“Anytime,” I said, and this time I meant it in a way that went deeper than bone.
He got out, the door clicking shut with a soft finality. As he disappeared into the dark, I watched for a long moment, making sure he didn’t look back.
I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want the scent to fade. I wanted to chase after Danny, grab his hand, and tell him that he deserved better than this town, better than his brother, better than anything he’d ever been taught to expect, but I didn’t.
For the first time in years, I wanted something I couldn’t control, couldn’t hack, couldn’t patch with a joke or a fistful of wires.
Instead, I let my fingers rest on the spot where his hand had been, feeling the ghost of his touch.
My pulse was a mess.
My head was a mess.
Then I saw Dennis’s truck, crawling the cross street with lights off, following slow. It took every ounce of self-control not to floor it and block him in. But I knew how these things worked—Danny wouldn’t thank me for making a scene.
So I let it go, for now.
I drove back to the ranch with the windows down, letting the cold night burn through me. But even with the wind in my face,the scent of Danny lingered, sweet and sharp, alive. It was the only thing I wanted, and the one thing I knew how to protect.
One I got home, I sat there in the driveway until the dashboard lights went dim, trying to work out if this was what hope felt like. And if it was, I’d take it, every damn time.
Tomorrow, I’d find a better excuse to see him again.
I’d already started planning it before I even hit the town limits.
Chapter Four
~ Danny ~
Walking home from the corner took me eight minutes, but I stretched it to twelve by limping around the block twice. I told myself it was to make sure Dennis’s truck wasn’t waiting, but the truth was I needed the extra time to stuff my insides back into something resembling a person.
All I wanted was to replay the way Burke said my name. To let it squeeze out the leftover horror of being followed, always, by a brother who could smell the truth on my skin even after I’d scrubbed myself raw.
It was almost midnight when I slipped the key into our back door, praying for quiet. Praying for the thin miracle of a night where nobody noticed my return.
Dennis was waiting in the dark. I didn’t see him until the kitchen light snapped on, an interrogation beam that stabbed straight through my eyelids and down into the gut.
“Where the fuck were you?” he snarled. Not even a question—more like a statement with teeth. He stood between me and the hallway, arms crossed, mouth already working the words into acid. I barely got two steps inside before I knew I’d fucked up by coming home at all.
“School,” I said, automatic. “Lab ran late.”
His eyes flicked to my backpack, then to the front of my shirt where a thread of loose fabric still smelled faintly, terribly, like Burke. Maybe only I could smell it, but Dennis’s nose had always been better than mine. He inhaled once, nostrils flaring like a startled horse.
The punch came faster than I could process. One second I was swallowing my fear, the next my teeth were clacking together and blood filled my mouth, hot and briny, like licking anine-volt battery. I staggered back, one hand flying to my face, the other clutching my backpack like a life raft.
Dennis stepped in close. “Who the hell was that alpha?”
I shook my head, trying to clear the ringing, but it only made the pain worse. “What—what are you talking—?”
He slammed me against the fridge. All the oxygen in my chest went out in a little “whuf.” His grip landed under my jaw, squeezing until I couldn’t breathe, let alone answer.
“I saw you, you little shit,” he said, breath sour with gas-station beer and whatever he’d been chain smoking in the garage. “Saw you getting in some stranger’s truck. You think I’m fucking stupid?”
He let go, and I crumpled to the floor, backpack wedged under my ribs. I couldn’t get enough air to speak. Before I could even try, his boot caught me in the side, right below the lowest rib, hard enough to make my whole body fold in half. I curled up, hands over my head, knees to my chest.
Another kick, then another. Each one sent white noise through my ears, and all I could do was count the seconds between them, like waiting for the next roll of thunder. My face throbbed where he’d clipped me, lip already swelling. Tears stung, hot and involuntary. I hated him for making me cry, but I hated myself more for not being able to stop it.
He yanked me upright, one fist twisted in the collar of my shirt. “You think it’s funny, embarrassing me? Going around like some little whore?”
