“You can’t possibly believe that—” I say, and this time, she interrupts me.
“Eddie, I’m serious.”
“It might be a good idea to let him stick around. It won’t hurt—” Luxe agrees, maybe to stir the pot or because she genuinely wants me to stay, who knows.
“No, Luxe. He has to go. I can take care of myself.”
Layla abruptly leaves mid-conversation, and now it’s me, Luxe, and Flora, both of whom also refuse to leave. Not that Willow gives them any pushback. I guess it’s no big deal for them, but me staying is an absolutely hard limit. I think the fuck not. I’m staying whether or not she gives me permission. There is no way I’ll leave them alone. Not when someone is trying to hurt any of them—Layla, the newbie, included.
“Night, ladies,” I say, moving to leave. Willow stays quiet and maybe she thinks she’s won.
“Night,” Luxe says, curling around Willow’s body. These ladies are Pack. I mean, only Flora is, technically, but seeingthem all together feels right. They are ours, and we need them. More than need, I want them. Willow, more than... more than anything. She’s mine, and this, this is right.
I trail into the hallway and see Layla, who shyly opens her door.
“Do you want me to check your window too?” I ask as she gazes up at me. I have plenty of questions for her, too, how she is a part of this whole mess, and what she’s doing here, now, of all times. But I’ll mind my business for tonight. The important thing is to protect my Pack, and that’s exactly what I’ll do.
“Pretty please,” she says, stepping to the side to let me in. I go to the window, locking it and checking that the lock is good before searching the room. Making sure no one is hiding under the bed or in the closet. I know no one is with my shifter hearing and smelling, and I’m sure she does too, but to be on the safe side, I check anyway. The lock is secure under my touch; this window is solid. We’ll know if someone tries to get in here.
“You’re good,” I mumble, going to leave before she grabs my sleeve. When I turn to face at her, she glares, though. What an odd one.
“Are you staying?” she asks.
“You think you can keep me out?” I ask with a scoff.
“Good. Willow never knows how to accept help,” she says, letting go of my sleeve and rounding her bed to get in. I move to leave, but she isn’t quite done. “Have fun on the couch.”
“I will, little shit.” I shut the door and pause at Willow’s door. I’m sure she can hear me out here. She’s probably waiting for me to leave before she’ll go to sleep. She’s probably waiting to hear the door shut and the car start. She probably won’t rest until she does, and what she needs most is to sleep.
I don’t want her to be tired.
I walk over to a window in the kitchen and slowly pry it open. Enough for me to slide back through. If a show is what shewants, then a show is what she will get. I walk through the front door loudly, letting the door close noisily. Getting into my car, I pull out of the driveway. The brisk air covers my arms. A quick shift to run through the trees would be killer right now, but I’m not leaving Willow alone.
I park my car about half a mile away before starting my trek back to her house. Hopefully, all of them will be dead asleep, and they won’t hear me coming back in the house. Willow’s house is surrounded by trees, a nice setup for a bear shifter. Being so damn big, it’s harder to shift out in the open without being caught by other shifters or the humans who are immune to the presence of predators. The paranormal side of Rainfall Avenue leaves a lot of forest and greenery to help hide the shift, unlike the concrete jungle that the human side is turning into. Willow won’t have to worry about being seen shifting with the forest that surrounds her place. It goes for a few miles out too.
This would be a great place. Too bad she won’t be in it for too much longer. If I had things my way, she’d be in the Pack house tonight. A man must have patience, I guess.
I sneak back through the window I pried open earlier, slowly shutting it. I quietly search the house, making sure the only living beings in this house are the same ones that were here when I left.
Ending up in Willow’s kitchen, I can practically envision her hitting the ground in the throes of her allergic reaction. My skin bristles when I remember I wasn’t here. It shouldn’t. I hardly know this woman, yet my skin tightens when I’m around her, and she’s on my mind fucking constantly. I can’t fucking breathe without thinking if Willow is breathing, too.
I shouldn’t have let her walk away. Not when I ran into her at the grocery store the other day, not when she was in my Pack house, not ever. Now I’m stuck playing catch-up, and shecontinues to look at me as if I’m a stranger, or worse, like she can’t stand me.
She can look at me like that all she wants—it doesn’t change anything.
I’m—she’s—she’s mine. She has to be.
Willow’s kitchen is what you’d find in a classic farm style house. A huge farmhouse sink surrounded by light pink cabinets and tiny string lights. I run the sink as I pick up one of the little dirty plates; all these little dishes have tiny black angels and pink ribbons. I love a woman who does whatever the hell she wants, like using her china for everyday use. She’s so damn cute.
After wiping down the counters, I finally break into her pantry. I can tell she recently moved in based on the lack of food and the amounts of takeout containers in her trash can. Plus, the boxes everywhere. The perfect place to get cracking on this cleanout is at the source of our current situation: the damn tea bags.
I take one and break it open on the counter. I get whiffs of bananas and tea leaves. It seems normal—did she pick up the wrong box? I tear another bag open and get the same results. They all have little bits of banana, but if she’s allergic, why couldn’t she smell them? If this is from the same stack from when she knocked over that display case, could all of them be ruined? My eyes trail over to the clock on her stove. It’s midnight, and I’m losing time to clean out this kitchen.
I take the little ceramic box filled with the rest of the tea bags and dump it all into the trash. Turning to the fridge, I notice how its light contrasts against the little lights strung up around the room. Taking the first thing, a bottle of ketchup, I snap a picture with my phone before tossing it in the trash.
I pray she doesn’t lose her shit when she wakes up to a new kitchen.
Taking the overfilled trash bag with me, I walk all the way to my car. Leaving the girls unattended again isn’t ideal, but I’d locked up after stealing Willow’s house key, of course.
