Jasper is pacing the length of his room, stressed as hell.
“I’m not ready,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s too soon. I don’t ... I don’t know how to lead.”
From my spot on the edge of his bed I long to step into his path and stop the relentless back-and-forth, but I’m also worried he’ll mow me down if I get in his way. Maybe he needs a moment to let off some of his anxious energy.
Down the hall his father lies unconscious. Melissa and Jodie are in there with him now. Meanwhile, Jasper has just learned that he must step into his father’s place at the head of the pack.
“I know it’s scary,” I say. “But this is what your dad’s been preparing you for your whole life, isn’t it?”
He pauses briefly to stare at me, a mix of fear and confusion furrowing his brow.
“Jasp, it’s a lot. I’m not saying it isn’t, but if anyone is going to lead this pack I’m glad it’s you. No one cares about this pack and its people as much as you do.” I know this because it was Jasper’s sense of duty that kept us apart for so long.
“It would be one thing if this was happening during peacetime”—he runs a tense hand through his hair—“but right now we’re under attack from the biggest danger the Elite Pack has ever faced. How am I supposed to make the right decisions? What if I mess it up? What if people get hurt?”
Now I do stand, because Jasper’s face is red, his eyes are unblinking. He could scream or burst into tears at any moment.
“Jasp.” I grab him and pull him to me. “These fears are what will make you a good leader. You’ll make the right decisions because you want the best for everyone.” He relaxes ever so slightly, leaning into my hug. “Besides, you’re not alone. I’m here, Salazar is here, Aisha—”
Jasper snorts. Oh right, I almost forgot. Things have been tense between Jasper and Aisha since she decided to retire from pack life. Not like a complete cold war, but definitely chilly.
“You’re not alone, is what I’m saying.” I’m trying desperately to course correct. “And it’s okay you’re freaked out. You’ve just experienced this enormous trauma and now this ... Anyone would crumble, and you can, with me, fall to pieces and I’ll help you pick them up. But when we walk out that door you need to know: You’re ready, you’ve been ready, and despite the awful, awful fucking circumstances, you’re going to be an amazing leader.”
He pulls his head back to look at me.
In other circumstances he might have made some quip about how insightful I’ve become, but right now Jasper is too broken. He presses his forehead against mine.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, his breath warm on my lips.
“I’ve got you. I’m here.”
We kiss, a sort of pained but necessary kiss, one that saysWe’ll face the oncoming shit show together. A sentiment that sends a needle of pain to my heart.
Salazar knocks and sticks his head through the door.
“The council is ready for you, Jasper,” he says, holding the door open, waiting.
“You’ve got this,” I whisper one more time, squeezing Jasper’s arms. “Mind-link me when you’re done.”
He takes a deep breath, holds his head high, and leaves. As he steps out of the room, I can’t help but think that in a way Jasper is stepping into his destiny. Sure, it’s overshadowed bya tragedy, and yes, it’s stupidly premature, but it’s what he was made for, what he’s been training and devoting his whole life to. I watch him leave, and while I feel for him, I know he’s going to be a freaking stupendous alpha.
It’s late by the time I get home. Dad picks me up from the station at Stony Point and thankfully he doesn’t try to interrogate me in the car. He lets me rest my head against the window and sit in silence. Maybe I look as tired as I feel.
Despite it being summer, the overcast day has turned into a cool rainy night and the house feels like a cozy haven among the downpour. Mom is in the living room when we arrive, her feet tucked under her on the sofa. She’s holding a book as if she’s reading but looking over it as we stroll in from the hall.
“How are you, kiddo?” Mom asks.
I blow air through my lips and try to think of a way to answer that. Dad wraps a comforting hand over my shoulder.
“It’s okay, you don’t need to tell us now,” he says.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “I might just head to bed if that’s okay?”
“Of course.” Mom shuffles forward like she wants to get up, maybe hug me or fix me a sleepy-time tea, or run me a bath.
“It’s okay,” I say, gesturing for her to stay where she is. “I’m okay. Just need to decompress. Keep reading your book.”
She drops it heavily in her lap. “I’ve not made it past the first page. My eyes just can’t seem to focus. It’s all so horrible.”
