“Yeah. Maybe.”
We finished up with dinner, making small talk. Most of it centered around our families and our packs. I was right—her pack was far different from Silverthorn, in every way imaginable. It seemed as if even Omegas had a say there.
I couldn’t help but feel envious of this young woman. How lucky she was, and she didn’t even know it.
After a shared bowl of fried ice cream, served in a cinnamon-sugar churro bowl and topped with syrups and whipped cream, I walked Aria to her car and bid her goodnight. We exchanged numbers, and then I drove home.
When I walked into the manor, the first thing I noticed was the fresh scent of clean linen. I sniffed the air. The house was dark, with only the light above the kitchen sink left on. I began flipping on lights to find that the place had been cleaned and tidied, but achingly empty.
Where was Fletcher? My heart ratcheted up into my throat, choking me as thoughts and fears hit me like a tidal wave of emotion. Where was he? God, please don’t say he had left. Not without a goodbye. My heart couldn’t take it.
“FLETCHER?!” I shouted, climbing the stairs two at a time. I flung the bedroom door open, but our bed was freshly made, the throw pillows arranged perfectly, as if no one lived here at all.
My stomach twisted. God, please… I spun around, flaring my nostrils to breathe the air, seeking out Fletcher’s sweet scent. I all but ran down the hall, choked with the tears that were threatening to make a guest appearance.
I half-expected to see the spare bedroom empty as well, but when I swung the door open, relief poured through my veins. There was Fletcher, curled up on his side wrapped in blankets, looking so damn sad.
My heart broke. “Thank god,” I whispered, hoarse. “God, Fletcher, I thought you’d left me.” He sniffled and shook his head, his eyes rimmed red and swollen from crying. “Aw, baby, come here…”
Not even bothering to shuck my suit-jacket or dress shoes, I crawled into bed with Fletcher and cradled the Omega to mychest. I kissed his tears away as they fell, saltwater droplets on his lashes.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I never meant for this to happen. I thought I had more time.”
“I love you.” Fletcher’s voice was tiny, but those three words made everything inside of me lock up nice and tight. My heart skipped a beat. Fletcher Rose loved me…
How had we never said those words before?
My voice cracked when I spoke. “I love you too, kitten,” I whispered, taking his chin between my fingers and angling his face up so that I could kiss him.
He melted into me, and I knew that I had to do something, or else I was going to lose the only person that ever truly mattered to me.
34
ADAM
It wasdrizzly and gray outside, but my muscles ached to move. My wolf was growing restless inside his cage of flesh and skin, but I couldn’t let him out right now. It didn’t feel safe with Father breathing down my neck.
Still, I needed to do something, else I was going to go mad.
I leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, my hip propped against the jamb, watching Fletcher awkwardly flip a pancake and nearly miss the pan entirely.
I bit back a chuckle. He was getting the hang of cooking, slowly but surely. One day, he’d be a pro. He’d learned from the best, after all.
“Hey, Fletch? What do you say we go to the gym today and hit the pool? Maybe swim some laps?” I suggested.
Fletcher glanced over at me, his expression so dumbfounded it was adorable. “Wouldn’t that be…inappropriate? I thought we were trying to be inconspicuous.”
I shrugged and pushed off the wall, joining him near the oven. A mixing bowl of batter sat, dripping, on the counter beside the stove, while a plate of lopsided, half-blackenedpancakes stacked six tall was on the back burner. Which was, thankfully, turned off.
“Father knows we’re roommates. Roommates do bro things together. We just have to be careful. Nothing flirty. Just two guys going to work out at the gym together. Think you can keep your hands off me long enough to do that?” I winked at him.
He threw his head back on a laugh. “Coming from the guy who knotted me twice last night? I thinkyou’rethe one with the problem, babe.” He waved a hand in my direction. “Sure. Let’s go. Help me finish up, would you? Your pancakes always look so much nicer than mine.”
“It’s all in how you flip them,” I replied breezily.
Half an hour later, Fletcher and I were in the water at the local YMCA, the bite of chlorine strong in the air. My lungs and my limbs burned in the best of ways, and Fletcher’s laughter echoed in the indoor pool room as he beat me at the breaststroke—again.
I swam down the lane with powerful strokes, tapping the side of the pool with one hand before treading water. Fletcher leaned back against the concrete edge, his auburn curls slicked back away from his face in a way that made them look almost ruby-red beneath the harsh fluorescent lighting.
