Mask | ✓

31

As I walked home, the new knowledge I had learned began to sink in. Isaiah Wells was not Nolan's mate — he had never been. Instead, he was Nixon's. The Nixon who I let into my pack shared a home with and slept with.

The Nixon who I couldn't deny I'd grown fond of in the time we spent together.

There were so many questions I wanted answers to, but I knew I would never get them. Not unless they came from Nixon himself. Nolan told me that the only way to know the story was if Nixon told me, and that sounded easier said than done.

The house came into view, and I unlocked the door. A breath I didn't know I'd been holding in was released when I realized the place was empty. I didn't know where Nixon was, but right now, I was glad that he was out. I needed to get a hold of my thoughts before I saw him — to try and make sense of everything.

I walked upstairs, lay down on my bed, and stared up at the ceiling. This wasn't the "break" I'd anticipated when I agreed to come here.

The sound of my phone ringing pulled me from my thoughts. I sat up and grabbed it from where it had been sitting on the bed and answered it when I saw it was Maia.

"Hello?" I said.

"How is everything going on your end?" Maia asked me.

"Everything's fine here," I responded. Everything was fine...if you ignore the fact that I'd stumbled into a complex web of lies. "What about you?"

"Pack wise? Everything's fine. Celia's doing great; the pack members have really taken to her. She's waiting for you to return so she can discuss having her mate switch to our pack. On another note, however, Reo's been trying to get a hold of you nonstop, and you pulled a Cloud on Cloud—"

"'Pulled a Cloud on Cloud?'"

"Left without notice," she explained. "The two want to sit down and talk at some point."

I sighed. With everything happening at the Silver Night, I'd completely forgotten about my problems with Cloud and Raiden, which I suppose was the purpose of coming here. However, now there was some unresolved conflict between the three of us that we needed to clean up desperately.

"Let them know I'll talk to them when I get back," I told her.

"Will do. But now I have a question for you."

My brows furrowed. "Go ahead."

"The Silver Night. Do you like it there?"

Her question wasn't one that I was expecting. Did I like the Silver Night? The pack was beautiful. The surrounding land was fun to spend time in, and the pack was a nice one, but it lacked something important—the close feeling of home. The Silver Night felt more like a camp to me rather than a pack. Perhaps it was just because I was so used to my own, but the place would never be something I could see myself calling home.

"I do like it, but I don't love it. Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful, and I'd visit again, but it's not my home."

The Howling Night will always be my home. It was the place I grew up — it was my pack, and that wouldn't change.

"Do you know when you're planning to come back?"

"Soon. I don't know when exactly yet, but soon," I told her.

I never planned to stay at the Silver Night for an extended period of time. A week or two at most, and I knew that the deadline I'd set for myself was fastly approaching. Soon, I'd go back to my own pack and pick up where I'd left off, but before I could do that, I knew that there was one thing I needed to do despite how much I didn't want to: talk to Nixon about Isaiah again.

I couldn't leave until I heard his side of the story — his true side. I wouldn't let myself. I'd heard from everyone but Nixon, and that needed to change. I knew he'd likely get mad, but I still needed to ask. So I checked the time before moving down to the living room and taking a seat. Seeing as it was getting a little late, he'd be back soon.

I turned on the TV, but I couldn't focus on it. The sounds seemed as if they were far away from me—muffled noises going in one ear and out the other. I tried not to overthink about the whole situation either; I wanted to keep an open mind when he came in here.

I don't know how long I sat there, staring off into space, before I could hear the sound of someone fumbling to unlock the door. My eyes shot to it, and just before it opened, I took a deep breath.

Nixon stepped inside, his eyes turned to me, but he didn't say anything as he tried to walk toward the stairs. Before he could get too far, I grabbed his wrist.

"Wait," I told him. "We need to talk."

A silence settled over us, and Nixon glanced back at me. For once, it felt like I didn't know who he was. His eyes were cold and blank as he stared back at me.

"We don't," he shot back and yanked his hand out of my wrist to keep walking. I stood up and walked toward the stairs.

"Yes, we do. We need to talk about Isaiah," Nixon's mouth opened, and I quickly stopped him. "I don't want to hear the same lie you and Nolan have been telling, Nix. I've already spoken to Aria and Nolan; now I want to talk to you. I want to understand—"

"To understand?" He scoffed and turned around fully to face me. His eyes were glossy and filled with tears that threatened to fall. It was the first time I'd see Nixon about to cry."Fine, let's talk, Tatum."

He stomped back down the stairs and brushed past me before taking a seat.

"Come on," he glared over at me and gestured across from where he was sitting. "Let's talk about Isaiah Wells: the bastard who was my mate."