by Megan Linden
The sudden memory of Ollie beneath him—panting and hot, meeting his every thrust—showed up uninvited and Patrick almost lost his grip on the laptop on his thighs.
Never coming closer again, he corrected in his head, putting the stress on that last word and pushing the flare of heat that lit up inside him down as he turned to focus on the forest outside. Never again.
Chapter Six
Ollie hit the espresso button a little too hard and cursed under his breath.
Why the hell is he here again? he wondered as he watched coffee drip into the cup. After the previous day, he’d thought Patrick wouldn’t come back to the café, not until he was sure Ollie was out of town. But as soon as Ollie had showed up for the afternoon shift today, he’d spotted the guy in that damn armchair in the corner. It had been his favorite place to sit whenever he used to come here and now Patrick looked like he owned it, like it had been made for him.
And Ollie was ridiculously pissed off about that.
He wasn’t happy with his sister, either, since she hadn’t told him about Patrick being one of the regulars, even after she’d dragged the story out of him at the barbecue.
What’s the use of confiding in one’s sister when she won’t even warn me about shit like that?
Ollie took a deep breath. He needed to calm down before he accidentally spilled hot coffee on himself of a customer.
He served two espressos and a chocolate pie to a couple of cute girls who were probably still in high school. He tried to place them, wondered who they might be, but it was always the most difficult with kids. Adults had barely changed while he was gone, but anyone under the age of eighteen could be unrecognizable after the six-to-nine months Ollie usually spent away.
The girls thanked him, letting each other’s hands go so they could take their drinks and dessert with them, and when the black-haired one turned, Ollie thought she might be the oldest daughter of Mr. Novak, his high school chemistry teacher. He couldn’t remember her name, though, so he filed that away to ask Sylvia later—or maybe Desiree, since she was less likely to make a guilt-trip out of it. Sylvia liked to use any and all opportunities to point out that he should spend more time in Harrington Hills.
After serving another latte to Mrs. Sawyer and showing appropriate amount of enthusiasm at viewing photos of her cats—even after so many years, the idea of werewolves with cats still amused him—Ollie had a free moment to move the clean mugs from the dishwasher to the shelves by the counter. He hummed along with the song on the radio and relaxed into the easy, brainless task. For all he’d told Sylvia yesterday about wanting a break from tending bar, this kind of work was what he was good at. And after so long, it felt easy, too, especially when he didn’t need to deal with entitled rich people.
Because that was the biggest difference between working on a cruise ship and in his sister’s café. Here, nobody expected him to do more than just serve them their drink, ideally with a smile on his face. It was refreshing, after some of the people he’d encountered in the past.
Ollie set the last mug on the shelf and smiled to himself. Then he turned, thinking that maybe he would check to see if the sugar bowls needed refilling, but paused when he saw Patrick at the counter, watching him with an unreadable expression.
God, why can’t it be easy again? Ollie thought, his stomach tensing as he remembered their instant connection in the bar in Linwood. Back then, he’d thought it was about more than just sexual attraction, but now, when they couldn’t even say two sentences to each other without messing things up, he was forced to reconsider.
“Hey,” Patrick finally said.
Ollie walked up to the register. “Hi. Can I get you anything?”
“Iced caramel latte, please…without the whipped cream.”
“Without the whipped cream?” Ollie repeated, surprised. The only people who asked for no cream were people on a diet and, well, werewolves didn’t really need that. It was one more item in the unfair column.
“I don’t like it.”
Ollie stared at Patrick. “How can you not like the whipped cream? It’s the best part of any drink.”
Patrick looked at him for a second then raised his eyebrows and smiled. “I thought the best part of coffee is the caffeine that wakes you up?”
“Oh, please, as if there’s a lot of caffeine in a caramel latte,” Ollie teased, suddenly finding it easy once again. Maybe it was Patrick’s smile or maybe the fact that he’d made the first move, but whatever it was, Ollie was willing to roll with it.
“Touché,” Patrick said before leaning against the counter. He’d barely moved closer, but Ollie still felt the change in the air. It wasn’t a bad one, though. Quite the opposite.
“Caramel latte, no cream,” he said, putting it in the register. “Something else? To counter the lack of an additional sugar bomb in your drink?” he offered, nodding at the display of desserts.
Patrick shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m good.”
“You’re no fun,” Ollie told him, once again without an input from his conscious brain. He hoped Patrick wouldn’t take it the wrong way—
“I think we both know that’s not true.” And this time it was Patrick who seemed to have no control over his mouth. He froze, then opened his mouth, but nothing more came out.
Ollie laughed at that. This whole thing was ridiculous, and yeah, awkward, but it didn’t feel…hurtful anymore. There was no bite behind their words.
Patrick’s laugh followed right after, and for that short stretch of time, they were simply two guys standing close, with only a counter between them, and laughing at a shared joke. Ollie liked that. He liked that a lot.
“So,” he said when they’d both calmed down. He didn’t want the silence to slip into uncomfortable. “Caramel latte?”
“With no cream.” Patrick nodded, smiling at him, and damn. If Ollie wasn’t careful, that smile could become a problem. It had worked once already, after all.
