Page 29

I sit there, the silence between us thick as fog, Boone’s words hanging in the air like a challenge and a lifeline all at once.

My fingers drum restlessly against my knee, an unconscious rhythm to the chaos in my chest. Every syllable he spoke echoes in the hollow parts of me—parts I’ve tried to keep locked away, armored behind years of practiced indifference.

But now, his conviction gnaws at my resolve, his faith in Remi shining a light into the corners of my doubt.

I stare at the floorboard beneath my feet, searching for answers.

A thousand arguments rise and fall within me—reasons to keep my distance, to protect her, to shield myself.

Yet, Boone’s insistence chips away at my certainty.

The car feels simultaneously too small and endless.

My mind replays the memories I wish I’d lived differently: the night at the restaurant, my refusal to meet her gaze, the way I let the rose perfume serve as armor.

My breath is shallow, the air heavy with unsaid questions.

What if he’s right? What if everything I’ve been running from is the very thing I’m meant to feel?

I close my eyes and let the idea settle, unsettling as it is.

I can almost sense Boone’s gaze on me, patient but unyielding, waiting for me to crack open and let the truth slip out.

For now, I sit there, caught between fear and hope, letting his words take root in the places I thought were barren.

However ...

“I can’t,” I choke out, flicking my gaze to his. “I can’t do that to her.”

“Do what?” he asks in frustration. “What do you think you’re doing to her?”

‘She’ll end up like my mother!” I finally burst out shouting before lowering my voice barely above a whisper, “She’ll end up broken, a shadow. I ... I can’t do that to her.”

The words hang between us, heavy and raw, until their echo fades, and only silence remains.

We sit, both of us facing forward, stilled by the weight of what’s just been said.

The car feels suspended in time, headlights painting the quiet street ahead, but inside is a hush as dense as velvet.

My chest aches with what I’ve confessed, the truth exposed and trembling in the open.

I sense Boone beside me, still and thoughtful, his hands curled tight on his knees, jaw tense as if grinding down unspoken words.

Outside, the world goes on indifferent, unaware of the storm beating inside this parked car.

Inside, every second stretches, pregnant with what neither of us dares to voice.

My mind is a maze of regret and longing, circling the same hard memories and the same fears for the future.

I wonder if Boone is tracing his own silent pathways—if he’s nursing hope or just bracing himself against my doubt.

The silence isn’t empty, though; it’s filled with the collision of our thoughts, the ache of wanting what might only break us, and the fragile thread of understanding stretched taut between us, waiting for one of us to breathe first.

Finally, about what feels like forever, Boone’s voice enters the confines of the car.

“Well, Knox, you better be sure of what you’re doing.

I’m behind you because you’re the First Alpha and the leader of our pack.

Just know, though, I disagree with pushing Remi away, and I think she’s better with us than away from us. ”

“It’s for the best.”

“Maybe for you, but not for Tripp and me. We’ve wanted our scent match mate for such a long time. Now that we have her, we have to give her up. It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not fair, and I’m sorry for that. I just ... I can't do this to her. Remi is not made to be this hardened, steel-like robot. She’s a free spirit, and I don’t want to see that spirit diminished.”

“Knox--”

“No, Boone.” We sit there for a moment before I press forward.

“I wish I was strong enough to just quit it all, but everyone is counting on me. I have so much pressure to do great things and be great. For so many years, I have been groomed to go the path my father has, and I don’t know how to be anything else, do anything else. I don’t want to be a failure.”

“You’ll never be a failure to Tripp and me. You’ll always be our First Alpha and pack member, and those are the most important things.”

I chance a glance toward him, seeing the earnest expression on his face.

I wish I could believe him, but there is this voice inside my head that won’t allow me.

It, ironically, sounds like my father’s voice.

It’s telling me to protect, protect, protect.

It’s practically screaming at me, and it’s so loud I can’t ignore it.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says, unsure of his wording. “You’ve never steered us wrong before. Even though I don’t agree with you, I’m behind you. I just ... I hope you don’t live to regret this.”

