“I can have someone pick up the rest of your stuff,” Shane says as we get into the car.
“Okay,” I mumble, looking back towards the house.
You don’t get it, do you? It’s the house I’m going to miss. For the first time in my life, I had a space that belonged solely to me, and now I have to let it go.
Shane pulls out from the curb, and I watch my beloved house disappear behind us as we drive off.
Maybe if I were going somewhere new and exciting, I would be okay with this. But I don’t know what I’m walking into, and I’m not doing it by my own choice.
Shane is quiet on the way home, and I can hear his phone buzzing in his pocket. I remember that terrible things must be happening in his pack. He might not mean to be insensitive to me.
People are dying—I have to remember that. The problem is, to me, it’s an abstract idea. I’m not really a part of this pack, and I don’t know these people.
The idea makes me wonder if I should go with Shane to the infirmary next time he goes, but I reject that thought immediately.
I’m definitely not ready to walk into a room full of sick and dying people. I have no idea how that’s going to affect me.
When we get back to Shane’s, he carries my bag into the house and takes it to my room. I look at the cramped little camp bed with disappointment.
I want to ask if there’s anywhere else I can sleep, but I’m afraid he’s going to say, “In my bed with me,” and I’m not fucking doing that.
Sighing, I wrap my arms around myself and follow Shane back to the kitchen.
“Do you want something to eat?” he asks.
“Sure,” I reply, sitting down at the table.
He comes over with several small containers.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Meal prep. It’s just how I usually do things. These are all chicken or beef salad, so just choose what you prefer.”
“Okay,” I reply, choosing a box of chicken salad.
“I’m not a great cook,” Shane says as he sits down. “But it’s decent. I just can’t deal with figuring out dinner every night, so I pre-make everything.”
“Makes sense,” I answer, wondering if this could be an insight into his character.
If he’s the kind of person who plans things out, does that mean kidnapping me was really extraordinary behavior for him?
After sitting in silence for a few moments, I decide to address my worst fear.
If this is going to work at all, he has to respect my wishes.
“Shane, I’m going to need to go back to the bakery soon.”
“For your phone and car?” he asks. “Sure. I can take you tonight.”
“No—well, yes—but the main reason is that I have to keep the shop running. I can’t just take days off.”
Shane raises his head slowly, giving me a stern look. “No.”
The word is so simple and short that at first, I didn’t understand it. “What?” I ask.
“No. You aren’t going back to work—what are you thinking? You’ll be leaving your bakery behind just like everything else.”
“No fucking way,” I snap, my voice coming out high. “You can’t be serious.”
