Page 20 of Griffin

“Watch the bar,” I ordered, my voice rougher than I intended.

He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but I didn’t give him the chance.

I brushed past him, heading for the door, needing air, space—anything to get away from the mess in front of me.

I heard Michael’s voice behind me, soft, almost pleading. “Griffin, wait?—”

But I didn’t turn back.

The second I was outside, I took a deep breath, hands on my knees, feeling the chill in the air cool my flushed skin.

My wolf was still there, lurking just under the surface, pacing with barely restrained frustration.

How could he be so careless? I knew it was an accident, but knowing that didn’t change the fact that it hurt like hell.

That baseball, that pieces of glass on the ground, was one of the last ties I had to the dad who used to bring Noah and me here after school, talking about the day we’d take over.

Now, with him lying in that hospital bed, every piece of him felt even more precious.

I wanted to punch something, scream, anything to release the helpless ache in my chest.

But I just stood there, letting the quiet night absorb the storm raging inside me.

My wolf finally settled a little, exhausted by the sudden burst of fury.

I leaned against the cool brick wall, feeling the ache in my chest start to fade as my breathing steadied.

It wasn’t Michael’s fault. Deep down, I knew that. But that didn’t make it any easier to face.

I finally pushed myself off the wall and instead of heading back to the bar, I got into my truck and drove to the hospital.

Chapter 5

Michael

Iwasn’t sure how long I’d been standing by the bar’s exit, staring blankly at the door Griffin had just stormed through.

Only when someone jostled me, muttering an irritated “Excuse me,” did I snap out of it and step aside.

What had just happened? One moment, I’d been checking out this signed baseball, admiring it up close.

Then the next, it somehow slipped from my fingers.

The shattering sound seemed louder than the music, louder than the crowd.

And when I looked up, Griffin’s face had been a mix of anger and something else—shock, maybe—before he walked away.

My chest thudded with a painful, unfamiliar ache that I didn’t quite understand.

Another person bumped into me, and I finally moved out of the way, catching sight of Noah kneeling down behind the bar, sweeping up the glass shards and picking up the baseball.

I quickly rushed over.

“Noah—I’m so sorry. Please, let me help,” I blurted out.

“It’s fine,” he said with a small smile. “Just watch out for the glass.”

His tone was gentle, but his eyes told a different story.

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