Page 75 of Reckless: Chaos

“And what about you?” The question comes out barely a whisper. “What spaces am I filling for you?”

“Every single one.” His fingers trace patterns in my hair, gentler than a man his size should be capable of. “You know, I was twenty when I lost my parents.”

The shift in conversation catches me off guard. “Pack territory dispute, right?”

“That’s the official story.” His voice carries old wounds. “Reality was messier. Politics, betrayal... I came home from the Academy to find everything I knew in ashes. Had to step up, become Alpha before I was ready.”

Something in his tone resonates with an old hurt in my chest. “I was nineteen when my mom died. Cancer. Spent my last semester of college in hospital waiting rooms, learning to hack medical systems to get her better treatment.”

“Did it help?”

“No.” The word still tastes bitter. “Just taught me that some things can’t be controlled. No matter how good your code is.”

His hand tightens fractionally in my hair. “Is that why you do it? Try to save everyone?”

“Maybe.” I lean into his touch, letting myself be honest in a way I usually avoid. “Better than feeling helpless. What about you? Is that why you try to control everything? Keep everyone safe?”

“Coming home to destruction...” He swallows hard. “Built this pack from broken pieces. Jinx half-feral, Finn running from his own ghosts, Theo needing protection. Swore I’d never let anyone hurt them again.”

“And then I showed up. Chaos incarnate.”

“With a target on your back and steel in your spine.” His thumb traces my jaw. “Treating danger like a game.”

“Not a game.” I meet his eyes. “A mission. Just like yours.”

“A mission,” he echoes, something shifting in his expression. “You know what scared me most when you got shot?”

“My stunning display of reckless heroics?”

“How still you were.” His voice drops, raw with memory. “You’re never still. Always moving, planning, ten steps ahead. But there was so much blood, and you were just... quiet.”

The pain in his voice hits harder than any bullet. “Ryker...”

“Reminded me of coming home that day. Finding everything I loved destroyed because I wasn’t there to stop it.”

“You can’t protect everyone.” The words come soft, even as I plan my own betrayal. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“But you keep trying anyway.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Just like I keep trying to control everything. Two different approaches to the same fear.”

“Being helpless?”

“Being too late.”

The confession hangs between us, heavy with shared understanding. His forehead touches mine, breath warm against my lips.

“I’ve watched you fight since the moment you got here,” he murmurs. “Fight our protection, fight our care. Didn’t understand until now—you’re not fighting us.”

“No?”

“You’re fighting that helplessness. Same enemy, different battlefield.”

God, he sees too much. Understands too well. It would be easier if he was just the controlling alpha. The mission handler. Not this man who reads my broken pieces and shows me his own in return.

“Maybe we’re both fighting the wrong thing,” I whisper, even as my heart cracks knowing what I’ll have to do.

His hand cups my face like I’m something precious. Something worth protecting. “Maybe we should try fighting together instead.”

The irony of his trust might actually kill me.

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