Chapter Three

By the time the sun dipped behind the trees, the pack house felt too loud—too warm, too full. Decorations hung half-finished from the rafters, music drifted from the living room, and voices echoed up the stairs like the whole place was vibrating with anticipation.

Everyone was excited.

Everyone except me.

I’d barely made it through training earlier. My wolf had been pacing, restless and alert, and Roman’s presence had only made everything worse. Or better. Or both. I didn’t know anymore, and the not knowing was starting to feel unbearable.

I’d just stepped into my room when Lucy appeared in the doorway like a blonde hurricane.

“We’re going out tonight,” she declared, hands on her hips.

I blinked. “I’m not really—”

“No,” she cut in, already marching toward me. “You’re going.”

“I’m exhausted.”

“Exactly. You’re wound so tight you might snap. Local bar. Outdoor volleyball. Distraction.”

I hesitated, the weight of the upcoming ceremony pressing down on me.

Two days.

Two days until my coming-of-age ceremony. Two days until the pack’s expectations felt like they might crush me. Two days until I’d be able to sense my mate—if I even had one. Two days until everything changed, whether I was ready or not.

Lucy studied my face, her expression softening just a little. “You don’t look tired,” she said quietly. “You look like you’re trying not to crawl out of your own skin.”

That hit too close.

“Fine,” I said finally. “But I’m not staying out late.”

She grinned. “Sure.”

---

The bar was already buzzing when we arrived. Warm lights glowed over the sand volleyball courts, strings of bulbs flickering on as the sun dipped lower. Music drifted from speakers near the bar—something upbeat and familiar. Laughter carried across the sand.

It felt like summer, even though the air held a bite.

Someone shoved a drink into my hand before I could protest.

Then another.

The alcohol loosened something inside me—slowly at first, then all at once. My thoughts softened. My wolf, mercifully, quieted. I laughed more than I had in days, missed serves without caring, let sand cling to my legs, and allowed Lucy to drag me into conversations I barely followed.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, I almost felt normal.

Then I saw him.

Roman stood near the bar, leaning casually against the counter. A girl I didn’t recognize stood close—too close—her hand resting on his chest like she belonged there. She laughed, head tipped back, fingers sliding lazily over his shirt.

He smiled down at her.

Not the careful smile he wore around the pack.

The easy one.

My chest tightened, sharp and sudden.

Lucy followed my gaze. “Oh.”

“I don’t care,” I said too fast, the words tumbling out.

She gave me a look. “You absolutely do.”

I turned back to the game, forcing myself to focus. But my attention kept drifting. Every time the girl touched him, something twisted painfully inside my chest. My wolf stirred, unsettled, restless again.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

He wasn’t mine.

He never had been.

That didn’t stop the ache.

Another drink appeared in my hand.

Then another.

The line between buzzed and drunk blurred. The night grew warmer. The music louder. My limbs felt loose, heavy in the best way.

I was laughing at something Lucy said when a familiar presence settled beside me.

“You’re still terrible at volleyball.”

I froze.

Roman stood close enough that our arms brushed. His gaze flicked briefly to my cup, then back to my face.

“You didn’t even play,” I shot back, irritation flaring.

“I didn’t need to.”

I rolled my eyes, but the sound came out softer than I meant it to. “You were busy.”

Roman choked on the beer he was drinking. “You noticed?”

“I have eyes.”

Silence stretched between us, awkward and charged.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” he said, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

I swayed slightly, then steadied myself. “Okay. Maybe I’m not fine.”

His gaze lingered on my face like he was memorizing something. “Come on,” he said, his tone shifting.

“Where?”

“Home.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because you shouldn’t be here like this.”

I crossed my arms, defiance rising. “But aren’t you busy?”

Something dark flickered in his eyes. “That doesn’t matter.”

I laughed softly, the sound tinged with bitterness. “It looked like it did.”

He exhaled slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Why wouldn’t I take you home?”

“Because,” I said, the alcohol loosening my tongue, “you had more important girls to do—I mean, more important things.”

His jaw tightened. “There’s nothing more important than making sure you’re okay.”

The words landed hard, reverberating in the air between us.

I didn’t know what to say to that.