I shut that memory down hard. Some doors need to stay closed.
The walk to town takes twenty minutes, and I use every second to prepare myself. Silvercreek will have changed. I have no right to expect anything from anyone here, not after the way I left without a goodbye or an explanation.
That was the point, of course. I needed a clean break with no loose ends. Nothing to tie me to a place that had become a graveyard of everyone I loved.
Except I left someone behind who was very much alive, and that’s the part I’ve never been able to justify, no matter how many times I’ve tried.
Main Street looks mostly the same, which catches me off guard. I expected more change, somehow. The hardware store is still on the corner, though the sign is new and the window displays feature power tools. The diner has a fresh coat of paint, cheerful yellow instead of the faded green I remember, and different curtains hang in the windows. Ruby’s bookshop has a display of autumn decorations crowding the window, even though it’s barely September.
A few people glance my way as I walk toward the pack house. Some look confused, like they’re trying to place my face against some half-forgotten memory. Others recognize me right away, and their reactions run the gamut from surprised to suspicious. One older woman actually stops in her tracks and stares with her mouth falling open. I think she was friends with my mother.
I keep my head up and my pace steady. I didn’t come back to make friends or seek absolution. I came back because I had nowhere else to go.
The pack house sits at the end of Main Street. The front steps have been rebuilt since I left, with sturdy granite replacing the old, crumbling concrete. Someone’s planted flowers along the walkway—marigolds and chrysanthemums in oranges and yellows, offering cheerful bursts of color against the gray stone.
My mother used to grow marigolds. She said they kept the pests away from her vegetable garden.
I climb the steps and push through the front door before that thought can take root.
The main hall is busier than I expected for mid-afternoon. A woman I don’t recognize sits at what used to be an unmanned desk, typing something into a laptop. She looks up when I enter, and her eyebrows climb toward her hairline as she takes in my appearance. I probably look like hell. A few days of driving will do that.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see the Alpha.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.” I pause, considering how to explain myself. “Tell him Bryan Dinac is back.”
Her eyes widen, and recognition moves across her face even though I’m certain we’ve never met. So my name still means something around here. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
She reaches for a phone. “One moment, please.”
As I wait, I eye the changes to the space while she murmurs into the receiver. New furniture arranged inconversation clusters. Fresh paint on the walls, a warm cream instead of the institutional beige I remember. Photos hang in neat rows—pack gatherings, mating ceremonies, and pups being welcomed into the community. Happy moments frozen in time, proof that life went on just fine without me in it.
Silvercreek has been busy building while I was off destroying. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“He’ll see you now.” The woman gestures toward the hallway. “Second door on the left.”
Nic wasn’t Alpha when I left. His father was still running things, with Nic as heir apparent and years away from taking over. The transition must have happened sometime in the past decade, though I’ve only heard bits and pieces of the details. Another thing I missed while I was gone.
He looks up when I enter, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.
Nic Blackwood has grown into his role. The lanky young wolf I remember has filled out considerably, and his dark hair is shorter than he used to wear it. There’s a steadiness about him that speaks of hard-won experience. This is a man who’s made difficult decisions and lived with the consequences.
I can respect that. I’ve done the same.
He rises from his chair but doesn’t offer his hand. “Bryan. I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”
“Got your message.” I stop a few feet from his desk, maintaining distance out of habit. “Figured it was time.”
“It’s been ten years. A lot has changed.”
“I noticed.”
Nic’s eyes move over my face like he’s taking stock of the differences. New scars. Harder edges. Whatever he sees, it doesn’t seem to surprise him. Maybe he’s heard enough about my work to know what kind of man I’ve become.
“Sit down,” he prompts, gesturing to one of the leather chairs across from his desk. “We have a lot to discuss.”
