Page 33 of Broken Bonds

“Babe—”

“No, Jax!” I don’t even look back as I climb out. “You’ve been putting me off for thirty-two years. The first couple of years, okay, yes, we were settling in. Then you were too busy helping Mike run the pack until he handed it over to you twenty years ago. And ever since then it’s been excuse after excuse from you. I’m done with you moving the goalposts or yanking the football away from me every single goddamned time I think it’s teed up.”

I grab a towel from the cabinet next to the hot tub and start drying off. “I’m ready to go home, Jax.” I head inside so I can get my clothes.

“Wait, Shawn. Come on, please? Come back.”

“Nope. Lots of stuff to do, right? Busy running the pack. We need to get home.”

Boy, this was a wasted night. Honestly?

I’d rather not have come here if I knew this would be the result.

I hear splashing as Jax climbs out but I’m already around the corner. I burst into a run and dart into the room to scoop up my clothes, and then I lock myself in the bathroom to get dressed.

And turn on the sink so, hopefully, he can’t hear me cry.

Chapter Thirteen

Jax

Alphahole

Well, I certainly fucked that up. God, I’m an asshole.

Another piece of advice my father once gave me—always admit when you fuck up.

Especially if that fuck up negatively impacts your mate or pups.

Shawn’s already locked himself in the bathroom by the time I make it into the playroom.

I knock on the door. “I’m sorry, Shawn. Can we please talk?”

I mean, he can’t stay in there forever. We’re going home. I’m damned sure not leaving without him.

“Nothing really to talk about,” he says, his voice muffled by the door and the sound of running water. Still, I can hear it.

Shit.

My mate is not a crier. At all. I can count on both hands with spare fingers the times he’s cried during our thirty-two years together, and three of those were happiness—our mating, his initiation being official, and our wedding—and the rest were at funerals.

Now I really feel like crap. I quickly dress, standing there waiting when he emerges a few minutes later. I go to hug him but he dodges me and heads for the door.

“I’m ready to go home, Jax,” he quietly says, not looking at me and not even waiting for me.

I also know anything I say right now will make things worse. Way worse. He’s not ready to listen, and all I can do is wait him out until he calms down and I can apologize.

I lock the playroom door and follow Shawn up the path to my truck. He’s already sitting inside when I get there because I’d left it unlocked.

Climbing in, I fasten my seatbelt and start the engine, trying to think of something to say.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He doesn’t look at me. “Yep.”

I will not do this here in Todd’s yard. We head home. When I park in my usual spot, Shawn silently climbs out before I even unfasten my seatbelt.

He’s already shut off the alarm and made it to the back of the house when I walk through the front door. I find him in our bedroom, where he’s stripping and tossing clothes into the hamper. When I walk over to hug him, he squirms away, and I immediately release him. Then he pulls on a T-shirt and sleeping shorts and grabs the hamper, leaving the bedroom.