Jensen: Ugh. The power’s out, isn’t it?
Jensen: Is the power still out?
Jensen: Surely it can’t still be out. Are you okay? I’m getting worried.
Jensen: Call me when you get this.
I gave that message a love heart when we got to the city yesterday, and typed out approximately two hundred replies before landing on:
Lucien: I’m back. All good. Don’t worry. Long story, but I’ll catch you up tomorrow.
Now it’s tomorrow. Branson hates me, and soon, Jensen is going to hate me too.
My phone pings, and Branson looks up. “Is that Jensen again?” A lump forms in my throat as I swallow and nod. “Do you want me to call him, or would you like me to invite him over, so we can tell him together?”
Maybe it makes me a terrible friend, but I honestly can’t face the thought of Jensen on my threshold, smiling broadly, happily laughing at what a mess I am for going to the cabin when the getaway was canceled, only to look down and see the mark his brother sank into my neck. I just can’t. “Can you call him? Is that okay?”
“Sure.” Branson’s eyes soften, and something warm and reassuring passes from him to me. It helps a bit, but not completely.
We sit on the sofa side by side as Branson places the call.
“Hey, brother,” says Branson. It’s two small words, a standard greeting between them, yet today there’s a weight to it. I wonder if Jensen can tell that what Branson is about to say is important. “Yeah, yeah.” A tight, wry smile creeps up Branson’s serious face. “I survived, and so did he.”
Jensen laughs at that. I hear the tinny echo of a familiar sound, and for a moment, I think it’s all going to be fine. Jensen will understand what happened, and everything’s going to be fine between us. We’ll keep being friends, and everything will go back to normal.
Branson lets Jensen talk for a couple of minutes and then says, “Listen, Jay, while we were up on the mountain, something happened… Something big. It’s probably going to be a little hard for you to hear…but it’s not something we can, or want, to hide from you.”
The silence on the other side of the line is so complete, so infinite, that I know Jensen understands the gravity of the situation without another word being spoken.
Branson gives him a high-level breakdown of what happened: I forgot to pack my suppressant and went into heat. We couldn’t get help, and there was nothing eitherof us could do but deal with the situation we got handed.
Jensen’s stony fury drags out, so complete that I can feel it in the air around me despite the fact that he isn’t here. Branson puts his phone on the table and switches to speaker.
“What do you expect me to say to that?” Jensen says eventually. Branson doesn’t have time to answer before he continues. “WhatcanI say? Thanks for not letting Lucien die of heat? Is that what you want me to say? Or do you want me to tell you it’sfine? I hope you had fun.” My heart drops. Oh no. He’s furious. Angrier and more upset than I thought he’d be. “Congrats. You did what you had to do, brother. You fucked my ex and saved his life like a good alpha. Good for you. Thanks a lot.”
Branson’s eyes meet mine, and I flinch from what I see. There’s hurt in his eyes, deep pain caused by hurting his brother.
“That’s not all, Jen,” Branson says.
“Oh, that’s not all?” Jensen’s voice climbs an octave and increases notably in volume. I know this version of him well. Jensen and I are similar in many ways, and this is one of them. He’s spinning out and has lost the ability, and inclination, to rein himself in. “There’s more? Lucky me! Can’t wait to hear what that might be.”
Branson doesn’t beat about the bush. He swallows hard and says, “Ibit him.”
Despite the spiral Jensen is in, that shocks him so badly that he’s stunned silent.
It’s been years since Jensen and I broke up, but our relationship was important. It mattered to both of us. We were young when we dated, but we went through a lot together. It was one of those relationships that had an exciting beginning and a gentle ending. So gentle, I hardly felt it. I called it off because I realized the spark had fizzled out and someone needed to do it. Long before our relationship officially ended, Jensen and I had become what we are now—what I think we were always meant to be—friends rather than lovers.
Jensen told me years later that his pride was hurt when I ended it, but that ultimately, he agreed it had worked out for the best and that we were better as friends. I believed him because I wanted to.
Now, I’m not so sure he meant it.
When he speaks again, his voice is different. Removed and distant. Filled with venom. “Lucien doesn’t even want to be mated, you asshole.Howcould you do this to him?”
“It was a very complicated situa—” starts Branson.
I cut him off with a light tap on his thigh and gesture for him to hand me the phone. I know what he’s doing. He’s taking the blame for me. And I can’t let him do that. Not again.
“Are you sure?” he mouths.
