Garrett

Tamara's POV

I came back to myself in pieces.

First, the ceiling. Grey morning light filtering through blinds I didn't recognize. Then the ache between my thighs, deep and insistent, I couldn't see but felt with every shift of my legs. My head pounded. My mouth was dry.

Then the memories arrived like a flood of cold water.

Climbing into his lap. Kissing him. Saying Lucas's name. Him going still.

And then….

My face burned. I sat up too fast, and my head punished me for it. The blanket slid down, and I was naked underneath. His shirt had been draped over me at some point. I hadn't noticed it last night.

Garrett. I knew his name now. I'd screamed it.

I looked around the room. The floor blanket was gone. The bed was made—he'd made the bed while I was still in it. The windows were cracked open, letting in the cold morning air. And there, leaning against the doorframe like he'd been standing there for a while, was him.

He was wearing a T-shirt and short, barefoot. Arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched me panic with the exact same expression he'd worn in the courtyard.

Unbothered. Like finding a drunk girl, taking her home, and fucking her into forgetting her ex's name was just a normal Tuesday night.

My stomach flipped.

"Breakfast is ready," he said.

Then he turned and left the room.

No warmth not coldness. Just a statement of fact.

I sat there for a full minute, breathing, trying to remember how to be a person.

***********

I ate because leaving immediately felt more revealing than staying five minutes.

He'd made eggs. Toast. There was orange juice in a glass already poured on the small kitchen counter. He sat across from me at a tiny table, eating his own food like we did this every morning, and didn't try to fill the silence.

I wanted to ask questions. Why did you help me? Why did you stay? Why did you—

But I didn't. Because I was afraid of the answers.

His phone buzzed on the table. I caught the name on the screen before he flipped it over: Josh.

Underneath, a text preview: "You good? Heard you had company."

Garrett, I thought, looking at his face, the sharp jaw, the dark skin, those grey eyes that hadn't softened once.

His name is Garrett Wave. Lucas biggest competitor on the rink and the alpha of the Fornon pack.

I swallowed hard, this was what happened when you get drunk Tamara

"Thank you," I said when I finished eating. My voice was more steadier than I felt. "For the food. And for…" I gestured vaguely at the room, at him, at everything.

He nodded. Like I'd said something obvious he already knew.

I stood up, found my clothes folded on the chair, he'd folded them and dressed quickly. When I reached the door, I turned back.

"I'm Tamara," I said.

"I know."

Okay this was awkward.

“Can we forget that last night happened?”

He looked up and held my gaze. I held my breath.

He said nothing and looked down at his phone.

I guess not

*************

Back on campus, I kept my head down. I tried to rebuild the shape of my normal life. I walked the same paths, sat in the same seats, answered Elena's texts with I'm fine until she stopped asking.

It almost worked.

Then Lucas found me.

Hallway, mid-morning. People streaming between classes, backpacks bumping, and a lot of yelling and hollering.

I was coming out of the library, head down, earbuds in, when a hand closed around my wrist.

I turned. It was Lucas, wearing that smug look he always had feeling like the world rearranged itself for him.

I looked up at him, his dark hair. That jaw I'd traced with my fingers a hundred times. He looked tired. Like he hadn't slept.

"I've been looking for you," he said.

His voice was soft. The one he only used in empty corridors and dark cars.

In public, I realized with a jolt. For the first time.

"I want to know where you've been." He tilted his head, studying my face like he was trying to read something. "You haven't answered my texts."

I tried to pull my wrist free. He held on.

"Let go of me, Lucas."

"Tamara.."

"Leave me alone."

His grip tightened. Not enough to hurt, just enough to say I'm not done with you yet.

People were starting to stare. I could feel their eyes on us, on the Ashford Alpha holding the quiet girl hostage in the middle of the hallway.

I opened my mouth to scream if I had to.

Then a hand settled on my waist.

It was warm and steady.

I turned.

Garrett stood beside me. Close enough that his shoulder almost touched mine. He wasn't touching Lucas. He didn't need to. He just looked at him with those cold and very calculating grey eyes and asked, very calmly,

"Didn't you hear her?"

The hallway seemed to notice. People slowed and turned. Whispers started. Lucas's packmates stopped mid-conversation, eyes wide.

Lucas went very still.

His eyes moved from me to Garrett. Then back to me. Then to his hand on my back.

His expression became cold and unreadable, almost like he was reeling in shock and trying not to betray it.

He released my wrist.

"Garrett Wave," he said in this tone that said it was not a question or recognition. It was a line being drawn.

Garrett didn't respond. He just looked at him with that same unbothered expression he'd worn over breakfast.

Lucas's jaw tightened. His eyes swept over me one last time, searching, measuring, remembering and then he smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.

It was cold and quiet and promised something I didn't want to name.

"This isn't over," he said quietly.

He walked away.

The crowd parted for him. It always did.

I stood there, heart slamming against my ribs, Garrett's hand still warm on my back. He didn't move it. He didn't say you're welcome or are you okay or any of the things normal people would say.

He just waited.

And I realized, with a clarity that made my stomach drop, that Lucas had just understood something I hadn't fully admitted to myself yet.

Whatever this was, whatever Garrett was. It wasn't going to make things easier.