I go still.
Shit.
I open the fridge and look at the neatly ordered shelves.
“What do you have planned?”
I stare into the fridge like the answer might be hiding behind the milk. Nothing. I’ve got absolutely nothing. Not for lack of trying.
Baseball game? No chance. We’d be packed shoulder to shoulder in those seats.
A hike? Worse. Just the two of us alone on some deserted trail.
Mini golf? Absolutely not. I’d have to stand there watching her bend over that little putter with those tight jeans hugging her ass.
Yeah, no.
I've been through about a thousand options and rejected every single one. Turns out the problem isn't finding a date idea. The problem is that I want to take her on all of them. And I also don’t.
“You have a date prepared, don’t you?” Silas’s voice drops a notch.
I shut the refrigerator door and turn slowly. A growl rumbles up my chest before I can choke it down. “Of course.”
He twists the cap off one of his water bottles and hands it to me. I take it, leaning back against the counter.
He watches me for a second before speaking. “What’s going on with you?”
“I’m standing in the kitchen drinking water,” I say.
Silas doesn’t even blink. “I know this year’s been hard,” he says evenly. “You lost your mom. Then the injury.”
My jaw tightens.
“But I don’t understand how you can walk away from your mate,” he continues. “Your scent match. The omega who was literally made for you.”
I take a drink, mostly to avoid having to answer.
“What’s really bothering you?” he asks. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. Because it’s not.” His voice isn’t sharp. It’s worse than that. It’s calm.
“Maybe I’m just not ready to deal with all this,” I mutter.
Silas studies me like he’s deciding whether that’s a lie or not. “Do you need help?”
The words hit a nerve. Help? Like a counselor?
Fuck that.
The last thing I need is some shrink making me lie on a couch while they wait for me to cry about things no one can fix.
No one can fix that my mom died.
No one can fix the way my shoulder exploded trying to hold three alphas back from running into a burning car where their omega was trapped.
No one can fix the fact that every dollar I saved for my coffee business went to paying my mom’s medical bills.
What good would talking about any of it do? It’s done. Can’t be changed.
Silas sighs and scrubs a hand down his beard. “I love you,” he says. “Graham does too. Lark would… if you’d ever let her get to know you.”
