The truth that stings

The bruises on my thigh had started to throb again.

I told myself it was fine—I could walk it off, push through the pain like I always did. But when I almost collapsed while carrying water buckets to the kitchen, Emma all but shoved me out the door.

“Go see Eric,” she ordered. “Now. Before your leg gives out for good.”

I didn’t argue.

The walk to the medical wing felt longer than usual, partly because of the ache in my muscles—and partly because of the soft flutter I always felt when I thought of him.

Eric.

Not Ryker, with his dangerous eyes and painful silences.

Not Will, who was calm and kind like a gentle snowfall.

But Eric—sunshine in human form. His smirk could knock the air from my lungs. The way his fingers lingered when he patted my shoulder or helped me up, the way he winked when I passed him in the hallway. All of it made something bloom in my chest. Something silly. Something I hadn't allowed myself to feel in a long time.

A crush. A sweet, stupid crush.

He was funny. Strong. Safe.

I reached the infirmary door and raised a hand to knock, but it swung open before I touched it.

“Ah, the silver wolf herself,” Eric grinned, standing in the doorway, arms crossed. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

His presence hit me like a gust of fresh wind. His shirt clung to his chest, slightly damp—he’d clearly just come in from training. His curls were wild, cheeks flushed. He looked devastating.

I forced a smile, trying not to look as breathless as I felt. “You were expecting me?”

“Will said you’d been limping since the border run. You know how he is—would’ve tracked you down with a tranquilizer gun if you didn’t show.”

I chuckled, stepping inside. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” came Will’s voice from the corner.

He stood at the counter, sorting through herbs, glasses slipping down his nose. His eyes flicked to me, professional but kind.

“Up on the cot. Eric, grab me that salve.”

I obeyed, hopping on the elevated bed as Eric moved to Will’s side. They stood close—closer than I’d ever noticed before. Shoulders brushing. Movements fluid, practiced.

I pushed the thought aside.

Will turned to me, holding the jar. “This’ll sting a bit.”

“I’m getting used to that,” I murmured.

Eric gave a low whistle. “Tough girl.”

I smiled at him.

He smiled back.

But then—Will reached up, without a word, and brushed something from Eric’s cheek.

A leaf. Or a piece of thread. Something small.

The touch was so gentle, so intimate, my heart skipped.

Eric didn’t flinch.

He smiled at Will—softly, almost imperceptibly. A look I’d never seen before. Like the entire world disappeared except for the two of them.

Will said something too low for me to hear.

Eric laughed.

And then, without fanfare, Will leaned in and pressed a kiss to Eric’s jaw.

My world tilted.

My throat went dry.

I looked away, pretending to inspect the ceiling, the floor—anything to avoid the image of the man I’d been quietly daydreaming about sharing a moment that wasn’t meant to be secret. No stolen glances. No hiding.

Just… love.

Open. Easy. Real.

The ache in my thigh was nothing compared to the one that bloomed in my chest.

Eric turned back to me, all ease and charm, as if nothing had happened.

But everything had.

Will worked in silence, wrapping my leg with gentle fingers, while Eric perched on the edge of the counter, swinging his foot idly.

I couldn't hear a word they were saying anymore. Their voices were muffled, like I was underwater.

I blinked hard. Swallowed the sting behind my eyes.

When Will finished, I slid off the cot, careful not to limp.

“You’re healing well,” he said, professionally. “Another two days of rest, and you’ll be ready for anything.”

“Even another ambush?” I joked, trying to keep my voice light.

Eric snorted. “With me around? Please.”

My smile wobbled.

“Thanks,” I said softly.

I turned to leave.

But Will called out gently, “Trixie.”

I paused.

He stepped toward me, arms folded.

“You didn’t know about us, did you?”

My mouth opened, then closed.

“No,” I said finally. “I didn’t.”

Eric came beside him, resting a hand on Will’s lower back. Not possessive. Just natural.

“It's not a secret,” Will said kindly. “We just figured… you had other things on your mind.”

Like surviving. Like cleaning. Like not being a burden.

“I did,” I said, voice hollow.

“Trixie,” Eric said, stepping closer. “You’re pack now. We don’t want you to feel out of place or… blindsided.”

Too late.

I nodded.

“I’m happy for you both,” I lied, and I smiled the best fake smile I could manage.

Eric hesitated. Maybe he sensed it. Maybe not.

“Let us know if the leg acts up again,” Will said gently.

I left without another word.

The hall was dark and empty. I walked slowly, breathing through the crack in my chest.

Why did it hurt so much?

It wasn’t like Eric had promised me anything. It wasn’t like I had even told anyone how I felt. It was a quiet hope—just mine. My little slice of warmth, after weeks of cold.

And now, it was gone.

I made it outside, into the garden behind the house. The night was cool, stars blinking above like distant promises.

I sank onto a bench near the hanging area, where the air still smelled like flowers and soap.

I let the tears fall. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… quiet mourning for something that never really existed.

I didn’t hear the footsteps until someone sat down beside me.

Ryker.

Of course.

I wiped my face quickly, turning my head.

“Don’t you have wolves to command?” I muttered.

“Eric told me what happened,” he said simply.

I laughed without humor. “Of course he did.”

He didn’t speak for a while. Just sat beside me in silence.

Then, “You liked him.”

It wasn’t a question.

I didn’t answer.

“You thought he saw you.”

That one struck harder. My breath hitched.

Ryker turned his head to look at me. “It hurts when someone is kind to you, and you mistake it for something else. Trust me—I know.”

The confession cracked something in me.

“I just wanted to be chosen for once,” I whispered.

“You were,” he said.

I blinked at him.

“You were chosen by this pack. You were carried through the forest when you collapsed. You were spared when others would’ve been punished. You were brought back to life by the people you now serve beside.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I whispered.

“No. It’s supposed to remind you—you matter. Even if it’s not in the way you expected.”

The words sat between us, heavy and real.

“I didn’t think you cared.”

“I didn’t either,” he said. “Until I realized how much it bothered me to see you cry over someone else.”

I turned to him, startled.

Ryker didn’t flinch.

His gaze was still and intense.

“I may not give you flowers,” he said. “I may not smile the way he does. But I see you, Trixie. And I don’t plan on looking away.”

And then he stood, leaving me with only the echo of his voice.

And the wild, terrifying thought that maybe.

Just maybe.

I wasn’t invisible after all.