Page 51 of Someone Else's Wolf

Worse? Worse than his stupid mate throwing his belongings outside? How could he be so calm about this?

He seemed to take my stunned silence as a question and gave me an apologetic grimace. "We had a fight. It's not a good time to talk."

"A fight? What sort of fight? Did he—"

Behind me, something shattered on the driveway, and a whole bunch of other things clattered and skittered. Peter flinched — and I saw it then, the bruising on his face. Someone had struck him.I wonder who, I thought sarcastically.

I made a sound in my throat and reached up to touch him, then stopped short. I took a deep breath. Getting emotional wasn't going to help, and I didn't want to make him flinch by touching something that was painful.

"Peter, come home with me. Why stay here and let him trash your life? We'll clean it all up later. Come home. I love you, and he doesn't. Mates can't matter more than that. Please let me help. Even if you don't want to stay with me forever, even if you don't feel the same way, you deserve more than that guy." I gestured over my shoulder with my thumb.

It had gone quiet back there. Perhaps the guy had gone into the house for another load of things to destroy. Perhaps Kirk was sitting on his stunned body. Either way, I couldn't tear my eyes away from Peter to look.

He reached out and touched my face, tears filling his eyes. "Oh, Shane, thank you for that. I'm already leaving him, you see, and this is the result." He gestured, embarrassed, at the mess. "He's keeping the house. And probably suing me. And appealing to my pack. All sorts of things. But I'm going to go anyway. It doesn't matter so much what he does with my things as long as I can get free. It really doesn't. I was just saying goodbye to the garden. We can go now."

He looked out over the back yard, blinking several times as if he wasn't quite seeing what was in front of him. "I'm surprised you love me," Peter said in a conversational tone that almost hid how choked up he was. "I mean, after everything. But even knowing you once had was enough to help me decide it was worth anything to get free."

I was too stunned to speak. I caught his hand as we walked quickly back towards Kirk's car. Kirk was in the middle of the driveway, picking up items from the heap, a big scowl on his face.

"Can I punch him yet?"

"Let's not bother with violence today," Peter said, still conversational, though his voice shook a little. "I'm not sure it's worth it."

He deserved to have someone fight for him, especially since he'd apparently been hit by his mate at least once during the argument. But getting him away was more important than the satisfaction of hitting his mate, especially if that would make things worse for Peter.

"Let's go," I agreed.

Kirk looked at us both, then nodded begrudgingly. He tossed the things he'd saved into the back seat, along with another couple of armfuls of what looked like clothes and cookware, and a broken cell phone. Of course that jerk would go for the things that Peter needed most, or meant the most to him.

It felt creepy to leave that bastard here to destroy whatever he could in a vengeful rage. But protecting Peter was more important, and we didn't need the conflict to escalate. He might have a weapon in the house, even if he was on parole and wasn't supposed to have one. Peter didn't need to be put at risk, or suffer the distress of watching a shouting match or an actual fight over him.

He deserved to be safe. My gentle Peter wasn't cut out for conflict or violence. What had it cost him to decide to cut ties? And had it really been enough to motivate him, knowing I'd loved him once?

Kirk grumbled a little, but he reversed out of there fast and drove us to my place. On the way, I tapped out a quick text to Sue. Not my favorite person in the world, but she could get things done, as I knew well.

Peter staying with me. His mate trashing the place — parole violation?

There. That would get the ball rolling. If he was violating his parole, even a little, Sue would know who to contact to make sure he paid for it. Never had I appreciated her vindictive streak more.

At home, Kirk helped unload the things he'd saved, but he didn't stay. He waved and left pretty quickly, no doubt anxious to return to his peace and quiet. He'd had enough drama for the day — probably for the entire week.

Peter didn't seem to know what to do with himself. He picked up an item, put it down again, and wandered around the house, looking vague and close to tears. It had been so hard for him to leave his mate. Would he ever be able to recover?

"Peter, I'm so sorry. But you did the right thing. You know that, right?"

"What? Oh, yes. Of course." Another pained smile.

Oh, Peter, you deserve so much better. I'm sorry I left you hanging. I didn't know. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help."

He looked around the kitchen distractedly. "You lock your doors at night, right? I hope you lock your doors."

"Oh, yes. Of course. I—" I touched his arm, but he was moving away already.

"I should cook something. Are you hungry? Of course you're hungry. You smell — that is—" He broke off, looking abashed. "I should cook something, that's all."

Oh, Peter. "It's all right. Yes, let's make supper."

"No, you shouldn't help. I can — I can do it myself." His voice broke a little, and he brought his hands up to cover his face. They were trembling. "Don't look at me. You shouldn't have to see me like this."