Page 13 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

Then Jason says, “Thanks for not brushing me off earlier.”

I glance over. “You mean... the walk?”

He smiles. “And the almost-kiss.”

I go still.

He chuckles. “Yeah. I felt it too.”

I open my mouth, no words come out.

He shrugs, grabs another rope, and says, “It’s fine. We got time.”

As we finish anchoring the last rope between two trees, I take a breath. The sun’s dipped below the treetops now, and fireflies are starting to blink lazily across the clearing. The whole forest feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting.

I glance over at Jason. His hair’s a mess, there’s dirt smudged across his forearm, and his shirt’s got a tear in the collar. But he looks... steady. Centered. Like someone who knows how to hold space when it counts.

“You were really good with him,” I say softly.

He pauses mid-tug on the rope. “Nolan?”

I nod. “You didn’t push. Or talk over him. You just... listened. And then you gave him something to believe in.”

Jason looks at me like he doesn’t quite know what to do with the compliment. He runs a hand through his hair, laughs once—low and sheepish.

“Yeah,” he mutters, eyes dropping. “Surprised me too.”

I smile. “Don’t be.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t tryin’ to be some hero. I just... saw myself in him. I remember bein’ that age. All teeth and confusion. Wantin’ so bad to be part of somethin’ but not knowin’ how.”

There’s something raw in his voice. Something that makes me want to reach out and touch his arm, but I don’t.

Not yet.

“I think,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “he needed exactly what you gave him today.”

Jason lifts his eyes to mine. For once, there’s no smirk. No teasing. Just him.

“Thanks, Barbie,” he says.

I almost roll my eyes at the nickname—but there’s warmth in it this time. A softness.

“Get some sleep,” he adds. “Tomorrow we build a legend.”

CHAPTER 6

JASON

Ihaven’t built anything this rickety since my older brother dared me to turn a trampoline into a treehouse.

But damn if this doesn’t feel better.

The logs are uneven. The rope bridge we strung up last night between the pine trunks sags a little in the middle. And the final “challenge”—a wheelbarrow race through the mud pit—is held together by nothing but duct tape, questionable knots, and my overwhelming confidence.

Still. It looks good.

Real good.

---