After the night we’d shared, I’d pictured tonight going differently.
Dinner somewhere quiet. A walk around the hotel grounds. Maybe running Pampi through a few light practice rounds to burn off the last of the nerves.
We could’ve gone over the case properly, compared notes without snapping at each other. Even packing up and heading back home in companionable silence would’ve been fine.
What I hadn’t expected was Chris knocking back drinks and tearing into me. Everything I said seemed to set him off.
At least he’d had enough sense to walk away before it got worse. I watched him leave, jaw tight and shoulders rigid, knowing that chasing after him would have done nothing good.
That didn’t make it sting any less.
When he finally came back to the room hours later, the faint scent of alcohol still clung to him. I was still wide awake.
If he’d wanted to talk, I would’ve talked. If he’d wanted to argue, I would’ve let him. Instead, he moved around quietly, stripped down without looking at me, and slid into bed without a word.
In the dark, I replayed everything he’d said. Why had it sounded so familiar?
My eyes opened slowly as the answer settled into place. The clinic. He’d been outside the clinic when I left.
I’d been too angry at Marion’s smug expression and the way he’d spoken about Chris to think about anything else at the time. But Chris had been there. Waiting.
He must’ve heard. Maybe not all of it, but enough.
I let out a low groan and dropped my head back into the pillow, dragging a hand through my hair. I shouldn’t have let what Marion said get to me.
I hated this. The fighting. The crossed wires. The quiet resentment that built from things left unsaid or half-heard.
It was the exact reason I’d gravitated toward dogs instead of people. Dogs didn’t twist your words or project their insecurities onto what you hadn’t meant.
If they were upset, you knew why. If you made a mistake, you corrected it and moved on.
With people, everything layered on itself until it became something else entirely.
There was an easy solution here. We only had a few days left.
We could keep things professional. Minimal conversation. Do the job, do it well, close the case, return to Pecan Pines.
Go our separate ways and never have to deal with this again.
The thought settled in my chest and lingered there. It felt wrong.
I stared at the faint outline of Chris’s shoulders beneath the sheet, the steady rise and fall of his back in the dim light. He looked different like this. Quiet. Still.
Earlier, he’d looked so hurt, and the realization settled low under my ribs, heavy and unwelcome. This wasn’t just a mission partner, not just another pack
mate trying too hard to prove himself. It was something else.
I didn’t have a word for it yet. But my wolf did.
Mate.
I huffed softly under my breath, half exasperated with myself. Was that what this was supposed to feel like? The constant awareness of him even in silence, the way irritation burned hotter because it mattered, the tightness in my chest at the thought of walking away for good.
I turned my head to study the line of his spine again. Yeah. Maybe I didn’t mind that nearly as much as I should.
My wolf stretched lazily inside me, pleased at the thought.
Chris shifted, exhaling slowly. His breathing was deep and even, the sharp scent of alcohol long since gone.
