Page 18 of Doyle

"Please," I replied, opening the door slightly so Doyle could pass the clothes to me.

During the brief interaction, I didn't miss the interested gaze he gave me, and my cheeks heated up.

It was amazing that Doyle found me attractive despite how skinny and gaunt I was.

"Thanks," I said, accepting the clothes and gently closing the door.

I quickly dressed, pleased to find that the clothes fit well enough.

When I stepped out, I found Doyle still in the room, on the phone with someone.

"Yeah, sure, Mayhem," Doyle was saying.

He looked up when he saw me. Not wanting to intrude, I gestured to the door.

Doyle nodded, and I quietly closed the door behind me. I wandered down the hallway, feeling a strange mixture of anxiety and hope.

The house was filled with the sounds of life—a distant conversation, the clinking of dishes, the hum of daily activity.

It was a stark contrast to my time with the coven. As I reached the kitchen, I found myself thinking about the future.

What would it be like to truly be part of a pack, to have a place to call home?

The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. But my dad was driving up here to come get me. That realization dampened my mood.

I would have to leave soon, and the fantasy of finding a new home with Doyle and his pack would never happen.

Zane's distrust was evident, and it wasn't just about protecting his family.

I was an outsider in their world, a stranger who might bring potential danger to the pack.

I couldn't blame him. I had seen enough to know how precarious trust could be. But it made the prospect of staying with Doyle even more impossible.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that I should be with my family, back where I belonged.

But the thought of returning to my old life, left me feeling hollow and depressed.

My dad would be thrilled to see me, but he would never understand my years in captivity or the bond I felt with Doyle, or the strange, unexpected sense of belonging I had found here.

It felt like being torn in two directions, neither of which offered a clear path to happiness.

"Michael, are you okay?" Doyle asked, his voice bringing me back to reality.

He knitted his eyebrows in concern and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I realized I was still standing on the top of the staircase.

I forced a smile, but it felt fragile.

"Yeah, I just got lost in my own thoughts,” I said.

"I get it, you must be feeling so overwhelmed,” he said, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze. “Whatever happens, Michael, just know that you have a place here. If you ever need me, I’ll be here for you."

His words were comforting, but they also reminded me of the impending separation.

The fleeting moments of warmth and connection we shared felt bittersweet, knowing they would soon come to an end.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told him.

“Come on, let’s get something to eat,” he said and I nodded.

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