Page 13 of Kept (Mating Run #4)

Eli pushed open the front door, inhaling lemon polish and fabric softener. The house looked pristine as always—vacuum lines fresh in the carpet, family photos arranged perfectly on the mantle. Anyone passing by would only see suburban normalcy at its finest.

His fingers traced the smooth bannister. How many times had he gripped it white-knuckled, fleeing upstairs? The wood bore no marks. Scott had always been careful about appearances.

A smile tugged at his lips. The fear that once lived in his bones had melted away, replaced by something warm and unshakeable. The bite mark on his neck pulsed gently—constant reminder that he belonged somewhere now.

With someone.

He climbed the stairs, each step lighter than memory suggested possible. His old bedroom door opened silently on well-oiled hinges. Navy bedspread tucked with military precision. Desk cleared of everything but a lamp. Like a museum exhibit of a life lived in careful quietness.

Eli knelt by the closet, pulling out the shoebox hidden behind winter boots. Inside lay his real treasures—grandfather's pocket watch, a few photos from before everything went wrong. Things small enough to hide, precious enough to risk keeping.

The house felt empty. His mother's car wasn't in the driveway—probably at her book club or coffee meetup, one of those carefully scheduled activities that kept her out of the house when things got difficult. She'd perfected the art of casually being absent.

Part of him had wondered if she'd be here. If maybe she'd want to see him, to say something. But her absence felt right somehow. The goodbye between them had been said across years of turned backs and deaf ears, of "you know how your stepfather gets" and "if you'd just try harder not to upset him…”

Heavy footsteps echoed through the house. The front door closed with controlled force.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Scott's voice carried up the stairs, sharp with that particular edge of a man whose authority had been challenged. Twenty years out of the military, but still acting like everyone should snap to attention when he walked in a room.

Eli continued transferring items to his backpack, movements calm and unhurried. His heartbeat stayed steady even as the footsteps approached.

Scott filled the doorway—golf shirt stretched over a gut that hadn't been there in his service photos, jaw set in that expression of perpetual dissatisfaction. The big bad drill sergeant, reduced to terrorizing his own family to feel powerful.

"I asked you a question." His voice dropped to that dangerous quiet. "You've got some balls coming back here after what you pulled."

After what Eli pulled. Like being gay was something he'd done deliberately to spite Scott. Like getting thrown out on the night of the mating run—and they both knew Scott knew what that night meant, had chosen it specifically—was somehow Eli's fault.

Eli folded his grandfather's watch away carefully, tucked it safe. The familiar pattern playing out for the last time. Scott needed complete control, absolute obedience. Anything less was insubordination that couldn't be tolerated.

"Your mother's not here to protect you." Scott stepped into the room, using his bulk to block the doorway. "No one will come running when you cry this time."

The irony almost made Eli laugh. When had his mother ever protected him? She'd been too busy protecting herself, maintaining her comfortable life, choosing not to see what was right in front of her.

Eli stood slowly, shouldering his backpack. Met Scott's eyes directly—something unthinkable even weeks ago.

Scott's face flushed at even that slight challenge. "You think you're tough now? Think you're a man?" His hands flexed at his sides, old muscle memory from decades of intimidation. "I'll remind you what happens to disrespectful little shits."

The laugh bubbled up unexpected out of Eli, soft but genuine. This man who'd seemed so powerful, who'd ruled their house through fear and fury… was just another washed-up bully clinging to glory days that were never that glorious to begin with.

"Something funny, boy?"

Boy. Always boy, never his name. A dozen little ways to keep him small, keep him less than.

Eli's hand went unconsciously to his neck, fingers brushing over the mark hidden by his shirt’s collar. The touch sent warmth spreading through his chest. He knew what real strength looked like now. What real love felt like.

The words came out clear and calm. "Yeah, actually. You are."

Scott's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Then his face went purple with rage. "What did you just?—"

"You heard me." Eli moved toward the door. "Twenty years of playing soldier in the suburbs. Must be exhausting, keeping everyone in line when deep down you know you peaked at twenty-five."

Scott's hand shot out to grab his arm, the same grip that had steered him toward walls, toward locked rooms, toward nights sleeping in the garage.

