Page 17 of Found by the Pack

Tall—taller than Shepard, even. Jet-black hair, cut short but messy like it refuses to be tamed. His jacket is half-unzipped, revealing a plain black shirt beneath, the collar stretched just enough for me to see the faintest edge of a tattoo on his chest.

He says something that makes Shepard laugh harder. Shepard claps him on the shoulder, and the man grins.

And just like that?—

My stomach drops.

I feel it in my throat, a sharp pulse of panic. The pressure behind my eyes. The sudden cold sweat slicking my back.

No. No no no. Please, not now.

My legs lock in place. My breath comes short. I try to ground myself—five things I see, four I can touch, three I can hear?—

But all I can see is that jet-black hair.

He’s not Max. He’s not Max. He’s not Max.

But for a second, he could be.

For a second, I see Max standing beside Shepard, alive again, laughing like he used to. That cocky grin. That casual stance that screamed confidence. That messy hair I used to tug when we were?—

Stop it.

I have Shepard’s charger. His shirt. His key.

I should walk up. Say hey. Smile. Maybe even be normal for once.

But instead?

I turn on my heel and run. Straight back to my car.

My boots slip on the curb, my hand trembles on the door handle, and by the time I slam the door shut behind me, my pulse is a thunderclap in my ears.

You’re not ready. You thought you were. You’re not.

I grip the wheel with both hands and count to ten.

Then twenty.

Then forty.

But the image doesn’t leave me. The laugh. The uniform. The messy black hair.

God. I was doing fine. I was fine. I had cocoa and pastries and a town full of smiley people and... Shepard.

And you still ran. Just like always.

I drive. Not fast, but not slow. I don’t have a destination. Just away.

Away from the wall. Away from the fire station. Away from a man who reminds me too much of what I lost and a town that seems to be drowning in love.

Because here’s the thing I haven’t said out loud yet.

I think Iwantto heal.

I do.

I want to start over. I want to breathe again. I want to paint and laugh and maybe even be touched again in a way that makes me feel desired and not just owned.