Page 14 of Mate Night Snack (Hollow Oak Mates #2)

EMMETT

T he Silver Fang Tavern was half-empty, which was exactly how Emmett liked it.

The lanterns cast a soft amber glow across the knotty pine bar. Dust motes spun lazy circles in the slanted light, and somewhere in the back, the old jukebox crackled to life with a bluesy track that didn’t belong on any official playlist.

Emmett took his usual seat at the end of the bar, the one tucked just close enough to the corner that he could watch both the front door and the hallway to the back.

Maeve slid a tumbler across the polished wood before he could say a word.

“Rough morning?” she asked, leaning her elbows against the bar.

He caught the drink. “Something like that.”

She raised a brow, unamused. “That wasn’t a question.”

He sipped. Burnt spice and oak. Her best reserve whiskey. She was buttering him up.

“Training her already?” she asked.

Emmett didn’t answer.

Maeve gave a dry laugh. “Of course you are.”

She poured herself a half-glass and took a seat beside him. The bar lights caught the edge of her short black braid and cast her golden-brown skin in warm relief. She didn’t wear makeup, didn’t need to. Maeve Cross was built from nerve and grit, and she didn’t dull her edges for anyone.

“You’re quieter than usual,” she said, swirling her drink. “Which is impressive, considering silence is your love language.”

He set the tumbler down and looked away.

“Let me guess,” Maeve continued. “You got too close. She leaned in. You panicked.”

He stared at a water ring on the bar top. “It’s not like that.”

“No?” She tilted her head. “Because the way you smell right now? That’s a man on the edge. And not just instinct talking. This is deeper.”

“I can’t?—”

“Can’t or won’t?” Maeve cut in.

He scowled.

“Emmett,” she said, voice gentler now. “I know the signs. I’ve seen you ride the line before. Back then you always pulled away in time. But this isn’t like the other ones. This one’s different.”

He chose not to dignify that with an answer.

Maeve set her glass down. “You think punishing yourself is noble. That staying alone somehow keeps her safe. But you’re not just avoiding her. You’re hiding from yourself.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Then talk,” she said. “Tell me why you’re so damn scared.”

He looked at her, jaw tight. “You know why.”

Maeve leaned in. “Not from you. Not all of it.”

Emmett exhaled slowly. The kind that dragged out old ghosts.

“She was a rogue,” he said. “Maybe seventeen. Half-starved. Hurt.”

Maeve went still.

“Part of a splinter pack Ashwin was trying to absorb. Said they were weak. Broken. Unworthy of the name. We caught her trespassing. She wasn’t a threat.”

His voice dropped lower.

“She looked at me and didn’t run. Just dropped to her knees. Hands up. Said she’d go quietly. Said she didn’t want to die alone.” He paused. “I let her go.”

Maeve didn’t blink. “And?”

“And I lied to Ashwin. Said I handled it. Said she fought back and ran. Two days later, I found her body strung up near the ridge.”

Her hand tightened around her glass.

“He’d tracked her. Knew I spared her. He waited. Watched. Then made a point of showing me what happened to wolves who disobeyed.”

The silence stretched.

“That’s when you left,” she said softly.

“I didn’t leave,” he said, voice rough. “I was cast out. My title stripped. My bond revoked.”

“You chose not to kill her.”

“And it got her killed.”

Maeve’s voice was quiet, but it cut clean. “You think Ashwin needed your help to hurt her?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. If I’d acted differently, maybe?—”

“You’d be dead,” she said. “And she still would’ve died.”

He didn’t respond.

She leaned forward, eyes sharp. “You carry guilt like armor, Emmett. But it’s rotting you. You think if you keep your distance from Katniss, you’ll protect her. But all you’re doing is leaving her exposed. Vulnerable. Alone. Just like that girl.”

The words hit harder than he wanted to admit, but the truth was a bitch.

“You can’t outrun who you were,” Maeve said. “But maybe you can stop punishing yourself for it.”

Emmett stared down at his hands, callused and scarred. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Then you better learn,” she said. “Because this isn’t about just you anymore. It hasn’t been for a while.”

He finished the last of the whiskey and pushed the glass toward her.

Maeve refilled it without a word.

She leaned against the bar again, voice softer this time. “What is she to you?”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “Everything,” he finally admitted. It was barely more than a whisper, but it was the most honest thing he’d said in years.

Maeve gave a small nod. “Then act like it.”

Emmett didn’t move, but something in him braced.

He didn’t know how to fix what had broken in her eyes that morning. But maybe he could stop breaking it further and start acting like a man because him pushing her away was a cop-out move.

And he knew it.