Chapter 41

My Cheating Mate

Jeremy pov

I was at the stove, scrambling eggs for lunch—we'd slept through most of the day after our emotionally exhausting morning—when I heard Emma's footsteps behind me.

"Smells good," she said.

"Just eggs. Nothing fancy." I stirred the pan, grateful for something to do with my hands. "Should be ready in—"

Her lips touched mine.

For a moment, I couldn't process what was happening. Emma was kissing me. Actually kissing me, not a quick peck or accidental brush of lips but a real kiss.

I froze, the spatula still in my hand, my brain struggling to catch up with reality.

Then her hands moved to my back, pressing gently, and I realized this wasn't a mistake. Wasn't an impulse she'd immediately regret.

She was choosing this. Choosing me. Right now.

The spatula clattered to the counter as I turned off the stove, my hands finding her waist. I kissed her back carefully, tentatively, terrified of doing something wrong, of pushing too hard, of ruining this moment.

She tasted like the coffee we'd had earlier. Felt warm and solid and real against me. Her hands moved up my back, fingers threading through my hair.

I'd forgotten this. The simple perfection of kissing her. The way she fit against me like we'd been designed for each other. The soft sound she made in the back of her throat when I deepened the kiss slightly.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I stared at her. "Emma—"

"Don't," she said quickly. "Don't analyze it or ask if I'm sure or apologize for something. I just—I needed to do that."

"Why?" The question came out hoarse.

"Because last night, I thought you might die. Thought I might die. And I realized—" She paused, her hands still on my shoulders. "I realized I didn't want to die without kissing you again. Really kissing you. Not the careful, therapeutic distance we've been maintaining."

"Emma, I don't want to rush you. Don't want to pressure—"

"You're not." She met my eyes. "Jeremy, I'm choosing this. Choosing you. Right now, in this moment. I'm not saying I've forgiven everything. Not saying we're back together or that everything's fixed. But I'm saying—" Her voice softened. "I'm saying I miss you. Miss this. Miss feeling close to someone who knows me."

"I know you," I whispered. "Better than anyone. And Emma, you're—" The words caught. "You're everything. You always were. I was just too stupid to see it."

She kissed me again, softer this time. Tender instead of desperate. Like she was memorizing the feel of me, relearning what we'd lost.

When we broke apart again, I kept my arms around her waist, afraid to let go. Afraid this moment would disappear like smoke if I moved wrong.

"The eggs are going to burn," she said, a small smile crossing her face.

"I don't care about the eggs."

"I do. I'm hungry." She pulled back slightly, but her hands stayed on my chest. "Make me lunch. Then we'll—we'll figure out what this means."

I nodded, reluctantly releasing her to return to the stove. The eggs were salvageable, barely. I focused on finishing them, hyper-aware of Emma watching me from across the small kitchen.

"You're thinking too loud again," she said.

"Sorry. I'm just—" I plated the eggs, added toast. "Emma, I don't want to mess this up. Don't want to assume this means more than it does."

"It means I wanted to kiss you." She took the plate I offered. "It means I'm tired of pretending I don't still have feelings. It means—" She paused, sitting at the table. "It means I'm done running from what I feel. Even when it's complicated and messy and terrifying."

I sat across from her, my own food forgotten. "What do you feel?"

"Love. Anger. Hurt. Hope." She took a bite of eggs. "All of it, all at once. It's exhausting."

"I'm sorry. For making it complicated."

"Stop apologizing." But her tone was gentle. "Jeremy, you've apologized enough. Now you need to show me. Through actions. Through being present. Through—" She gestured between us. "Through moments like this. Honest. Real. No hiding."

"I can do that." I forced myself to eat, even though my stomach was doing flips. "Emma, what does this mean for us? Are we—"

"I don't know," she interrupted. "I don't have labels or definitions right now. We're stuck in a cabin together for potentially weeks. We're both traumatized from last night. We're both trying to heal from months of pain. So let's just—be. See what happens. No expectations. No pressure."

"Just being."

"Just being," she confirmed. "Can you handle that? Not knowing exactly where we stand?"

Could I? The uncertainty terrified me. But the alternative—pushing for definitions and scaring her away—was worse.

"Yes," I said. "I can handle that."

We ate in comfortable silence. The kiss hung between us—not awkward, but present. A shift in the dynamic we'd been carefully maintaining.

After we cleaned up, Emma curled up on the couch with a book from the cabin's small collection. I tried to read too, but mostly I just watched her. The way she tucked her feet under her. The slight furrow between her brows when she concentrated. The unconscious way she bit her lip when something in the story surprised her.

All the little things I'd forgotten. Or taken for granted. Or never properly appreciated.

"You're staring again," she said without looking up.

"Sorry."

"I didn't say stop." She turned a page. "Just pointing it out."

