The last time I was here, I was eighteen. Night before graduation. All four of us on the tailgate of Theo’s old truck, passing around cheap wine and pretending we had our whole lives figured out.
My chest aches. Does he remember that night? Is that why he’s bringing me here?
I glance at him, searching for some crack in the armor. His jaw is tight. His eyes fixed on the road. His scent still locked down so hard I can barely read him.
“Nate—”
“We’re almost there.”
That’s it. That’s all I get.
The trees open up, and there it is—the lookout point, exactly as I remember it. A small clearing with a view of the whole valley, Honeyridge Falls spread out below like a toy town, mountains rising blue and white in the distance.
Nate parks but doesn’t turn off the engine. Heat blows softly through the vents. The windows are starting to fog at the edges—our breath, our body heat, trapped together in this too-small space.
He stares out the windshield at the view. Says nothing.
I wait. One minute. Two. His scent hasn’t shifted once. Still that same iron control, buttoned up so tight I can barely read him.
Every instinct I have hates it. Wants to push, to provoke, to crawl across the console and force him to react. The silence feels like rejection, even though I know it’s just self-preservation.
“So,” I finally say. “You brought me to a lookout point to... not talk?”
Nothing.
“Nate. Come on.”
“You wanted a date.” The words come out jagged. “This is a date.”
“This isn’t a date. This is you holding me hostage with your silence.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.
I watch him. He watches the view. Every line of his body is rigid—shoulders, spine, the tendons standing out in his neck.
Fine. If he won’t break the silence, I will.
“You don’t want to talk? Then I will.” I shift to face him fully, pulling one leg up onto the seat. “You can sit there and brood and pretend you’re not listening, but I’m going to say what I came here to say.”
His fingers flex on the steering wheel. That’s it. That’s all I get.
I take a breath. “I’m sorry. For leaving. For not saying goodbye. For disappearing and never explaining why.” My voice shakes, but I push through. “I was eighteen and scared and I made a terrible choice, and I’ve regretted it every single day since.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. He could be carved from stone.
“I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. But shutting me out isn’t going to change what happened, and it isn’t going to make either of us feel better.”
The fog creeps further up the windows. The air feels thick, charged.
“Nate. Please.” My voice cracks. “Just look at me.”
He doesn’t.
I’ve written this scene a hundred times. The closed-off alpha, the omega trying to break through. In my books, there’s always a tell. A crack in the armor.
With Nate, I can’t find it.
“Take me home,” I say quietly.
