Page 15

15

MAGNOLIA

T he roar of the motorcycle fills my ears, the wind whipping through my hair as we speed down the road. I’ve never felt anything like this before–this wild rush of adrenaline, of freedom…and somehow, of complete belonging to one person. My arms wrap tightly around Colt’s waist, my fingers curling against the warm, solid muscle beneath his t-shirt. Each bump in the road sends a jolt through me, and I feel every shift of his body as he maneuvers the bike–his strength, his control, the effortless way he owns every movement.

I want him to steer me like that.

To move me how he wants me, to ride me hard.

The wind whips my curls into a frenzy, the sun beats down on us, and the scent of the earth mingles with Colt’s, making him seem primordial, like we were always going to be in exactly this place. It’s intoxicating, and I can’t tell if the heat rising in my cheeks, all over my body, is from the wind or the fact that my thighs are wrapped around his. The vibration of the bike courses through me, rattling me…almost making me feel like I’ll come right here and now.

I’ve never been this close to a man before, clinging to him, breathing him in. The thought makes my stomach flutter, heat bloom low in my belly.

“Doing okay back there?” Colt calls over the roar of the engine, his voice rough and teasing.

I nod, catching his eye in the side mirror. “I’m fine!” I yell back. “This is amazing!”

His lips curl into a smile that makes my heart stutter. “Good. Hold on tight.”

I don’t think it’s possible to do that, but I grip him a little more firmly, my fingers brushing the edge of his belt. He shifts slightly, his muscles flexing under my touch.

I know he’s enjoying this just as much as I am…and it makes me practically feral with need.

The road winds through the hills, wildflowers dotting the sides with the first blooms of the spring, their colors blurring together in a riot of reds, yellows, and purples. The sun is higher now, the morning light softening everything, casting a golden glow over the landscape.

“Colt!” I call out, raising my voice to be heard over the engine.

He glances back at me briefly, his brow furrowing in concern. “What is it? You okay?”

“Stop!” I yell, pointing toward the meadow. “Pull over! There—just for a minute!”

He hesitates, but only for a second. With a quick nod, he slows the bike, guiding it off the road and onto the grassy shoulder. The engine growls as he eases it to a stop, and I can already feel my legs trembling from the ride as I swing them off the seat.

“What’s going on?” he asks, cutting the engine and turning to look at me. “You alright?”

I nod, unable to hide the grin spreading across my face. “Look,” I say, gesturing toward the meadow. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

He follows my gaze, his brows lifting slightly as he takes in the scene. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. “It is.”

I hesitate, suddenly feeling a little shy. “Can we…stop here for breakfast? Just for a little while?”

He blinks, his eyes flicking back to me, and for a moment, I think he might say no. But then his lips quirk into that faint, lopsided smile of his, and he nods. “Sure,” he says, kicking down the stand and dismounting the bike. “Why not?”

I beam as I grab the small picnic bag from the saddlebags. Colt watches me with an amused look, his arms crossed over his chest as I dart toward the meadow, tall grass brushing against my ankles. I find a patch near the center, where the sunlight is bright and the flowers rise around it, and spread out a blanket.

Colt follows me, more measured, surprisingly careful not to crush any baby flowers. He sits down on the blanket across from me, leaning back on his hands, his gaze sweeping over the meadow before landing on me.

“You really don’t get out of the den much, huh?” he teases.

I scoff. “Anyone can appreciate flowers, no matter how much they get out…but no, not as much as I like.” I start to set the food out–homemade bread and strawberry preserves, with a thermos of coffee to split between us. “There’s always something to do back home,” I add. “It’s hard to find time for stuff like this.”

“Stuff like sitting in a meadow and eating breakfast?” he smirks.

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling too. “Exactly.”

I hand Colt a piece of bread, the soft crust golden from the oven, and a small jar of strawberry preserves. He takes them without a word, though his smirk remains as he watches me spread a dollop of jam on my own slice.

“Homemade?” he asks, lifting the bread and inspecting it like it’s something precious.

“Of course,” I say, smiling proudly. “My mom makes the bread, and the preserves are from the berries we grow in the garden. She started teaching me how to do it when I was little.”

“Figures,” he mutters, taking a bite. “You’d be the kind of person who knows how to make jam.”

I pause mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, wiping a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “It means you’re, I don’t know…domestic. Like you belong in one of those old picture books. The ones with perfect little farms and sunshine and kids running barefoot.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t know me very well, do you?”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Then tell me. What don’t I know?”

I hesitate, running my fingers along the edge of the jar. “It’s not that simple,” I say. “You think you see me, but the truth is…I don’t even know if I see myself anymore.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

I glance out at the meadow, the breeze tugging at the flowers, their petals swaying like they’re dancing in the sun. “When I was a kid, everyone used to call me the den’s golden child,” I begin. “I was Sarita and Bruce Jones’ daughter. The perfect little omega who always did what she was supposed to. Helped take care of the other kids, followed the rules, never made trouble. And I guess I thought…if I just kept being that person, everything would be okay. I’d be okay.”

