I slowed, hands still moving through the motions of rinsing and scrubbing, but my head wasn’t in the kitchen anymore.
It wandered, straight into a future I hadn’t agreed to picture. I was in the same yard and house, grilling burgers, only I was older.
Mark at the table, laughing, Zack beside him, their kids were running circles around the chairs. Chris and Jaime arguing about something small and ridiculous while Pampi, somehow still alive out of pure stubbornness, yapped at their heels.
Devon and Carter visiting when they could, bringing their own chaos with them. Everyone paired off, rooted, and me? I was still there, smiling and alone.
I blinked, hard. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, and the walls closer. The sound of laughter from outside pressed in, loud and bright and a little too sharp around the edges.
I set the plate down, water still running.
“Yeah,” I muttered to no one. “Nope.”
My chest tightened, breath going shallow in a way I didn’t appreciate. It wasn’t panic exactly, but something close enough to be annoying.
Pressure built behind my ribs like I’d stood too long in a crowded room with no exit. I grabbed a towel, dried my hands too quickly, then ditched it on the counter.
I needed air. Space. A few minutes where no one was looking at me like I was a project that needed fixing. Preferably at my cabin, except that wasn’t an option right now.
The cabin was still under renovation, half-finished and temporarily not livable.
That meant I was currently “enjoying” the privilege of staying at my parents’ house until further notice. Honestly, I was starting to miss the chaos of my own unfinished walls.
I stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, already raising my voice.
“We’ve run out of beer. I’m heading out!”
It was an extremely flimsy excuse. We definitely had more beer, but thankfully no one called me on it, or maybe they did and I just didn’t stick around to hear it.
I was already out the door, down the steps, across the yard. Gravel crunched under my boots as I made a beeline for my truck like.
Behind me, the noise continued. More laughter and voices, life going on without missing a beat.
I slid into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and for a second merely sat there, with my hands on the wheel and the engine still off. I breathed and out.
The quiet inside the cab wrapped around me. My wolf settled a little, though it still hummed under my skin, restless in a way I couldn’t quite pin down.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “We’re going.”
I started the engine. The truck rumbled to life, steady and familiar, and I backed out of the driveway without looking back.
Out past the house. Past the trees that marked the edge of our land. Past the invisible line that separated pack territory from the rest of the world.
The farther I drove, the easier it got to breathe.
By the time I hit the road into town, my shoulders had dropped a good inch, tension bleeding out of me in slow, reluctant waves.
I rolled the window down, letting the wind cut through the lingering scent of smoke and grilled meat clinging to my shirt.
Town wasn’t far. Streetlights flickered on as the sky dipped toward evening, casting everything in that soft, in-between glow.
People moved along sidewalks, unbothered, wrapped up in their own lives. No one cared who I was here, and no one expected anything from me. It was nice.
There was one place I always ended up when I needed some quiet.
I turned onto the familiar street and pulled into a spot just down from the café, engine idling for a second before I killed it.
Through the window, I could see the warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk.
