Page 4 of Griffin (Pecan Pines #3)

Chapter 4

Griffin

S o, Michael and I were going to pretend we didn’t know each other, huh? It made sense, I guess.

After what happened that night, he was probably still processing the whole ordeal.

But I had to admit, the moment Sawyer and Casey asked me to look out for Casey’s brother, I’d never expected it to be him .

I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head—his hand gripping mine in the cab, so tight and desperate.

And the kiss, soft but with a vulnerability that had stirred something deep inside me.

It was quick, but not hasty—he’d lingered just long enough to make it clear that he meant it.

My wolf’s restlessness hadn’t settled since, the animal as thrown by the memory as I was.

But by the time I’d returned to my hotel room that night, I’d assumed I’d never see him again.

Fate, it seemed, had other plans.

“Casey tells me you’re here to lay low,” I said after Sawyer’s introduction—or rather awkward re-introduction.

Because you might in danger, I didn’t mention out loud, thinking of that night at the convention.

The silence had stretched a bit too long, and I could feel both Sawyer and Casey watching us closely, like they sensed some odd undercurrent.

It seemed like Michael hadn’t shared our little late-night incident with his brother, because Casey gave me a curious look as if wondering what I knew about his sibling that he didn’t.

“Right,” Michael muttered, his tone less than enthusiastic. “And Casey mentioned you’re going to give me a job?”

His reluctance wasn’t entirely unwarranted, I knew—thanks to his stalker, he’d been pulled from his usual life and plunked down in Pecan Pines.

Still, his attitude gnawed at me. This bar wasn’t just a random job for me and my brother.

It was our family’s pride—a legacy built from nothing but our father’s relentless hard work and dreams.

Every corner, every table, even the creaky floorboards, held memories of him pouring his soul into this place.

It was the one thing he left to me and Noah before he…

I could still picture him behind the bar, laughing with customers, showing us how to fix the old taps, even teaching us how to handle the late-night drunks with respect and a firm hand.

Thinking about him now—the coma, that cold hospital room, the monitors beeping while he lay there, lifeless in everything but breath—would only send my thoughts spiraling.

We’d been told he might not wake up, that we should prepare ourselves.

But how do you prepare to lose someone who was the center of your world?

Instead, Noah and I poured ourselves into this bar, running it like he taught us, honoring his memory as best we could.

I didn’t need anyone—especially Michael—treating it like just another job, another short-term gig.

Calm down, I reminded myself.

It wasn’t like Michael had actually done anything wrong yet. I took a breath and tried putting myself in his shoes.

He’d come here hoping for a break, a chance to relax and get away from the madness of being stalked.

Maybe he’d expected some time with Casey, a chance to settle into Pecan Pines and feel safe for once.

Only, when he arrived, he found out his brother was about to leave for a trip with his new mate.

No close friend to lean on, no familiar place to hide away.

Just a bunch of strangers and an unfamiliar bar he’d apparently be working in. No wonder he seemed less than thrilled.

If I were him, I’d probably feel cornered too—pushed into something I hadn’t signed up for.

Not to mention, the weight of that stalker hanging over him.

The fear of constantly looking over your shoulder? Yeah, that could wear on a person.

Still, I couldn’t ignore the tension creeping into my shoulders.

My wolf side was a little more unforgiving, irritated at how easily Michael’s disinterest poked at my pride.

Noah just finished his set on stage and, spotting our little gathering, swung his guitar over his shoulder and strolled over, grinning. Ever the social one.

“Hey, you’re Casey’s brother, right? I’m Noah, Griffin’s little brother. I usually play here a couple of times a week.” Noah stuck out his hand, which Michael shook, though reluctantly.

He looked more than a little overwhelmed by all the attention.

“Michael, why don’t I show you where you’ll be working?” I suggested, wanting to cut through some of the tension.

At the very least, it’d give him a chance to get familiar with the place.

“We’ll leave you two to it,” Casey said, clearly sensing it too. He gave Michael a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I’ll take your stuff back to our apartment. Oh, I almost forgot—here’s the key.”

Michael accepted the key with a glance of thanks before turning to me, looking slightly cornered.

I offered him a small smile, hoping to ease some of his hesitation as I led him around.

The tour didn’t take long; the bar wasn’t big, but it was ours.

I told him the basics: where to find the kitchen, the storeroom, the outdoor seating area, and the small stage where Noah usually performed.

“So, have any experience serving food or drinks?” I asked as we walked back to the bar counter.

One of my part-timers Timmy, had recently quit to help his dad out with a shop, and we could use the help if Michael was up for it.

He paused, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed, looking down as if the question required intense focus.

I could almost see the wheels turning in his head, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he looked like he was already trying to come up with an excuse not to work here.

“Uh…no. Never,” he admitted finally.

“It’s not rocket science,” I replied, shrugging and giving him a brief rundown of what he’d need to do.

But he barely seemed to be listening, his gaze distant, brows furrowed as if something else entirely was on his mind.

I couldn’t help the frustration simmering under my skin. “Michael, are you sure you’re good with this?”

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. “Yeah…sorry. Just…still getting used to things.”

Was I pushing too hard? The whole reason he was here in Pecan Pines wasn’t exactly a vacation.

“I get it,” I said quietly. “Look, if you need to take it slow, that’s fine. This bar’s more than just a job for me, so I might get a little intense sometimes, but I don’t want you feeling pressured to be perfect.”

He relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “Thanks. I’ll do my best, I promise.”

