She's back, they're thinking. The girl who ran. The one who kissed Carlos and disappeared. Wonder what she's doing here.
No, I want to scream. I have no idea. I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going or how I'm going to survive the next two weeks.
But I keep walking anyway. Past the coffee shop where I used to study in high school. Past the bookstore where I bought my first romance novel and hid it under my mattress. Past the pizza place where The Negrorios Pack and I used to hang out on Friday nights, crowded into a booth meant for four, laughing too loud and eating too much and living in a moment I didn't know was precious until it was gone.
Everything looks the same but feels different. Or maybe I'm the one who's different. Changed. Broken and rebuilt in ways that don't quite fit together anymore.
My phone buzzes again. I almost don't check it, afraid it's another number from Callum, another threat, another reminder that I'm not as free as I want to be.
But it's Mom.
Mom: How did the appointment go? Are you okay? Call me when you can.
Sweet. Concerned. Probably checking her phone every five minutes even though she's supposed to be having fun in Mexico instead of worrying about her disaster of a daughter.
I type back: Appointment went fine. Got medication. Home soon. Stop worrying and enjoy your trip.
The lie comes easily. Too easily. But what am I supposed to say? That I'm going into heat in two weeks? That Callum's threatening to come get me? That I saw Carlos and wanted to climb him like a tree?
No. Some things you keep to yourself. Some burdens you carry alone.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and keep walking.
The town ends and the residential streets begin. Maple trees line the sidewalks, their bare branches reaching toward the gray December sky. I climb the porch steps, my footsteps echoing on the old wood. I hesitate as I reach for the key in my purse and open the door. Inside, the silence is overwhelming. No footsteps. No coffee brewing. No Mom humming in the kitchen while she cooks.
Just me and the ghosts and the prescription bag clutched in my hand.
I make it to the kitchen and set the bag on the counter. Pour myself a glass of water. Take the first pill even though I haven'teaten. Chase it with half the glass, swallowing past the lump in my throat that has nothing to do with the medication.
Two weeks. Maybe less.
Heat is coming whether I'm ready for it or not.
And I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do when it hits.
I ran once. From the kiss. From the Negrorios. From the feelings I was too scared to face.
I'm done running.
Even if standing still terrifies me more than anything else ever has.
7
CARLOS
Hmm. Those hips.
They're hiding under her sweater, the grey one that's too tight across her chest and too loose everywhere else, but all I can think about is wrapping my hands around them. Feeling the curve of her waist under my palms. Pulling her against me so I can find out if she still fits against my body the way she did six years ago when we danced at the Fourth of July barbecue.
Spoiler alert: she'll fit better now. Because now I know exactly what I want to do with those hips. How I want to grip them while I kiss her.
Stop it,I tell myself.She's terrified. This is not the time.
The way her scent is flooding the street. Peaches and honey mixing with fear and stress hormones.
My alpha recognizes it. Has been waiting six years to smell it again.
And then she runs.
