𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 ⸻ 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋

→ chapter fourteen.

The only sound that accompanied her walk was the hum of wildlife. Cold morning dew collected on her shins as she made her way through the tall grass. Animal heartbeats pounded, muffled by layers of fat and muscle, deep in sleep.

While she walked, she worried. When she'd made the split decision and left the note, her only thought had been was to escape. Now where would she go? She had no friends, not really; Phasing had ruined any friendships she'd made that wasn't Pack. Her only family was left behind.

She recalled Paul and Embry. While she would've liked to stay with either, she knew Paul had been living on his own as soon as he turned eighteen, and she wouldn't worry about any parents sending word back to Sue. She loved Embry and his sweet mother, Tiffany but it was Paul she chose. Out of the two of them, she had no doubt he wouldn't ask any pesky questions she didn't have the where-with-all to answer right now.

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Paul's house was a small, unassuming single-story house on the edge of the Rex nestled within the forest. Perfect for a wolf.

As she walked up the two steps to the porch, she hesitated. He said he'd always welcome her, that she had a place with him, but maybe it had just been talk. Maybe he didn't mean it. She didn't want to think about the other options if that became the case. Plus it was so early—the sky had scarcely brightened. What if he was asleep? Worse yet, what if he was awake? Or had company? She'd be encroaching—She knocked on the door.

His heart-rate sky-rocketed as he woke with a jolt. She heard him rise and stumble to the door, muttering to himself the entire time about Jehovah Witnesses and something about Starbucks.

Any other time, his bizarre dreams would've made her laugh. She wasn't laughing now.

The front door swung open and he filled the doorframe, his eyes bleary with sleep, dressed only in boxers. All over his chest beneath the downy hair were tribal tattoos, each one significant and telling a thread of his identity. He straightened and then blinked. Blinked again and rubbed his scruffy face.

"Leah?" He squinted and scratched his chest, the sleep vanishing in an instant. "Leah, what—is everything okay?"

A million excuses lay on her lips. A thousand truths burned like acid on her tongue. She didn't say either and shook her head. She stared down at her feet, at the well-worn white Vans that was a stark contrast to the dark wood of the porch.

His voice was considerably softer, gentler, when he spoke again. "Come in then, I guess. Stay as long as you need, Lee." He nudged the door open wider with the edge of his foot and stepped back, allowed her space to shuffle in.

Her eyes stung at the nickname. She wondered if she'd run out of tears; all she'd done in the past few months had been cry. Cry and wallow, curl up and despair. A sharp contrast to the early post-Phase Leah, who had raged and cried and lashed out every chance she got. Her pain had been visceral, and her first instinct had been to strike before she could be hurt, defensive and pragmatic.

Paul led her deeper, into the living room. It was barren. A second-hand, battered TV was situated atop a stack of old school textbooks on knee-high circular table. Nestled in the corner was a well-worn, well-loved armchair covered in downy vinyl. A beer sat on the side table, sweating. In between the chair and TV was a dented coffee table made only of cherry wood, covered in little to no wax, the rest having chipped off.

"I know it's not much," he said over his shoulder, "but it's home." He appeared as though he wanted to say more but he didn't.

Leah thought he might say it could be her home too but that would be way too presumptuous. He was a friend of hers, helping her out in her time of need.

"You want anything? I've got leftover lasagna and beer."

"Some beer would be fine." She looked over at the TV where a late night infomercial played, the kind she'd fallen asleep to thousands of times. "Thanks."

Paul nodded and vanished into what she could only assume was the kitchen.

She didn't move from her spot.

"You don't have to tell me what happened," he said as he walked back in with two beers in one hand, "but if you want to, I'm here." He shrugged a shoulder as he handed her the beer.

The bottle was cold against her fingertips as she fought to open the cap. It was an easy feat, one she'd performed a million times, but she couldn't this time. This time, her eyes stung and burned as she stood in a dark living room in an unfamiliar house. Though she'd assumed it would hit her and when it did, it would be harsh, it still caught her by surprise. It still zapped her strength. Sue's reaction had been the last straw, and now she was debating moving in with Paul. Infamous, notorious Paul Lahote, the Pack brother whose reputation for being a dick rivaled her own.

Paul's hand plucked the bottle from her loosened fingers and then his arms came around her. He cradled her close, pulling her into an embrace. He smelled like balm, like home, and it made the tears flow faster. She couldn't have stemmed them had she thought of it. They ran down her face unchecked and hot, and it was like all of the pain from a year was squeezing out of her. She cried and cried, until her head pounded, until her stomach cramped, until she thought she'd vomit. She cried until she was weak and he maneuvered them into the armchair together, her sitting sideways on his lap. His touch soothed the raw part of her soul, some untamed part of her recognizing him as kin, and she rested her wet face in the crook of his neck.

"It'll be okay," he whispered against her temple, rubbing her back gently, soothing her.

For a guy who always prided himself on his rough and tough demeanor, he was exceptionally good at comforting her, running his fingers gently through her rain damp frizzy hair, rubbing her back.

When she was spent, she pulled back and blinked away the blurriness. "I—" she began, intending to apologize, but he beat her to it.

"Don't." His tone brooked no room for argument. "Don't apologize. We all have to fall apart, and if I'm the one who holds you up?" His smile was small and shy. "So be it."

Beneath the hem of her tank top, his thumb stroked methodically back and forth over a strip of skin. Had it been anyone else, it would've been an advance but because of he was Pack, it was as sexually exciting as watching rubbing sunscreen onto Harry's back.

"Do you feel better?" He tucked some hair behind her ear and wiped his thumb in the hollow beneath her eyes.

She nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. It's been a rough couple of months," she choked out and then sniffled so hard her head throbbed.

"You want that beer?"

He was already reaching for where he'd set them down, cracking the lids off when he picked them up, and held one between their faces.

She smiled at him and leaned forward. Then she looked into his calm face. "Really, I'm—"

"It's fine."

"Are you—"

"Yeah. Just be sure to pick up my pieces when I fall apart, Lee." His smile softened the words and his eyes twinkled long after the crooked, boyish grin had faded. "But you're welcome here. My home is your home. Stay as long as you need or want."

When she made to argue, he held up a hand between their close faces.

"You know as well as anyone if I didn't want you here, I would've made it clear. I wouldn't offer it to you." He looked like he wanted to say more but thought better of it and took a long drink of his beer.

She nodded and sipped at her beer.

They sat there for a very long time, just watching TV in silence. Until the sun climbed over the horizon. A new day.