Dean’s silence makes the air between us heavier, and when I glance at him, his face has hardened. “You left them alone?” His voice is sharp, accusing.
I shake my head quickly, meeting his stare. “I didn’t leave them alone.” My voice is firm, but there’s an edge to it. “I followed them. Made sure they got home safe.”
Dean’s eyes sharpen at that, his body leaning in slightly. “Youfollowedthem, but then left them alone?”
I glance at him, catching the edge in his voice. “I didn’t leave them alone.”
He arches a brow, clearly not buying it. “Sounds like you did.”
“No.” I sit up straighter, meeting his stare head-on. “I waited until they made it safely inside. Didn’t leave until I was sure. Someone broke into the shop, Dean. Even in a small town like Blue Ridge, I wasn’t about to risk something happening to them on the way back to Lake’s apartment.”
Dean holds my gaze for a beat, his jaw tight. “And then you left?”
“Yeah,” I admit, but my voice is firm. “Once they were safe. What was I supposed to do? Camp outside their door all night?”
Dean exhales, rubbing his hand across his face. “You should’ve stayed with them. If it was a targeted thing, how do you know they didn’t follow the three of you to see where they went?”
I shake my head denying his words. “They don’t need me hovering over them. And trust me, if I had, Lake would’ve never let me hear the end of it. Besides, the apartment complex is safe.”
Dean takes a long drink of his beer, staring at the label like it holds the answer to everything. Finally, he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t really know how to process all of this.” His voice is quieter now, more vulnerable. “After Chad—back when we were teens—I swore off having a pack. I told myself I didn’t need that kind of mess, didn’t want it.”
I glance over at him, hearing the raw honesty in his tone. He’s not one to open up easily, and I know I’m seeing a side of him most don’t.
“Then he came back,” Dean continues, his gaze fixed somewhere in the past. “And the second I smelled him again… it hit me the same way it did when we were younger. Only now, Lakelyn’s blueberry scent was mixed with his spicy papaya. And together… together, they made me feel like I was gonna lose control. I’ve never been close to feral—never. Except with them.”
He’s fully in his head now, reliving it. I can feel the tension in his words, the way those scents have gripped him, same as they’ve hooked into me.
“And tonight,” he adds, looking up at me with those dark eyes, the same ones that have always been hard to read but now—there’s something in them I can’t quite place, something simmering beneath the surface. “When I smelled them both on you? I almost lost it again.”
His admission hangs heavy between us, thick and undeniable. I take a breath, searching for something to say, but there’s nothing that’ll ease the intensity of what he just laid out. He’s battling the same instincts I am, and neither of us can escape it.
“I know the feeling.” My gaze drifts over the room, not really seeing the people on the dance floor or the familiar hum of flirty energy that fills the bar. None of it matters, not anymore. “What are we going to do about it?”
Slowly, I bring my focus back to Dean. He’s watching me, still as stone. “If we’re scent-bound, then for any of us to be happy, we need to learn how to share.”
I bark out a laugh. “You make them sound like toys.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” His voice comes out rough, edged with irritation, and I can’t help the smirk tugging at my lips.
“Have you always been this grumpy and I just didn't notice before?” I tease, lifting an eyebrow, amused by how easy it is to get under his skin.
Dean’s jaw clenches, his scowl deepening, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—maybe a begrudging acknowledgment that I’m right. Or maybe he’s just trying not to roll his eyes. Either way, I can’t resist the chance to needle him.
“You’re not wrong, though,” I say, grin still in place, but there’s a seriousness creeping in now. “We do need to figure this out. Together.”
CHAPTER 27
Lakelyn
The next morning,I crack the eggs into the bowl, the soft sizzle of bacon filling the kitchen, but my mind’s only half on what I’m doing. Chad looks so peaceful on the couch, his lashes fluttering just slightly in his sleep, and for a second, I regret starting breakfast. There’s a part of me that wants to let him rest, let him escape the weight he carries for just a little longer. But there’s another part—this needy, restless part—that wants to wake him up and demand he deal with the heat curling low in my stomach.
I snort to myself and return my focus to cooking. It’s going to be a feast for the two of us, because I don’t know how to cook small, so I guess we’ll be stuffed.
As I’m flipping the pancakes, I hear a soft groan from the couch. I glance over, just in time to see Chad stretch, one arm draped over his eyes as he yawns, slowly sitting up. His hair’s all over the place, dark strands sticking out in different directions from the way it dried after his shower, and the sight makes me smile.
He catches me watching him, his lips curving into a lazy, half-asleep grin that does something to my insides. “Morning,”he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, but there’s already a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re making me breakfast, Lakelyn? You know what it means to feed an omega, right?” he teases.
I could watch him wake up every morning. This is something I could become addicted to.