We fell into a comfortable silence, and I caught him glancing around, taking in the bar’s cozy ambiance.

The low lights, the rich wood accents, and the little personal touches Noah and I had added over the years—the place had personality, and maybe Michael was beginning to sense it.

I handed him a towel and nodded toward a couple of tables nearby. “Wanna give it a quick practice wipe-down?”

He took the towel with a half-smile, muttering something about hoping he could at least manage to wipe a table properly.

As he moved across the room, I found myself watching him more than I should have.

His shoulders relaxed with each swipe of the cloth, as if the simple motion helped ground him, and his scent—the one that had first caught my wolf’s interest—drifted subtly in the air.

I hadn’t realized how close I was until he looked up and caught my gaze.

For a moment, I thought he might say something, maybe even acknowledge what had happened between us that night in the cab.

But instead, he looked away, a faint color rising to his cheeks.

I cleared my throat, struggling to sound casual. “You’re catching on fast. Not bad for your first practice wipe-down,” I said.

Michael chuckled softly, the tension between us defusing just a little. “Thanks. Think I’m ready for the big leagues?”

“Maybe after a few more practice rounds,” I teased.

The smile that flickered over his lips was different from the usual guarded look he’d had since he arrived.

It felt genuine, and something about that small, open moment sent a strange pang through me.

“Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all,” I heard him mutter under his breath.

I’d started to relax as I went over a few more details with Michael, watching him actually begin to pay attention.

He’d even cracked a small, tentative smile as I showed him how to set up a couple of drinks behind the bar.

For a minute, it seemed like he was starting to let his guard down.

His shoulders relaxed a bit, and he even offered to handle wiping down the bar top before we closed.

It was nice, watching him ease into things.

The spark in his eye was back. I tried to shove those thoughts away. He was here to work, not to complicate my life.

"Hey, Griffin, what’s this?" Michael called out, waving at a shelf behind the bar where Dad used to keep a few of his prized possessions.

My breath caught for a second as he reached out, touching the signed baseball Dad had gotten back when he’d taken Noah and me to our first baseball game.

The game had been legendary.

Dad had sprung for good seats, and we’d watched in awe as the home team hit a game-winning home run in the bottom of the ninth.

The crowd roared, and Dad held Noah on his shoulders, yelling along. It was one of the happiest days of our lives.

He’d caught that ball when the team threw it to the fans afterward and got it signed by the pitcher.

He used to tell us that ball was a reminder that no matter what the odds, you could pull through.

“Michael, be careful with that,” I said, feeling my heart rate pick up as he held it, his fingers tracing the scrawled signature.

“Relax, I got it.” Michael chuckled, turning the ball in his hands. “Wow, a real signed baseball? Who got it signed?”

My mouth opened to answer, to tell him that story. But then, before I could say anything, it slipped from Michael’s fingers.

Time seemed to slow down as it hit the edge of the bar and plummeted to the floor, shattering the protective glass case around it.

I froze, staring at the broken shards scattered around the floor. The signature on the ball was smudged, the glass case shattered.

It was like watching a piece of my dad’s legacy break right before my eyes.

Michael’s face paled, his mouth opening in shock as he knelt down, hands hovering over the fragments as though he could somehow put them back together.

“Griffin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” Michael began.

But I couldn’t hear his apology over the rush of anger pounding in my ears.

It was like a dam inside me broke, and months of frustration and pain surged forward.

My wolf snarled, rising to the surface, my hands clenching at my sides as I fought to control the urge to lash out.

I could almost feel the growl building in my throat, an instinct to protect, to defend—no, it was more than that.

It was grief, raw and unfiltered, twisting into fury.

Michael took a step back, his eyes widening. "Griffin, I’m really?—”

“Just stop!” I cut him off, unable to keep the snarl out of my voice. “You have no idea what you just did. None.”

He looked like I’d slapped him.

My wolf clawed at me, urging me to say something else, to let the anger out, but I knew if I let it go too far, I’d regret it.

Every muscle in my body was tense, holding me back from saying things I’d never be able to take back.

I turned to Noah, who had just stepped out from the backroom, his face shifting to alarm as he took in the scene.

“Watch the bar,” I ordered, my voice rougher than I intended.

He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but I didn’t give him the chance.

I brushed past him, heading for the door, needing air, space—anything to get away from the mess in front of me.

I heard Michael’s voice behind me, soft, almost pleading. “Griffin, wait?—”

But I didn’t turn back.

The second I was outside, I took a deep breath, hands on my knees, feeling the chill in the air cool my flushed skin.

My wolf was still there, lurking just under the surface, pacing with barely restrained frustration.

How could he be so careless? I knew it was an accident, but knowing that didn’t change the fact that it hurt like hell.

That baseball, that pieces of glass on the ground, was one of the last ties I had to the dad who used to bring Noah and me here after school, talking about the day we’d take over.

Now, with him lying in that hospital bed, every piece of him felt even more precious.

I wanted to punch something, scream, anything to release the helpless ache in my chest.

But I just stood there, letting the quiet night absorb the storm raging inside me.

My wolf finally settled a little, exhausted by the sudden burst of fury.

I leaned against the cool brick wall, feeling the ache in my chest start to fade as my breathing steadied.

It wasn’t Michael’s fault. Deep down, I knew that. But that didn’t make it any easier to face.

I finally pushed myself off the wall and instead of heading back to the bar, I got into my truck and drove to the hospital.