She gave me a dozen chances. A dozen openings to say something real. “Talk to me. Yell at me. Something.” And I sat there like a statue while she cried and apologized for things I should have forgiven years ago.
What kind of alpha does that?
The thing is, I know better. I literally told Seth last month that he needed to stop selling himself short. Told him any omega would be lucky to have him. Told him that multi-alpha packs work because you communicate and compromise and show up for each other.
Great advice. Real helpful. Maybe I should try taking it sometime.
But it’s different with Seth. He’s my partner. I can see his situation clearly, tell him what he needs to hear. With Cara? Everything gets tangled up. Every time I try to find the right words, I think about her leaving, and the words dry up.
I’m not good at this. Never have been. Lucas can talk about feelings for hours. Theo can charm anyone. And I just... stand there. Hoping people will understand what I mean without me having to say it.
That worked great when we were eighteen. Look how well that turned out.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out.
Theo:Heard you took her to The Barn. At noon. Milo already texted us.
Lucas:Cara just called. She’s upset. What happened?
Theo:Nate. What did you do?
I shove the phone back in my pocket without responding. I’ll deal with them when I get home.
For now, I sit here, watching the sun move across the sky, trying to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to do this.
I’ve spent a decade not talking about her. Not thinking about her. Building a life that didn’t include her.
And now she’s back, and Lucas and Theo have already let her in, and I’m supposed to... what? Pretend the last decade didn’t happen? Open up and share my feelings like some kind of normal person?
I’ve never been able to do that. Even before she left. Lucas and Theo used to tease me about it—”Nate the stone wall,” they’d call me. The one who’d rather fix your car than talk about his day.
But fixing things doesn’t work here. And I don’t have any other tools.
I start the engine and head home. Lucas’s car is in the driveway. Theo’s truck too. Of course they’re both here.
I sit in the truck for a minute, steeling myself. Then I head inside.
They’re in the kitchen. Lucas is at the stove—his grandmother’s chili, from the smell of it. Theo’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed. The second I walk in, both of them turn to look at me.
“There he is,” Theo says. “The man of the hour.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Lucas sets down the spoon. “Don’t ask why Cara called me crying?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Shocking.” Theo pushes off the counter. “Nate Thorn doesn’t want to talk. Must be a day ending in Y.”
“Theo.” Lucas’s voice is a warning.
“No, I’m serious.” Theo steps closer. “We’ve been patient. We’ve given you space. But you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep pushing her away and then acting like nothing happened.”
“I’m not pushing her away. I’m being realistic.”
“Realistic.” Lucas shakes his head. “Is that what you call it?”
“She left, Lucas. She left for ten years. No calls, no visits, no explanation. And now she’s back and everyone expects me to act like that’s fine?”
