Fated to My Best Friend and The Alpha

The first pebble hits my window at six seventeen in the morning.

I ignore it.

The second hits harder.

By the third, I know exactly who is responsible.

I drag myself out of bed, cross the room, and yank open the curtains.

Drevin Brooks stands in the yard below my window with another pebble in his hand and a grin on his face.

I shove the window open.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“It is six in the morning.”

“Six seventeen.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He bends down for another rock.

“Throw that and I’ll kill you.”

He drops it.

Then walks toward the side of the house.

My eyes narrow.

“Drevin.”

A hand appears on the edge of the porch roof.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

His head pops into view.

He climbs through my window like he has a key to the place.

He might as well.

Drevin has been sneaking through this window since we were thirteen.

My dad has threatened to put spikes on the roof.

Drevin says that would only make things more interesting.

He lands on my bedroom floor and looks me over.

“Your hair looks terrible.”

I grab a pillow and throw it at him.

He catches it.

Damn wolf reflexes.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“Breakfast.”

“You have food at your house.”

“Nothing good.”

“You mean nobody made it for you.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re twenty.”

“And hungry.”

I roll my eyes and move past him.

Usually, Drevin would throw an arm over my shoulders.

Or mess up my hair.

Or pull me into one of those annoying hugs where he squeezes too hard because he knows I’ll complain.

This morning, he reaches toward me.

Stops.

Then flicks my forehead instead.

I blink.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You were going to—”

I stop.

Hug me?

Why does that sound pathetic?

Drevin lifts an eyebrow.

“Going to what?”

“Nothing.”

His smile fades for half a second.

Then he nudges me toward the door.

“Feed me, menace.”

The moment passes.

Almost.

Ten minutes later, he’s sitting on the kitchen counter eating strawberries straight from the carton.

“My strawberries.”

“Our strawberries.”

“My mother bought those.”

“Your mother loves me.”

“My mother tolerates you because you’ve been around so long she thinks removing you would upset the ecosystem.”

He eats another one.

I pull eggs from the refrigerator.

“How many?”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“You ate half the strawberries.”

“Fruit doesn’t count.”

“That isn’t how food works.”

He grins. “Four eggs, Cam.”

I crack three.

Drevin hops off the counter and walks behind me.

Normally, he rests his chin on my head when I cook.

He’s been doing it for years because he knows it annoys me.

Instead, he reaches around me for the bacon beside the stove without letting his chest touch my back.

Another tiny thing.

Another thing I notice.

I glance over my shoulder.

“Are you avoiding me?”

He nearly chokes.

“What?”

“Physically.”

His face changes.

Barely.

I know him too well to miss it.

“You’re asking why I’m not touching you enough?” he says.

“No.”

“Sounded like it.”

“I regret speaking.”

“As you should.”

I turn back to the stove.

I’ve known Drevin for most of my life.

There are childhood memories where I don’t even remember whether he was invited.

Christmas mornings.

Family camping trips.

Birthdays.

School dances.

The hospital after I broke my wrist when I was eight.

He held my hand the entire time.

Then cried when the doctor reset the bone.

He claims he had allergies.

Inside a hospital.

In December.

Drevin has always been there.

Which is probably why I made the catastrophic mistake of falling in love with him.

Not all at once.

There wasn’t one dramatic moment.

It happened slowly.

In pieces.

Every time he showed up when I needed someone.

Every late-night phone call.

Every inside joke.

Every time he defended me.

Every time he looked at me like I was his favorite person in the room.

Somewhere along the way, friendship turned into something else.

For me, anyway.

Drevin has never given me a reason to believe he feels the same.

He dates.

A lot.

I try not to think about that.

I slide his plate across the counter.

He steals a piece of toast from mine.

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you continue to feed me.”

“Against my better judgment.”

We move to the breakfast nook.

Morning light spills through the windows, stretching across the forest beyond our backyard.

In seven days, those woods will feel different.

Everything will.

Drevin catches me staring outside.

“You’re thinking about it.”

“My birthday?”

“No, obviously the weather.”

I kick him beneath the table.

He smirks.

Seven days until I turn eighteen.

Seven days until my first shift.

Everyone says my wolf will know what to do.

That the pain is temporary.

That afterward, I won’t understand how I ever lived without her.

I’m excited.

Mostly.

“What if she’s terrible?” I ask.

“Your wolf?”

“Yes.”

He snorts. “How could she possibly be worse than you?”

I kick him again.

“Violent,” he mutters.

“I’m serious.”

Drevin looks down at his plate.

Something tightens in his expression.

“She’ll be fine.”

“You’ve been weird about my birthday.”

His fork pauses.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have.”

“I’m always weird.”

“Not like this.”

He avoids my eyes.

That bothers me more than it should.

Drevin never avoids anything.

Especially me.

“Did I do something?”

His head snaps up.

“No.”

“Then why have you been disappearing?”

“I haven’t.”

“You barely came over last week. You keep leaving early. Half the time when I text, you say you’re busy.”

“I have a life, Camille.”

The words land harder than he probably intends.

My face warms.

“I know that.”

His expression immediately softens.

“Cam—”

“No, it’s fine.”

“It didn’t come out right.”

I push eggs around my plate.

Drevin sighs.

“Things change after your first shift.”

I look at him.

“What does that mean?”

He stares toward the woods.

“Nothing.”

“That clearly meant something.”

“Forget it.”

I hate this.

We don’t do careful conversations.

If Drevin is angry, he says it.

If I’m upset, he annoys me until I talk.

There has never been this strange space between us.

Until now.

“Talk to me,” I say.

He finally looks at me.

For a moment, something raw crosses his face.

Fear, maybe.

Or sadness.

Then it’s gone.

“I’ve got to go.”

My stomach drops.

“You came here for breakfast.”

“And now I’ve eaten breakfast.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I told my dad I’d help him.”

He carries his plate to the sink.

I follow.

“Are you coming over tonight?”

He hesitates.

Just barely.

“Maybe.”

I stare at him.

Drevin never says maybe.

“Oh.”

He turns.

“Camille.”

“It’s fine.”

He steps closer.

For one ridiculous second, I think he might say something important.

Instead, he reaches into my hair.

“You’ve got egg in it.”

“What?”

I grab at my head.

His grin returns.

“There isn’t any.”

“You asshole.”

He laughs and bolts.

I chase him through the kitchen, catching him before he reaches the front door.

I jump onto his back.

He automatically grabs my legs to keep me from falling.

“You lied to me.”

“You believed me.”

“Put me down.”

“No chance.”

I tug his hair.

He laughs harder.

For a few seconds, everything feels normal.

Just us.

The way it has always been.

Then he lets me down by the door.

The distance returns immediately.

“So… tonight?” I ask again.

Drevin opens the door.

Cool morning air slips inside.

He looks back at me with an expression I don’t understand.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Maybe.”

Then he leaves.

I stand there and watch him cross the yard.

He gets into his truck.

Starts the engine.

Drives away.

He never looks back.

Drevin always looks back.

It’s such a small thing.

But I notice.

Seven days until my birthday.

Seven days until my wolf.

Seven days until everything is supposed to change.

I just didn’t expect Drevin to start changing first.