Page 16 of Love, Clumsily (Fur Real Love #2)
The next few days were tense and awkward.
Mason went through the motions of cohabitation—making coffee, asking about my work, maintaining polite conversation—but emotionally, he was distant, carefully maintaining physical space between us.
He slept in the guest room each night, claiming it was “safer” that way.
I was torn between anger at his stubbornness and heartbreak at the pain I could see he was inflicting on himself. This self-imposed isolation was clearly making him miserable, yet he persisted, convinced he was protecting me.
On the fourth night, I’d had enough. I waited until he’d retreated to the guest room, then gave him about thirty minutes to settle—though I doubted he was sleeping any better than I was. Then I marched down the hall and opened his door without knocking.
He sat up immediately, enhanced senses having alerted him to my approach. “Julian? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong,” I said, leaning against the doorframe, “is that my boyfriend is being an idiot, and I’m tired of it.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not being an idiot. I’m being cautious.”
“You’re being a coward,” I corrected, stepping into the room. “And it stops tonight.”
His eyes widened at my tone. I rarely spoke to him this way—firm, almost challenging. Something flickered in his expression —surprise, certainly, but also a hint of something else. Interest. Respect.
“I’m not going to argue with you about this again,” he said, though with less conviction than before.
“Good, because I didn’t come here to argue.
” I moved closer to the bed, holding his gaze.
“I came to tell you how this is going to work. You’re going to stop punishing both of us for one tiny incident.
You’re going to come back to our bed, where you belong.
And you’re going to trust me to know my own mind and make my own choices. ”
He stared at me, clearly taken aback by my assertiveness. “It’s not that simple—”
“It is exactly that simple,” I interrupted. “You’re afraid of hurting me. I understand that. But pushing me away is hurting me more than any scratch ever could.”
“Julian…” His voice was pained, conflicted.
I softened my approach, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I love you, Mason. All of you—human and wolf. I’m not afraid of your strength or your wildness. I’m only afraid of losing you because you’re too scared to let yourself be who you really are with me.”
He was quiet for a long moment, studying my face in the dim light. “What if I lose control again?” he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “What if next time it’s worse?”
“Then we deal with it,” I said simply. “Together. Like partners do.”
Another silence stretched between us, less tense than before but still heavy with unresolved emotion. Then, tentatively, Mason reached out, his hand covering mine where it rested on the bed.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said softly.
“Probably not,” I agreed with a small smile. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I’m still scared,” he admitted. “Of what I might do. Of what I might become if I let go completely.”
“I know,” I said, turning my hand to lace our fingers together. “But I’m not scared of you, Mason. I never have been.”
He looked down at our joined hands, his thumb tracing circles on my skin. “Maybe that’s the problem,” he said quietly. “Maybe you should be.”
An idea began to form in my mind—radical, perhaps even risky, but potentially exactly what we needed. “Then show me,” I said, echoing my words from our argument days ago. “Show me why I should be afraid.”
He looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Show me your wolf,” I clarified. “Not the controlled, careful version I’ve seen before. Show me what you’re really capable of. What you’re afraid of.”
He pulled his hand away, shaking his head. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” I challenged. “If you truly believe I should fear you, then prove it. Let me see what you’re so afraid of letting loose.”
“This isn’t a game, Julian,” he said, an edge entering his voice. “You’re talking about me completely surrendering control of my wolf. That’s dangerous.”
“I trust you,” I said simply. “Even if you don’t trust yourself.”
He studied me for a long moment, conflict clear in his expression. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
I took a deep breath, committing to the plan forming in my mind. “Tomorrow night. Take me deep into the forest, somewhere private. Show me your wolf—all of it, no holding back. Let me see what you’re so afraid I’ll reject.”
“And if you do reject it? Reject me?” The vulnerability in his voice made my heart ache.
“I won’t,” I said with certainty. “But if I did—which I won’t—at least we’d know. This limbo we’re in is worse than any truth could be.”
He was quiet for so long I thought he might refuse. Finally, he nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. “Alright. Tomorrow night. But we do this my way—with safety precautions.”
Relief washed through me. “Thank you,” I said, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “This is the right decision.”
He caught my wrist as I began to pull away. “Stay,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Not for… anything. Just to sleep. I’ve missed you.”
The simple admission melted the last of my anger. “I’ve missed you too,” I said, sliding under the covers beside him.
He pulled me close, his body curving around mine in a familiar, comforting way. For the first time in days, I felt the tension begin to leave my body. Whatever tomorrow brought, tonight we were together again, and that was a start.