Page 27 of Thankful for My Orc
Forge
Though it’s the kind of equipment built to withstand abuse, the obstacle course behind Station 32 has seen better days—weathered wooden barriers and rope nets that need replacing. Perfect for working off frustration.
I’ve been running the course on repeat for twenty minutes, burning energy on ladder climbs and rope work, but the rhythm isn’t enough to quiet the questions churning in my head.
Eleven days since Jordan fled my apartment like I was some kind of monster, and not a single word from her since.
I finish the rope traverse and drop to my feet on the packed dirt, checking my time on my watch when I hear footsteps behind me.
“You trying to win a medal in self-destruction, or what?”
“It’s just physical training.”
“Right. And I’m practicing my ballet.” Kam leans against one of the course barriers, arms crossed. “You’ve been out here every day since the speed-dating disaster, brother. The whole crew’s noticed.”
“Better to punish my body than let my mind keep circling the same damn thoughts,” I mutter.
His voice gentles slightly as he studies my face. “Are you finally going to spill about what happened with your female?”
The question crashes into me, raw and brutal, the way only truth can.Your female.If only it were that simple.
“She’s not mine,” I say, the words tasting like ash. “She made that pretty damn clear.”
“Bullshit.” Kam’s response is immediate and sharp. “I saw you two at the fire last Saturday. Saw the way she watched you work, the pride on her face when you carried out the elderly minotaur couple. That woman was falling for you hard.”
The memory bears down like smoke in my lungs—thick, choking, and impossible to ignore. Jordan in the crowd, her caramel eyes bright with admiration, the way she’d looked at me like I was some kind of hero. The way she’d breathed my name, like she was seeing me for the first time.
I’d never wanted anything more than to keep that look, to be the male she saw in that moment. But wanting doesn’t change what came after—the way her eyes went from wonder to regret in less than a day.
“Yeah, well, apparently watching someone do their job isn’t the same as wanting a relationship with them.” I shove my braids behind my shoulders, suddenly exhausted. “She said we barely know each other. That what happened between us was a mistake.”
Kam studies my face with the intensity he usually reserves for reading fire patterns. “And you believed her?”
“What else was I supposed to do? She ran out of my apartment like it was on fire. Every morning, I wake up reaching for her. Every morning, my hand closes on nothing.”
“What did you say to her? Before she ran?”
The question makes me flinch. “Nothing that should have scared her. I told her what I felt wasn’t just physical. That it felt like—” I stop myself before I can say the word that’s been haunting me for eleven days.
“Felt like what?”
“Like it wasn’t a mistake. Like something I can’t explain—something that hit me the moment I saw her and hasn’t let go since.” I lean against one of the course barriers, feeling the weight of my confusion.
“You know what the old songs say about soulbinding, Kam. About recognition that hits like lightning. But this can’t be that. We’re strangers. I don’t even know her favorite color or how she takes her coffee.”
“Black, two sugars, no cream.” Kam shrugs.
“How do you—”
“I was standing right behind her when she made it at the mixer.” He sits on a nearby wooden crate, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve been glued to that phone since she left,” Kam says. “Tell me about the messages.”
I don’t have to ask what he means. My phone has become a source of both hope and torture over the past eleven days.
“Started out worried,” I admit. “Asking if she was okay, if we could talk. Then…” I pull out my phone, scrolling through the painful progression of texts she never answered. “Then I got pathetic.”
Saying it knots something in my chest. I’ve faced burning buildings with steadier hands, but watching that phone stay dark? That did me in.
I read him my latest message, sent this morning in a moment of weakness: “I know you think we’re strangers, but strangers don’t look at each other the way you looked at me during the fire. Strangers don’t fit together the way we did. Give us a chance to figure out what this is before you throw it away.”