But Eli was already moving, flowing around him with grace he hadn't possessed before.

Scott's fingers closed on empty air, and momentum carried him stumbling forward.

Eli walked down the stairs without hurrying, without looking back. Behind him, Scott's voice rose to a roar about respect and knowing your place and how dare he . Words that used to trigger panic now just sounded like the tantrum they'd always been.

The morning air hit Eli’s face like freedom itself.

And there?—

Kade leaned against his motorcycle, sunlight catching gold highlights in dark hair. Those eyes found Eli's immediately, scanning for distress. The slight tension in those broad shoulders eased when he saw Eli's smile.

Three strides and Eli was pressed against that familiar chest, breathing in cedar and strength and home. Strong arms wrapped around him, one hand cradling the back of his head with infinite gentleness.

"Got what you needed?" The rumble of Kade's voice sent pleasant shivers down his spine.

Before Eli could answer, the front door slammed open. Scott stormed onto the porch, then stopped dead.

Even relaxed against his bike, Kade radiated controlled power. Six-four of barely leashed danger, with presence that made primitive instincts scream predator. His arms tightened fractionally around Eli, and though his expression remained pleasant, something shifted in the air.

"You must be Scott." Kade's voice carried an edge like silk over steel. "Eli's told me a lot about you."

Scott's face went through several shades. His mouth opened but nothing emerged. All his military posturing, his alpha-male act, crumbled in the face of an actual apex predator.

"Werewolves take family seriously," Kade continued conversationally. "Especially our mates' families. The kind of man who'd endanger his own family..." He let the sentence hang, his smile showing just a hint of fang.

Scott gripped the doorframe, but for once, he didn't say anything.

"If you come near him again," Kade's words stayed pleasant but carried weight, "I'll consider it a threat to my mate. You don't want to know how werewolves handle threats."

No bluster. Just fact, delivered with casual certainty.

Eli looked at him one last time—Scott trying to puff himself up and failing, this man who'd made his life so small, who'd taught him shame where there should have been pride. He seemed pathetic now.

A stranger he'd never have to see again.

He laced his fingers through Kade's, marveling at how perfectly they fit. "Let's go home," he said softly.

The dangerous mask melted as Kade smiled down at him—that private smile just for Eli. He brought their joined hands up, pressed a kiss to Eli's knuckles that sent warmth spiraling through him.

"Yeah. Home."

They walked to the bike together, Eli tucked safe against Kade's side. Behind them, Scott remained frozen on his porch, finally understanding what real strength looked like—the kind that protected rather than preyed. The kind that didn't need to tear others down to build itself up.

"Your mom?" Kade asked softly as he handed Eli a helmet.

"Not there." Eli adjusted the straps, surprised by how little it hurt. "She never is when it matters."

Maybe someday she'd wake up, see what she'd chosen, what she'd lost. Maybe she'd reach out, try to make amends. If that day came, he'd decide then what to do.

But he wouldn't wait for it. Wouldn't put his life on hold hoping for someone to choose him, when they’d already proven they wouldn't.

Kade's thumb brushed over the bite mark through Eli’s shirt. They both shuddered at the contact. That familiar growl rumbled through his chest—possessive, protective, proud.

"Mine."

"Yours," Eli agreed, then grinned. "Take me home."

The motorcycle roared to life. Eli wrapped his arms around that strong waist, pressed close to the warm strength of Kade's back, and smiled as they rode into morning light.

He'd spent years thinking love meant staying silent, meant looking away, meant choosing comfort over truth. His mother had taught him that with every excuse she'd made, every bruise she'd ignored, every time she'd told him it was his fault Scott got angry.

But Kade had shown him different. Real love was fierce and protective. Real love chose you every single time, especially when it wasn't easy.

The bite mark pulsed warm against his skin as they headed toward their real home, where no one had to make themselves small, where love meant showing up instead of looking away.

Behind them, the perfect suburban house stood silent. Just another property where a bitter man nursed his fading glory and a woman chose comfortable blindness over family.

Eli pressed closer to his mate and let them fade into nothing. All the years in that house had just been the prologue to his real story.

He was finally, truly free.