Page 31

31

MAGNOLIA

W hispers spread through the den like wildfire.

Colt is called a liar. A traitor. An outsider who never should have been trusted.

And me?

Foolish. Reckless.

I gave myself too quickly, too completely, to a man who was never truly mine.

The judgment cuts deep, curling around my ribs like a slow, twisting blade. Every glance I meet is heavy with it—some sharp, some pitying, some just plain cruel. And I want to ignore them, to square my shoulders and hold my head high, but the truth is, doubt gnaws at me, relentless.

What if they’re right?

What if I was just a stupid girl with a fragile heart and a mate bond that led her straight into ruin?

I hide away at home, taking time away from the school, retreating into the comfort of the house that raised me–but even here, the whispers creep in. Everyone tiptoes around me, even my reckless, clumsy teenage brother. They all know I’m on the edge.

It’s never been like this.

I’m the one who holds it together…who never, ever lets the world get her down.

I try to lose myself in chores, in fixing things that don’t really need fixing.

I scrub the counters until my fingers ache, sweep the floors twice, take the rugs out back and beat the dust out of them even though Mama just did it yesterday. I fold laundry that isn’t mine, stack dishes that no one asked me to clean, rearrange the books on the living room shelf just for the sake of doing something.

None of it helps.

The whispers still slip through the walls, and even when no one’s speaking, I can feel the weight of their judgment pressing down on me.

So I move to the porch, sit cross-legged on the wooden steps, and start fussing with a set of old wind chimes that have been hanging crooked for weeks. The metal tubes are rusted, the strings frayed, the whole thing barely clinging together.

It should be an easy fix.

But my hands won’t stop shaking.

I fumble with the knots, trying to thread the twine through a split in the wooden frame, but my fingers won’t cooperate. I pull too hard, the string snaps, and one of the chimes clatters to the porch floor with a ringing clang.

I suck in a breath, jaw clenching, my vision blurring with frustration.

It’s fine. I can fix it.

I can fix this.

I try again, threading a new piece of twine, but it knots too early, and when I yank it loose, another chime falls. The sound grates against my nerves, discordant. My breath comes faster, my chest too tight, my hands too clumsy, and I know it’s stupid, I know it’s just a set of wind chimes?—

But it’s not.

It’s everything.

And when the last knot refuses to budge, I let out a growl and smash the damn thing against the porch railing.

Metal clatters, wood cracks, and suddenly, the wind chimes are just a mess of broken parts in my lap, tangled and useless.

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, biting back the sting of tears.

That’s when I hear her.

“Are you gonna mope all week, or are we gonna talk about it?”

Peaches is standing at the bottom of the porch steps, arms crossed, brows drawn.

She doesn’t sit right away. Just watches me.

Like she’s giving me a choice.

Like she already knows exactly what’s wrong, but she’s waiting to see if I’ll say it first.

I let out a slow breath, staring out at the sunset. “Not much to talk about.”

Peaches snorts, unimpressed. “Yeah? ‘Cause from what I hear, your mate’s locked up in a storage room, the whole den is split on whether or not to exile him, and you’re sittin’ here actin’ like none of it matters.”

I clench my jaw, gripping the broken wind chimes in my lap. “It doesn’t matter,” I lie, voice flat.

Peaches gives me a long, unimpressed look, then climbs the steps, easing down beside me. “That’s a damn lie.”

I don’t answer.

She watches me for a second longer, then reaches down and plucks a bent piece of metal from my lap, rolling it between her fingers. “You know,” she says casually, “when I first got here, I used to flinch every time someone touched me. Took me weeks to stop expecting the worst.”

I glance at her, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. “Peaches…”

She shrugs, twirling the metal. “I had to learn how to trust again. Had to learn how to believe that not everyone was out to hurt me.” She turns her gaze to me. “People can change, Magnolia. Not all of them. But some.”

The words settle deep in my chest, holding my heart in a fist.

I shake my head. “That’s not the same.”

Peaches hums, tilting her head. “No?”

I clench my jaw. “You didn’t choose what happened to you. I did. I walked straight into this, Peaches. I let myself believe in him.”

“And?” Peaches tosses the piece of metal onto the porch floor with a clink. “That mean you were wrong?”

I don’t know.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “He lied to me,” I whisper.

“He did.”

I let out a breath, opening my eyes again. “Then why does it still hurt like this?”

Peaches sighs, resting her chin on her knee. “Because you love him.”

The words knock the air out of my lungs.

I stare down at the mess in my lap, my heart thudding unevenly. “It shouldn’t be that simple.”