“But?” Colt prompts.

I exhale, shaking my head. “But now, I don’t know who I am outside of that. Outside of the den, of everyone’s expectations. I’ve spent so much time trying to be what everyone else needed me to be, and now…” I trail off, gesturing vaguely toward the meadow. “Now, I’m sitting here with you, realizing I’ve barely even seen the world outside the borders of our home.”

Colt is quiet for a moment. He reaches for the thermos of coffee, pouring some into one of the small cups I packed. “You’re seeing it now,” he says finally, his voice calm but firm. “Maybe not all of it, but you’re seeing something. That counts for something.”

“Does it?” I ask.

“It does,” he says, handing me the cup. His fingers brush mine briefly, and the contact sends a jolt through me. “The world doesn’t just show up on your doorstep. You’ve got to go after it. And sitting here, eating breakfast in the middle of a damn meadow with me? That’s a start.”

I take the cup from him, our fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary before I pull away. The warmth of his touch lingers, and I find myself smiling despite the weight of the conversation. “Maybe you’re right,” I say, taking a sip of the coffee.

“Of course I’m right,” he teases, though his smirk doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I always am.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re too hard on yourself,” he counters, his tone turning serious again. “You’ve done more for your people than most alphas ever could. You’ve been there for them, kept them safe. That’s no small thing, Magnolia.”

His words catch me off guard, a lump forming in my throat. “I guess,” I say quietly, staring down at the coffee cup in my hands. “But sometimes, I wonder if that’s all there is for me. If that’s all I’ll ever be—a caretaker. A placeholder.”

Colt leans forward, his gaze intense. “You’re not a placeholder,” he says. “Not to me.”

My heart does that stupid stuttering thing it always does with him, and I swallow hard, laughing. “Gosh…I’m just going on and on about myself, and it occurs to me I hardly know anything about you. Feels rude.”

He shrugs. “I’m not that interesting.”

I laugh. “I find that difficult to believe.”

Colt’s smile fades, and for once, it’s his turn to avert his eyes, looking down at the picnic blanket. “Nah…I mean it. Hard to be interesting when you don’t have much history.”

I frown. “What does that mean?”

“Means, as far as my brain is concerned, I’ve only got about…I don’t know, eight years?” he says, reaching up to ruffle his hair like that will help him jolt something free. “Got out of a Host lab with absolutely nothing. No idea where I got my tattoos, what they mean, no idea who I was. Even my name…I got it from a dead man I escaped with.”

I stare at him, my breath catching in my throat as his words sink in. “You don’t remember anything? Not even a little?”

Colt shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “Nothing worth remembering, I guess. Just fragments, here and there. A few flashes—faces I can’t place, voices I don’t recognize. It’s like trying to piece together a puzzle when half the pieces are missing and the rest don’t even fit.”

“That must be…hard,” I say, my heart aching for him. “To not know where you came from.”

He shrugs, his movements stiff, like he’s brushing off more than just my concern. “I don’t really think about it anymore. No point in dwelling on the past when it’s gone.”

His tone is so matter-of-fact, so final, that it leaves me at a loss for words. I want to comfort him, to tell him that his past—or lack of one—doesn’t define him, but something tells me he wouldn’t want to hear it. Instead, I reach for the jar of preserves, scooping up a bit of the sweet, sticky jam and spreading it on another piece of bread.

“Well,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “For what it’s worth, I think you turned out pretty well for a guy with no history.”

Colt glances at me, his expression softening just slightly. “Yeah? That supposed to be a compliment?”

I grin, holding out the bread. “Take it however you want.”

He hesitates for a moment before taking the piece from me, his fingers brushing mine. “Thanks, Magnolia,” he says.

I shrug, trying to play it cool even as my heart flutters in my chest. “Just telling the truth.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the meadow around us alive with the sound of birdsong and the gentle rustle of the breeze through the flowers. I nibble on another piece of bread, lost in thought, when I suddenly feel something sticky on my lips. I reach up to swipe at it, but before I can, Colt’s hand shoots out, his fingers brushing my mouth.

“You’ve got—” he starts, but then he pauses, his thumb grazing the corner of my lips in a way that makes my stomach flip. He pulls back, holding up his finger with a smudge of strawberry jam on the tip. “There.”

“Oh,” I breathe, my cheeks flaming as I realize how close he is, how his gaze has locked on mine. “Thanks.”

I don’t know what I expect him to do next, but it isn’t this. Colt lifts his finger to his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine. His lips part slightly as he slides his finger between them, his tongue flicking against the jam.

