Page 10

Cameron

The woods are my refuge, but lately, they feel more like a prison.

I’ve been out here for days, shifting between my human and bear forms, wandering aimlessly through the dense trees, avoiding everything and everyone. The sun filters through the canopy, dappling the forest floor in patches of gold, but it does nothing to lighten the weight pressing on my chest.

The guilt hasn’t eased, not even a little. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

I keep replaying the look on Hannah’s face as she walked away from me. It wasn’t fear. That’s the part that kills me. It wasn’t fear, but something softer—hurt, disappointment. Like I’d shattered something fragile between us.

And I had.

I should feel relief that she left, that she’s safe from me and everything that comes with being in my life. But all I feel is this hollow ache that no amount of running or shifting can fill.

A squirrel darts across the path in front of me, its small body a blur of movement, and my bear growls low in my chest, restless. I force it back, clenching my fists until my nails dig into my palms. I don’t have time for the bear’s instincts right now.

I need clarity.

I need to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

By the time I reach Earl’s workshop, the sun is high overhead, and sweat drips down the back of my neck. The familiar scent of sawdust and varnish greets me as I step inside, the cool shade of the shop a momentary reprieve from the heat.

Earl is at his workbench, a chisel in one hand and a block of wood in the other. He doesn’t look up as I enter, but I feel his gaze flick toward me, sharp and assessing.

“You look like shit,” he says, his voice gruff.

I grunt in response, grabbing a rag from the bench and wiping the sweat from my face.

“What are you working on?” I ask, more to fill the silence than anything.

Earl snorts. “Don’t pretend you came here to talk about woodworking, kid. You look like you’ve been dragged through hell and back.”

I lean against the bench, crossing my arms over my chest. “Thanks for noticing.”

He sets the chisel down and turns to face me, his eyes narrowing. Earl’s always had a way of cutting through the bullshit, and I know I’m not going to get out of this without him prying at the truth.

“Let me guess,” he says, crossing his arms to mirror me. “This is about the honey girl.”

“Her name’s Hannah,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression unchanging. “Hannah, then. What’d you do to screw things up this time?”

I let out a bitter laugh, dragging a hand through my hair. “What didn’t I do?”

Earl waits, his silence heavy and expectant, and I sigh, leaning back against the workbench.

“She saw me,” I admit finally. “She saw the bear.”

Earl doesn’t react, doesn’t flinch or look surprised. He just nods like he’s been expecting this.

“And?” he prompts.

“And now she knows I’ve been lying to her,” I say, my voice rising. “I didn’t tell her what I am, what this life is. I thought I was protecting her, but I just—” I break off, shaking my head. “I hurt her.”

Earl studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You really are an idiot, you know that?”

I glare at him. “Thanks for the insight.”

“You think staying away from her is protecting her? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m dangerous, Earl,” I snap. “You know that. You’ve seen what happens when a shifter loses control.”

“And I’ve also seen what happens when a man pushes away the one thing that makes him feel human,” Earl says, his voice sharp. “You think you’re protecting her, but all you’re doing is breaking both of your hearts.”

I flinch, his words hitting me harder than I want to admit.

“She deserves better,” I say, my voice quieter now.

“Maybe she does,” Earl says with a shrug. “But she’s not the one running scared. Is she?”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and unrelenting, and I feel something in me crack.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” I admit, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

Earl sighs, stepping closer and clapping a hand on my shoulder. “You start by being honest—with her and with yourself.”

I leave Earl behind, and the walk back to my cabin feels longer than usual, the weight of Earl’s words pressing down on me with every step. The woods are quiet around me, the only sounds are the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of insects.

I stop at the edge of the clearing, staring at the small cabin that’s been my sanctuary for years. It feels different now, smaller somehow, like it’s closing in on me.

I can’t keep hiding here.

Earl’s right. Hannah deserves honesty. She deserves more than I’ve given her.

But the thought of facing her again, of admitting everything I’ve been too afraid to say, twists something in my chest.

What if she doesn’t forgive me?

What if I’ve already lost her?

The bear growls low in my chest, restless and impatient, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“I’ll fix this,” I say aloud, the words more for myself than anyone else.

And for the first time in days, I feel a flicker of hope.

***

The next morning, I’m at the farmers market before it even opens, the familiar hum of activity buzzing in the air. Vendors are setting up their stalls, the scent of fresh produce and baked goods mingling with the crisp morning air.

I spot Hannah’s stand before I see her, the jars of honey glinting in the sunlight like liquid gold. My chest tightens at the sight, memories of her laughter and the way she looked at me flashing through my mind.

Then I see her.

She’s arranging jars on the table, her movements quick and efficient, but I notice a tension in her shoulders that wasn’t there before.

I take a deep breath, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. This is it.

“Hannah,” I say, my voice loud enough to carry over the bustle of the market.

She freezes, her hand hovering over a jar, and then she turns to face me. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

“Cameron,” she says, her voice even but guarded.

I step closer, the distance between us feeling like a chasm. “Can we talk?”

She hesitates, her gaze flicking to the customers milling around the market, and then she nods. “Okay.”

We move to the side, away from the crowd, and I take a deep breath, the weight of what I’m about to say pressing down on me.

“I’m sorry,” I begin, my voice low but steady. “For everything. For lying, for running, for hurting you.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, her expression unreadable. “Why did you do it, Cameron? Why didn’t you trust me?”

“I was scared,” I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Scared of what you’d think, scared of losing you. But mostly, I was scared of myself. Of what I am.”

Her gaze softens slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“I’ve spent my whole life keeping people at arm’s length,” I continue, my voice breaking. “Because it’s easier than letting them see the parts of me I don’t want to face. But with you, it’s different. You make me want to be better. You make me want... everything.”

She blinks, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and I take a step closer, my heart pounding.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m asking for it anyway. Because I can’t keep running from you, Hannah. I don’t want to.”

The silence stretches between us, heavy and charged, and then she takes a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing.

“I was never afraid of you, Cameron,” she says softly. “I was afraid you didn’t trust me. But if you’re willing to try, so am I.”

Relief floods through me, and I step closer, reaching for her hand. She lets me take it, her fingers warm and steady in mine.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.

She smiles, a small, tentative thing, but it’s enough to spark hope in my chest.

And for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe again.