“It’s not,” Peaches agrees. “Love’s never simple. But it’s also not somethin’ you can just switch off because it’s inconvenient. Or at least…that’s what all the novels say. I guess it could be bullshit.”

I huff out a laugh.

She grins, leaning back on her hands. “I mean, in books, this is usually the part where the heroine runs off to some secluded cottage to cry about it for a few chapters before finally realizing she can’t breathe without him.”

I roll my eyes, rubbing at my temple. “Yeah, well, this isn’t a book, Peaches.”

She hums, unbothered. “Maybe not. But you know what is in every good romance novel?” She lifts a finger, counting off. “A tragic misunderstanding, a whole lotta longing, and at least one dramatic public declaration of love.”

I scoff. “That’s not happening.”

Peaches shrugs, utterly unfazed. “That’s what they all say.”

I shake my head, pressing my lips together. “You really believe in this, don’t you?”

She tilts her head, considering. “I believe in second chances. And I believe that love—real love—doesn’t just disappear because things get messy.” She gives me a sidelong look. “And I definitely believe that if Colt were the kind of hero in one of my books, he’d be halfway to his grand romantic gesture by now.”

I don’t answer.

Because the truth is, part of me wants to believe in that too.

But I don’t know if I can.

I shake my head, running my fingers over the jagged edges of the broken chimes. “It doesn’t matter.”

Peaches gives me a long look, then leans forward, resting her arms on her knees. “You keep sayin’ that like it’ll make it true.”

I don’t answer.

She exhales through her nose, rocking back slightly. “Look, Magnolia. You don’t owe him forgiveness. You don’t owe him anything.” Her voice is firm, but there’s no anger in it, no push to make me see things her way. Just quiet certainty. “But you do owe yourself honesty.”

I close my eyes, pressing my fingers into my temples.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Peaches hums. “Well, let’s start simple. What do you want to do?”

I swallow, my throat tight.

I don’t know how to answer that.

Because part of me wants to forget, to let the pack’s anger wash over me until there’s nothing left but resolve. Until I can convince myself that what I felt for Colt wasn’t real, that it was just the mate bond, just my own foolishness that led me here.

But I know better.

I know what’s real.

I know.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I want him to not have lied to me,” I whisper.

Peaches lets out a slow breath, tilting her head back to stare at the sky. “Yeah,” she says after a moment. “I bet he wishes that too.”

That knocks me sideways.

I snap my gaze to her, expecting her to be joking, but her expression is thoughtful, her fingers idly twisting in the hem of her dress.

“You believe him?” I ask, barely able to keep the disbelief out of my voice. “After everything?”

Peaches turns her gaze to me. “I believe he didn’t go through with it,” she says. “I believe he could’ve handed me over a dozen times and didn’t. I believe he’s a fucking idiot who made the worst mistake of his life the second he walked into this den with a bounty on my head.”

She lets out a humorless laugh. “And I believe that the way he looks at you isn’t a lie.”

My breath catches in my throat.

Peaches exhales, rolling her shoulders like she’s shaking off a weight. “Magnolia, I know what it’s like to feel trapped. To think the world is out to get you, to think there’s no way out but through.” She tilts her head, watching me. “And I know what it’s like to be saved by the last person you expected.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

She sighs, dragging a hand through her hair. “I’m not sayin’ you have to forgive him. I’m not even sayin’ you should.” She fixes me with a steady look. “But if I can sit here, knowing what I know—if I can look at you and still see the way he worships the ground you walk on—then maybe you should ask yourself why you’re runnin’ so hard from what you already know.”

I shake my head, my chest too tight. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” she agrees. “It never is.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and charged.

Then Peaches lets out a huff, shaking her head. “You know,” she says, stretching her legs out in front of her, “for all the stupid shit he did, I’ll give him one thing.”

I glance at her, wary. “What’s that?”

She grins, all teeth. “The man’s got taste.”

Despite everything, despite the ache in my chest and the doubt still clawing at my ribs, a laugh snorts out of me.

Peaches beams, nudging me with her foot. “There she is.”

I shake my head, dragging a hand over my face. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” she corrects.

And dammit, I do.

Peaches is my best friend, my sister in all the ways that count, and if she can sit here, knowing Colt came to destroy her life, and still believe that he loves me?—

Then maybe I’m not as far gone as I thought.

I exhale, leaning my head against her shoulder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” I admit.

Peaches hums. “That’s alright.” She rests her cheek against the top of my head, voice soft. “Just don’t let the pack decide for you.”

I close my eyes, letting her words settle deep in my chest.

Because she’s right.

No one gets to make this choice for me.

Not the pack. Not Reyes.

And not Colt.