The air between us shifts, thickens, until it feels like I can barely breathe. My pulse pounds in my ears, every nerve in my body on high alert as I watch him, unable to look away.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “The jam?” I manage, though my voice comes out shaky.

His lips curl into a faint smirk, his gaze dipping briefly to my mouth before meeting my eyes again. “Yeah,” he says, but the way he says it makes my entire body buzz with awareness.

I fumble for the thermos, pouring myself another tiny cup of coffee just to have something to do with my hands. “Well, uh…there’s plenty more where that came from,” I mumble, my cheeks still burning.

Colt leans back on his hands. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

I don’t know whether to laugh or scream, but one thing’s for sure—I’ve never felt anything like this before. And as much as it terrifies me, I can’t bring myself to walk away from it.

And I badly need a distraction…before I explode.

I reach into the picnic bag, my fingers brushing past the leftover bread and thermos before I find what I’m looking for—my old camera. The faded teal casing is scratched in places, but it’s still functional, and it feels right. I need to capture this moment, perfectly ordinary but also…not.

It feels like I’m on the cusp of something. A massive change, a tidal shift.

“What’s that?” Colt asks as I pull the camera out.

“A Polaroid,” I say, holding it up with a grin. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we don’t exactly have smartphones at the den. This is what I use when I want to remember something.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Figured you were the sentimental type.”

I scoff, lining up the shot as I glance through the viewfinder toward the field. “Everyone’s sentimental. We just show it differently.”

The camera clicks, and the soft hum of the developing photo fills the silence. I pull the square of film from the slot, shaking it gently before laying it on the edge of the blanket to develop. The meadow’s wildflowers look beautiful in the soft lighting, like a scene from a storybook.

I turn the camera on Colt next, but his smirk fades. “Yeah, no. I don’t do pictures.”

I frown, lowering the camera slightly. “What? Why not?”

Colt shrugs, his expression guarded. “Just don’t like them.”

“Too bad,” I say, refusing to let him off the hook. “This moment is too perfect not to capture. Besides, I’ve got a talent for making people look good.”

He rolls his eyes but sits up anyway, his shoulders tense as he stares at me. “Fine. Just one.”

“Relax,” I say, adjusting the camera. “You look like you’re about to get your mugshot taken.”

“That’s probably more accurate than you think,” he mutters, but he doesn’t stop me.

I snap the picture, the soft click of the camera accompanied by the fluttering sound of the film sliding out. I set it next to the other photo to develop, my grin widening as I look back at him. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, but his lips curl into a reluctant smile. “You’re relentless.”

“You have no idea,” I reply, adjusting the camera again. “One more.”

“I thought we said just one,” he protests.

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me,” I tease, snapping another photo before he can argue. This time, his mouth quirks in what looks like an almost-laugh, and the expression softens the sharp edges of his face.

I glance at the film, pleased with the way the shot turned out, but when I look up, Colt is leaning forward, his hand brushing against mine as he reaches for the developing photos.

“You really keep these?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I admit, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. “I have an album back home. It’s nice to look back and remember things—places, people. Moments.”

His fingers brush against mine again as he hands the photos back, and the touch lingers just a second too long. My breath catches, the warmth of his hand sending a jolt of awareness through me.

“You’re different, Magnolia,” he says, his voice low, his eyes locking on mine.

“Different how?” I ask, my pulse quickening.

“Just…different,” he says, his tone thoughtful. His gaze drops to my lips for a fraction of a second before he looks away, leaning back on his hands again. “In a good way.”

I swallow hard, the air between us thick and heated. Desperate for a distraction, I lift the camera again. “Alright, your turn.”

“My turn for what?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“To take a picture of me,” I say, holding out the camera.

He hesitates, his brows furrowing. “I’ve never used one of these.”

“It’s easy,” I say, moving closer to show him. “Just look through the viewfinder, line it up, and press this button.”

Colt takes the camera reluctantly, his large hands nearly swallowing it. He lifts it to his eye, adjusting the angle as he looks at me through the viewfinder. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” I say, smiling. “Now press the button.”

The camera clicks, and I laugh as the film slides out. Colt pulls it from the slot, inspecting it like it’s some kind of alien artifact.

“You’re a natural,” I tease, taking the photo from him and setting it with the others to develop.

He shakes his head, but his lips twitch in a faint smile. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Maybe,” I say, leaning back on my hands and letting the sun warm my skin. “But you’re stuck with me for the rest of the day.”

Colt chuckles, the sound low and rich, and for the first time in forever, I let myself relax. The tension between us is still there, humming just beneath the surface, but for now, it feels like enough to just exist in this moment. There’s no kids who need attention, no parents passing judgment, no community members putting me on a pedestal.

Just Colt…teasing me, dragging me further into his orbit.

Making me feel like there’s a version of me that exists outside of everything I’ve tried so hard to be.