Page 110 of The Cuddle Clause

And I listened.

“You don’t have to answer right away,” Eric said, voice low and soft like he was trying to thread his way back into her. “I miss you. And I want to try again. Please. Just think about it.”

The silence that followed felt like a stone dropping into water. No splash. Just the slow ripple of it spreading through my chest.

I let go of the door and walked into the kitchen, bracing both hands against the counter. My heart was thudding against my ribs in that ugly, unsteady way it did when I was trying too hard not to feel something.

Of course this was happening. Of course. I should’ve seen it coming.

You lie to your pack. You fake a bond. You pretend the girl you’ve been falling for every day for weeks is just a roommate, just a friend, just a convenient storyline. You spend all your energy holding it all together, and then the one thing you don’t account for, the one variable you can’t control, shows up holding a goddamn bouquet of flowers and ruins everything.

Because he doesn’t have to fake it.

Because he had her first.

And for all I knew, he’d have her again.

I gripped the back of my neck. The itch was back. That feral, scraping thing under my skin that came with wanting something I couldn’t have. That I shouldn’t want. But I did. I wanted her so badly that my stomach ached.

I couldn’t stop seeing her on the dance floor: The way her dress shimmered under the lights. The way her laugh punched straight through my ribs like it belonged there.

I’d tried so hard not to hold onto that moment too tightly.

I should’ve held tighter.

Everything was unraveling. Slipping right through my hands like I’d never had a grip on any of it in the first place. My pulse thundered in my ears. My jaw ached from how tightly I was clenching it. I paced the length of the kitchen, each stride sharp and filled with rage. I didn’t even know who I was mad at. Myself. Eric. Seraphina. Lucien. The whole damn pack.

I curled my fingers into fists and released them again. Over and over. Breathing through my nose like that was supposed to help. I tried grounding myself. Scent. Sound. The faint citrus of the dish soap. The low hum of the fridge. The creak of the wood beneath my bare feet.

None of it worked.

The walls felt too close. The ceiling too low. My skin itched like it didn’t fit right. I was about three seconds away from shifting and bolting out the door when I heard the front door open, then close softly.

Maggie.

I froze, hands braced against the edge of the counter. My breath caught in my throat like it didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t have to.

She was crying. That soft, aching sound of someone trying not to break and failing anyway cracked something in me.

I wanted to ask what happened. If he hurt her. If she was okay.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I went into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. If she was crying over him… If she was crying because she’d told him yes, then I didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t.

The pain knifed through my chest, sharp and fast, before settling into something dull and suffocating. My feet carried me to the center of my room like they didn’t know where else to go.

What the hell was I doing?

Why had I allowed myself to get this deep? Why had I allowed her to mean this much to me?

I pressed my palms to my eyes and breathed in hard through my nose, trying to smother the ache behind my ribs with oxygen alone.

It didn’t work.

My wolf was restless, pacing inside me like he wanted out. Wanted to tear through the woods and chase something. He wanted to let instinct take over so I didn’t have to feel.