I stand there like an idiot. Still holding the coffee he didn’t take. Watching him work.
He’s not going to make this easy. He’s not going to give me anything. No opening, no crack in the armor, no sign that he feels even a fraction of the chaos currently ricocheting through my chest.
And it hits me. He’s not just being cold. He’s actively avoiding. Every answer short, clipped, designed to end the conversation. He hasn’t asked me a single question. Hasn’t given me any room to explain or apologize or even just... talk.
He’s shutting me out on purpose.
My pride is screaming at me to go inside, to stop embarrassing myself, to walk away with whatever dignity I have left.
But my feet don’t move.
“Nate.”
“You should go back inside.” He doesn’t turn around. “It’s cold. You’re not dressed for it.”
“I wanted to say...”
“There’s nothing to say.” Now he does turn. And for just a second, I see something flicker in those gray eyes. Something raw and quickly buried. “You made your choices. I made mine. We don’t need to rehash it.”
“I know. I just...”
“Cara.” My name in his mouth, finally, and it sounds like it costs him something. “Don’t.”
The word hangs between us.
Heavy with everything it’s holding back.
Don’t apologize. Don’t explain. Don’t try to fix this.
Don’t make me feel things I’ve spent a decade trying to bury.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He nods and turns back to the driveway.
I take a step backward. Then another. The porch stairs are right behind me. I just need to turn around and climb them and go back inside and pretend this didn’t happen.
My foot hits a patch of ice.
I feel myself going. That horrible, stomach-dropping moment when gravity wins and there’s nothing you can do about it. The coffee cup flies out of my hand. My arms pinwheel uselessly. I’m going to hit the ground and it’s going to hurt and Nate is going to see the whole thing.
A hand catches my arm.
Strong fingers grip my bicep, yanking me upright, pulling me into something solid and warm. Suddenly I’m pressed against Nate’s chest, his other hand on my waist, pine and woodsmoke flooding my senses.
My whole body goes liquid.
It’s involuntary. Stupid omega biology recognizing alpha, recognizingheralpha, and responding before my brain can catch up. Heat pools low in my belly. My scent shifts, going sweeter, softer. I can feel it happening and I can’t stop it.
He’s warm.
Even through all the layers, even in the bitter February air, he’swarm, and my body remembers this. Remembers being held by him, remembers the way he always ran hot, remembers pressing my cold feet against his legs in bed and him grumbling but never pulling away.
This isn’t the first time he’s caught me.
Junior year. The rope swing at Miller’s Creek. I’m showing off, swinging too high, and the rope snaps. I’m falling.
Nate catches me before I hit the ground. I don’t even know how he moved that fast. One second he’s ten feet away, the next I’m in his arms and he’s holding me so tight I can barely breathe.
