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My dad was sitting on the living room couch watching something on TV. He looked up at me. “Hey, how are you? You ready to talk?”

“I’m going to go out and see Vincent, actually,” I said.

“Oh,” said my dad. “Vincent, huh? Is this going to help him run interference between you and Damian?”

“Well, no, I guess not. I just feel antsy, and I want something to do. I read some of that thing that Opal wrote, whatever it is, a memoir or something. A really long letter to me, maybe? Whatever it is, it’s a lot. I don’t know if I can handle it right now. I need a change of scenery.”

“Sure,” said my dad. He gave me a very concerned look.

“What?” I said. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I’m worried that you’re telling me that you’re going to see Vincent, but you’re actually going out to see Damian again, and I don’t know what happened with the two of you, but I scented… you scented like…”

I groaned. “Dad, can you not?”

“I don’t know what you want from me, sweetheart, but I feel like have been failing you for years, and I’m failing you again.”

I shook my head at him. “No, it’s not like that, Dad. It’s complicated. I swear, though, I’m going to see Vincent.” I showed him my text messages.

He read them, nodding. “Okay.”

“You can’t save me from myself, Dad,” I said. “You know that, right?”

“But if you can’t save yourself from yourself either, sweetheart, who saves you?”

I sighed. If my dad had not called out my name, would I be bitten right now? If I were, would it be so bad? “I can save myself,” I said, with more bravado than I actually felt.

He nodded slowly. “You are strong, Leo. You’re crazy strong. I’m in awe of you. Everything you’ve been through? It’s amazing you’re still standing.”

I found myself unsure of how to take that, wanting to deflect, to say that it had been nothing, and that everyone had struggles, and that I was fine. But maybe I really had never quite dealt with how deeply I’d been altered. So, instead, I said, “I think coming back here has made me realize how much I’ve just put Band-Aids all over certain parts of my life.”

“Do you think being here means you can heal?” said my dad. “Or is it only going to mean that you have more wounds?”

I didn’t know.

All the way over on the drive to Vincent’s place, which was really only about seven minutes, I thought about things that Opal had written about how I had given up on dating. It was amazing to me that, even without talking to me, she understood me so well. She was like that. I don’t think that Opal paid much attention to many things outside of herself. She was a fairly self-absorbed person. But people she cared about, she made a point to understand them, and she understood me well.

I gripped the steering wheel and I fought tears, thinking about what it would have been like if she and I had remained friends for all these years. I knew other women had maintained friendships from their past, and it wasn’t the same, because they didn’t see each other every day anymore, but they always told me how—whenever they were back together—it was like nothing had ever changed, and they fell into sync again. They would tell me how they kept in touch with long phone calls, how they told each other all their trials and heartaches.

I imagined what it would have been like if I could have called Opal after the bad dates or the breakups. If she would have helped me decide what to wear or whether I should put my hair up when I was going to meet someone new. If she would have encouraged me to just get back out there.

But then, Opal and I had never had a typical best friend relationship, and neither of us had been typical girls. We were all tangled up in the wolf politics of everything in this town, and we were also omegas.

Anyway, she was right. I had simply given up at some point.

Having just experienced sex with Damian again, I could really understand why. Sex with Damian, even sex like that, in a dirty abandoned basement, neither of us really undressed, was always phenomenal.

And the sex I’d had with other men… it wasn’t always bad. Sometimes it was really pleasurable. Sometimes I felt really connected to the man I was with. Sometimes even both. But maybe I was simply spoiled for sex with other men because of that.

“Okay, not a good reason to forgive his ass,” I said aloud to the car.

But was I simply kidding myself?

Could a person escape a scent match?

Did I really want to?

“SO, WHAT HAPPENED? You smell like my brother,” Vincent greeted me at the door.