"I'm trying to memorize you," I admitted. "In case—"

"Don't." She set down her book. "Don't talk about 'in case.' We're safe here. We're alive. That's enough for now."

"You're right."

"I usually am." A slight smile. "Jeremy, come here."

I moved to the couch, sitting beside her but leaving space. She sighed and closed the distance, leaning against my side.

"This okay?" she asked.

"More than okay." I carefully put my arm around her shoulders. "This is—yeah. This is perfect."

We sat like that for a long time. Her reading, me just existing in the moment. The simple intimacy of it was almost overwhelming. After months of careful distance, of therapy-mediated conversations, of barely touching—this felt like coming home.

"Jeremy?" Her voice was quiet.

"Hmm?"

"Last night, when that leader was charging toward me—you didn't hesitate. Didn't even think. You just moved."

"Of course I did. I'd die before I let him hurt you."

"That's what scares me." She shifted to look at me. "You keep saying you'd die for me. But Jeremy, I don't want you to die for me. I want you to live for me. To heal for me. To be healthy and whole and present."

"I'm trying."

"I know. And I see it. See you actually eating, sleeping, engaging with therapy." She paused. "That's why I kissed you. Because you're finally showing me through actions, not just words, that you're committed to healing."

"I am committed. To healing. To you. To us, whatever that looks like."

"Good." She settled back against me. "Because I'm going to hold you to that. Every day. For however long we're stuck here."

"I'm counting on it."

She returned to her book, and I just sat there, my arm around her, feeling her warmth against my side. Outside, the forest was quiet except for bird calls and wind through trees. Inside, for the first time in months, I felt something like peace.

Not happiness exactly. We weren't there yet. Too much still unresolved, too much healing left to do.

But peace. The quiet certainty that we were moving in the right direction. That maybe, possibly, we could rebuild what I'd destroyed.

One kiss at a time. One honest conversation at a time. One moment of simple intimacy at a time.

"Emma?" I said after a while.

"Mm?"

"Thank you. For kissing me. For giving me another chance."

"You haven't blown it yet," she said, but I could hear the smile in her voice. "Don't get cocky."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

But inside, I felt something I hadn't felt in months. Hope. Real, fragile hope that maybe we could make this work.

That maybe love really was enough, when combined with honesty and work and time.

That maybe the Moon Goddess hadn't made a mistake after all.

I just had to not screw it up this time.

No pressure.

Emma's phone buzzed. She checked it, her expression turning serious. "My dad. They've secured the pack house. Started rotating all security protocols. Drake's execution is scheduled for tomorrow morning."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Relieved? He got three wolves killed. He deserves whatever he gets." She paused. "Is that wrong? To feel nothing but relief that a traitor is being executed?"

"No. That's justice. He made his choice. Now he faces the consequences."

She nodded, setting her phone aside. "Your dad says Black River has gone to ground. No sightings in forty-eight hours. They're either regrouping or they've given up."

"They haven't given up. Not with that much money on the line." I pulled her closer unconsciously. "But they've lost their intelligence source. That'll make them more cautious."

"Good. Let them be cautious. Let them wonder. Let them make mistakes." Her voice had an edge to it. "I'm tired of being prey. Ready to be the hunter."

"When this is over, when it's safe—we'll hunt them. All of them. Every single wolf Vanessa paid."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

We sat in silence for a while longer. Then Emma yawned, her body relaxing against mine.

"Tired?" I asked.

"Exhausted. We've been running on adrenaline since three AM." She looked up at me. "Will you—would you mind if we both rested? On the couch? Like this?"

My heart stuttered. "You want to sleep here? Together?"

"Just sleeping. Nothing more." She paused. "But yes. I want—I need contact. Need to feel safe. And Jeremy, right now, you make me feel safe."

"Always," I whispered. "I'll always keep you safe."

She shifted, lying down with her head on my lap. I carefully covered her with the blanket from the back of the couch, my hand moving to her hair.

"Is this okay?" I asked.

"Perfect." Her eyes were already closing. "Wake me if anything happens."

"I will."

Within minutes, she was asleep. Her breathing deep and even, her face peaceful in a way I rarely saw anymore.

I sat there, my hand gently stroking her hair, watching her sleep like I used to when we were first mated. Before I ruined everything.

This was trust. Real, vulnerable trust. She was asleep in my lap, completely defenseless, trusting me to keep watch. To keep her safe. To not take advantage of her vulnerability.

I wouldn't let her down. Not again. Not ever.

Whatever it took—however long it took—I would prove I was worthy of this trust.

Of her.

Of us.

Outside, the sun was setting. Inside, Emma slept and I kept watch and for the first time in months, the future felt possible.

Fragile. Uncertain. But possible.

And right now, possible was enough.