Page 8 of Same Difference
He hadn’t asked her questions. That was fair. But you know? She hadn’t asked him questions either. Not really. Mostly she asked him, “Are you okay?” “What’s wrong?” “Did I do something to make you angry?” even when he was in a good mood.
He’d asked her to stop, but it seemed to be the only conversation she knew how to have.
Even with Decker, he’d seen a fire in her eyes that had never existed with him. This wasn’t it. He knew it, and now Delta could admit it too. They weren’t a match. So why the hell did her hurt cause him to hurt?
Nate winced. This was just a bad night after a big fight. He would be right as rain tomorrow. He always was.
Delta was having an overreaction, but he’d meant it when he’d pointed out she got exactly what she wanted. He was taking her back to Coeur d’Alene, and she could spend time with Nory, and all the wolves she seemed to be quietly amused by. He would figure out a house for her, and build her a garden, and unpack all the furniture he’d packed away in storage for her, and make a safe den again, and she could live her life, and he could live his. He would get her the car he’d been shopping for before everything had fallen apart.
She had no right to complain about anything.
She would have everything she needed, and eventually, she would banish the sadness from her eyes and toughen up.
It was a bad day, but they would be fine.
They could go back to being friends tomorrow.
Nate shoved the door open and grabbed the overstocked first aid kit from the bed of his truck, and pulled on a pair of jeans, and a dark shirt to cover the bulk of his injuries. He needed twenty minutes in the bathroom to clean up, and then he could take her where she wanted to go, and he could be the pretend Second of a Pack that didn’t exist.
Friends or an Arranged pair. Either way, it was the same difference to him.
She’d slept with Decker. Fuck. A snarl clawed its way up the back of his throat. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that someone else had known her like that, and talked about it so easily, throwing it in his face.
She’d slept with that asshole. A sick feeling filled his gut and he spat. Maybe he had no right to be possessive, but he hated that he’d been negotiating her return with someone who had known her like that. Decker had touched her body. He’d done more than kiss her cheek. He’d consummated whatever they had been, and Nate hated it.
And yeah, he knew all of these thoughts were fucked up. He was self-aware enough. He wasn’t a good man. He was a Donn, and all Donn wolves were the same. It was both learned and genetic to stay detached. This guilty feeling in his chest pissed him off.
He was going to lose it, so he swerved off his path toward the gas station and walked straight to the woods beyond. If he Changed again, he didn’t want to be in that small space with the three to four humans he could see through the windows.
Why had she mentioned that damn kiss in the kitchen? Why? Now he was remembering the way she’d leaned into his touch. It played over and over on a loop. The way her eyes had been all full, and soft when she’d smiled at him. The way his lipshad pressed harder to her cheek when she’d leaned into him. The way the curve of her waist had felt against his fingertips.
He hadn’t given a single thought about that moment until now, and suddenly everything felt like too much.
It was because he was hurt, and his wolf was right at the surface, making everything seem and feel bigger. That was all. The pain in his body was doing this to his head. He was fine. He was fine!
Nate kicked up to a jog, dodging pine trees as he made his way deeper into the woods until he came to a clearing.
She hadn’t asked if he was okay.
Nate skidded to a stop.
It was the first time he’d felt off, and she hadn’t asked if he was okay. She hadn’t cared.
An hour ago, he thought it was so fucking annoying that she kept asking him that, but now? Now he felt the absence of that care. That’s what it was, right? Maybe she had wanted to know if he was going through something. Maybe he should’ve told her it was a pet peeve of his when people asked him that.
He was always okay.
Just like now.
He frowned down at his stomach, freely bleeding.
This was what he did. He was tough. Built tough. Shamed into toughness just like every one of his brothers. Like his father and uncles, grandfathers and great grandfathers.
He didn’t need someone asking to know every thought he had in his head.
He didn’t need it.
Fuck, he wished she would’ve just been happy to go back to her old Pack. She could’ve been happy.