I look down toward my lap, tears blurring my eyes again. “If it means saving her, I’ll handle any regret that comes at me.”

“You say that now, Knox, but you don’t feel the connection that Boone and I do.”

I go to say something, but Boone interrupts me.

“Look into her eyes just one time, and you’ll know exactly what you’re giving up.”

But even as Boone urges me, his faith unwavering, a bitter seed of doubt coils in my gut.

The way he talks about the connection—like it’s some inevitable force, a certainty written in our blood—I can’t help but flinch away from it.

I want to believe him. I want to think that one look, one moment, would reveal everything I’ve been missing.

But it feels impossible, like a story told to comfort omega and alpha children, not reality.

Part of me wonders if the bond he claims to feel is just wishful thinking, a mirage born of hope and longing.

Maybe I’m broken, immune to the magic that binds them.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me, something that means I’ll always be on the outside, watching them find what I can’t seem to touch.

I try to picture it, try to imagine the certainty in Boone’s eyes settling in my own heart.

But all I see is the risk, the rawness, the possibility that I’ll reach out and find nothing waiting on the other side.

His conviction rings in my ears, but my own doubts scream louder.

What if I look into her eyes and feel...

nothing? What if this connection isn’t mine to have?

“Let’s go. It’s time to get Tripp out of there before he makes a mistake.”

We step out into the hush of the night, the car doors closing behind us with a dull, echoing thud.

The chill in the air snaps across my skin, but it does nothing to clear the storm in my head.

Boone falls in beside me, his presence grounding but tense, each of us lost to a maze of unspoken worries.

The world narrows to the crunch of leaves underfoot and the measured, uncertain rhythm of our strides.

Streetlights cast long shadows that flicker and stretch, pooling at our feet as we move up the walk.

My heart pounds—a wild, uncertain thing—as each step brings us closer to the front door and whatever waits on the other side.

Boone’s silence is heavy, but I sense his thoughts spinning just as mine are, tangled with hope and regret and a determination I wish I could borrow for myself.

I wrestle with a hundred what-ifs: the fear of being wrong, the ache of wanting, the guilt that clings like a second skin.

The door looms ahead, illuminated and familiar, yet fraught with possibilities I can’t predict.

Boone glances over, a flicker of resolve in his eyes, as if daring me to turn back or push forward—he won’t say it, but I feel it like a pulse between us.

We pause at the threshold, breaths mingling in the cool air, both of us silent and waiting.

For a moment, the world holds its breath with us, and I realize that, despite all the doubts threatening to pull me under, I am not alone.

Whatever happens when that door opens, whatever we face—Boone and I face it together, our thoughts swirling, uncertain, but united by something stronger than fear.

I raise my hand, hovering just an inch from the surface of the door.

My stomach churns with nerves. But before I can talk myself out of it, my knuckles come down on the hardwood.

A resounding, sharp knock echoes into the night around us.

A brisk wind swirls around our bodies, bringing with it the smell of autumn.

Nothing happens.

We wait.

We stew.

I knock once more. This time, I hear the shuffle of feet thudding against the floor from the other side.

A ball of anxiety wrestles inside of me.

I shuffle from foot to foot, and rub my stomach to try to ease the feeling.

It doesn’t work. It’s there to stay. Until I get this over with, no matter if Tripp and Boone hate the way I’m going to settle this, I fear I’ll continue to feel like this.

The curtains beside the door ruffle. Then comes the sound of the lock turning.

The door creaks open. The door opens with the hesitant slowness of someone unsure of what—of who—waits on the other side.

And then, there she is: Remi, framed in the golden threshold, her presence so immediate it pulls the air from my lungs.

Her hair is wild and tousled—an unapologetic declaration of intimacy and sleeplessness, strands pointing in every direction, like she’s just stepped out of a dream she wasn’t ready to leave.

She wears a robe loosely knotted at her waist, the fabric barely containing the restless energy shimmering off her.

She is both vulnerable and untouchable, her beauty raw, disheveled, and impossible to ignore.