His lips brushed against her hair, another light kiss on her head. This restraint, the tender yet firm way her held her, all the things they’d said, the newness of what they had—it all felt special in its strangeness. Maybe his wolf sense wasn’t wrong. Maybe she belonged here, with him.
After all, he felt like home.
He wanted Ember. He seemed to suck at showing it, but he did. Then he pictured his mate shaking her head and walking away from him forever, and paralysis seized his brain, and he couldn’t come up with a single way to stop sucking at this.
Telling Ember he had something to straighten out was a tactic Aaron sometimes used on himself: commit aloud, then deal with it or prove a liar. After work the next afternoon, he drove past his own cabin and pulled into Trevor’s driveway instead. He followed the scents—Trevor’s sea-salt essence and sawdust. He followed the sounds—rasp of sandpaper and warble of Reba McEntire in Trevor’s earbuds. In the workshop behind the cabin, Trevor bent over a low end table, its structure smooth, as yet uncarved. His hands were deliberate and sure as he sanded the old-fashioned way.
No wolf failed to hear and smell the approach of another, earbuds or not, yet Trevor gave a startled jump when Aaron stepped into the workshop. He yanked the earbuds from his ears and dropped them onto the table; his face went red. The surprise and embarrassment in his scent was…well, stronger than the circumstance warranted, but both cleared within a second.
“Deep thoughts?” Aaron said.
“Guess so. What’s up?”
“Uh…I’ve got a question only you can answer.”
Trevor’s eyebrows shot up, and mischief curved his mouth. “No kidding? And out of the pack’s hearing, or you’d have waited till tomorrow.”
“Right.”
“Go for it then.”
Aaron waited for him to pick up his earbuds and shove them into a pocket of his jeans, walk over to an old sound dock on the red-painted workbench, and stop the music. Then he said, “I need to know if we all got it wrong when we were pups…or if we didn’t. If Kelsey really was your mate.”
The scent of pain rolled off Trevor, instant and acute, metallic and earthy, so strong it nearly buckled Aaron’s knees. And then it was gone. Trevor’s signature sea salt was once again the only thing Aaron could smell from him.
“Trevor?”
“Sorry.” Trevor stared down at the crushed sandpaper in his hand, then began smoothing it out. “I, um, wasn’t prepared for the topic.”
“We don’t have to talk about her, man. Not at length anyway. I just…I need to know.”
“Something to do with Ember?”
“Not directly, but…in my head, maybe.”
Trevor nodded slowly, then resumed sanding the table. In less than a minute, his hands slowed, went still. He bowed his head, and his body language betrayed what his scent oddly didn’t.
“I didn’t know,” Aaron said quietly.
Trevor’s head snapped up. His blue eyes blazed a sudden challenge. “Didn’t know what?”
“That she’s still hard for you. I wouldn’t have asked.”
“Answers your question, huh?” His mouth twisted in a grimace when he tried to smirk. “Keep it to yourself. Please. I know it doesn’t matter at this point, nine years later, but…it’s private.”
A slow clenching ache began in Aaron’s gut. No. No, Malachi couldn’t be wrong about this, would never have sent Aaron to verify unless he was sure. “Trevor…”
“You need to hear me say it? Yeah, okay.” Trevor drew a ragged breath. “Kelsey was mine, Aaron. I lost my mate.”
No, no, no. Aaron covered his face and turned away as the earliest memories of his life rose like a tide inside him. Mates left their wolves. Husbands left their wives. Dads left their sons. A low whine filled his throat.
Trevor’s hand clapped onto his shoulder. “Hey, man, it’s got nothing to do with you and Ember. Believe me. It was personal between me and—and her.”
“She was your mate,” Aaron whispered.
“Doesn’t mean you’ll lose yours. Doesn’t work that way.”
“Of course it does.” His voice shook.
