She had on cutoffs and a white crop sweater that showed off the ink across her ribs, her long black hair in a braid that whipped at her hips as she closed the distance.
She didn’t say a word, just slid onto the bench beside me, so close that her thigh pressed against mine. I kept my gaze straight toward the fire. She grinned like she knew exactly what I was doing.
“You look like a lost little pup,” she said, pulling a cold beer from the six-pack and popping the cap on the edge of the table.
“Thanks, Mari.”
She shrugged, took a long drink, and let the silence stretch out. She was never one for small talk. After a minute, she leaned in, her lips so close to my ear I could feel the heat of them.
“Rumors are goin’ ‘round,” she said, soft enough that it wouldn’t carry. “I’m sad if they’re true?”
I stiffened, but nodded. “They’re true.”
Marisol considered that, then draped her arm around my shoulders, fingers digging in just enough to remind me of the fun we always have. “Good for you,” she said. “But you know you don’t have to be miserable about it, right? You ever need to forget, you know where I live.”
She nuzzled the side of my neck, a flash of teeth and tongue, and I felt my wolf go slack with comfort. It wasn’t sexual—well, not only sexual. It was the kind of touch that said you weren’t alone, that the world hadn’t yet managed to break you all the way through. Marisol had been my anchor more times than I could count. I’d let her hold me together more than once when the darkness got too heavy.
She pulled back, eyes glinting in the firelight. “I’m gonna miss you, Arsenal.” Then she leaned in and bit my ear.
Then she caught my jaw in her palm and turned my face to hers.
She surprised me with what she said next. “She’s not the enemy, Jess. You’re your own enemy.” She let the words hang there, her hand still on my cheek.
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her she didn’t understand, that the weight of Harper’s absence had hollowed out every part of me, that I didn’t know how to be a man anymore, let alone a mate. But Marisol didn’t do pity. She did action, and right now, action meant finishing her beer, setting it down, and pulling me into a sweet sideways hug.
I let her. I even hugged her back, burying my face in her hair for half a second and inhaling the sweat and smoke and wildness that was Marisol. It felt good. It felt easy.
She let me go, pulled back, looking into my face. She was about to kiss me when she froze. Her nose twitched. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the darkness beyond the fire.
I turned, following her gaze.