You know better now, he told himself, turning toward the machines and starting on Patrick’s drink. You know better.
* * * *
After that, it had become…comfortable. Ollie didn’t dread coming to the café anymore, and once he was there, he always spent some time talking with Patrick. Most of the time, it was Patrick who initiated it, showing up at the counter for another drink and hanging out for a bit, even after his latte was ready. But there were also times when Ollie made a round to make sure no one wanted anything and it just happened that he got to Patrick’s seat last.
The longer they talked, the more Ollie got to know about the guy. Apparently, Patrick worked as a translator, freelance now after he’d left the law firm where he’d met Adrian.
“Mostly Spanish, but I’ve got some experience with French translations as well,” he said, as if it were no big deal. Ollie had worked with the international crew on the ship, so he’d picked up some things here and there, but to be able to translate a legal document into not one, but two foreign languages was a different ballpark altogether.
“Wait! Do you know more languages than two?” Ollie asked when Patrick just shrugged off his surprise.
“Not fluently, no.”
Ollie raised his eyebrows. “But enough to have a conversation?”
“Um…four, maybe five?” It was the first time Ollie had seen Patrick anywhere close to flustered, and he would have teased him about it if he weren’t busy being thoroughly impressed.
“Five,” he repeated, drawing a moon with five little stars on Patrick’s latte before putting it on the counter.
Patrick stared at his drink for a second. “Yeah. I double majored in Spanish and French, but I also picked up some Portuguese and Italian. I could hold a conversation in Hindi, too, but only if we were talking about food.”
“How the hell did you learn Hindi?”
“I had a roommate from India in college. He Skyped with his family back home a lot, and his mother was hung up on getting him to eat more.” Patrick shrugged. �
�I overheard things.”
“That’s just… Wow.” Ollie shook his head. “Seriously impressive.”
They got interrupted then by a group of women who entered the café, and Patrick took his drink and went back to his seat. They didn’t get to talk again that afternoon, but over the following days, there were more things to discover. Patrick had one younger sister but didn’t want to talk about her much, just like he avoided the topic of his family in general. He had been born and raised in California, had gone to college in San Francisco but had barely traveled outside the state until he’d left to come to Harrington Hills. He shared some funny stories about the road-trip with Adrian and, in exchange, Ollie told him a few from his time on the ship.
It felt nice, connecting with someone who was an outsider and a local at the same time. Ollie could relate to that easier than to someone who was only one or the other. And sure, Harrington Hills got its share of new people regularly coming to stay, but it felt a bit different with Patrick, even if Ollie couldn’t pinpoint why.
Chapter Seven
Patrick was looking forward to getting up and going to the café every morning now. He knew it had nothing to do with the actual work—even if his productivity was way up ever since he’d made a deal with himself that he was only allowed to go to order another drink if he finished whatever he was working on at that time—but he refused to further analyze it.
If he did, he would have to take action accordingly and he didn’t want to do that. He was happy to get up, take a shower, eat something, pack it up and go to the café to work, spend the day there then go back home, eat, rest, maybe watch something before bed or talk with any of his neighbors spending the evening out in the yard. Then he’d sleep and do it all over again. It was a pretty nice way to live, if anybody asked him.
“You know you keep staring at those trees as if they hold the secrets to the universe, right?” Ollie’s voice was teasing and warm, and when Patrick turned his head, he saw the smile he’d gotten used to in the recent weeks, the smile he’d perhaps been looking forward to whenever—
Stop that. “How do you know they don’t?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
Ollie chuckled. “I think someone would have figured them out by now, if that were true.”
“You never know. Maybe they were holding out on all of you until I came along.”
“My, my… Look how humble you are.”
Patrick grinned. “That’s one of my many great qualities, yes.”
That made Ollie laugh, and Patrick’s wolf preened in contentment. Ollie’s mirth was a simple thing and he was easily amused, but it still felt good deep in his bones, so Patrick had started to seek it out, to try to make it happen more often.
“Sure it is,” Ollie said after he stopped laughing. “Remember to mention us when you become famous with your discoveries. But, in the meantime, do you want something to drink?”
Patrick’s self-imposed rule referred to him going up and ordering a new drink at the counter. It didn’t say anything about all those times Ollie approached him and asked.
“The biggest mug of Earl Grey you can give me.”
Ollie nodded. “One giant Earl Grey coming up.” He leaned to take away the empty cup and the plate from when he had talked Patrick into finally tasting their strawberry cheesecake earlier.
And Patrick didn’t stare at the lines of his body, at the way the side of Ollie’s neck was so close, just out of reach.
He did not.
He still looked away when Ollie started to turn his head toward him. Thank the Moon for werewolf reflexes being better than humans’, he thought as he stared at the screen of his laptop, his pulse picking up at the realization that he’d almost gotten caught.
It picked up even more at the thought of what might have happened if he had. But he squashed that one hard. Ollie might be human, but most of the café regulars weren’t, and the last thing Patrick needed was for them to take notice of his impulsive reactions. On one hand, werewolves were taught from a young age to respect other people’s privacy as much as possible, but on the other, there were things they noticed involuntarily.
And people in this town could gossip like nobody’s business.
It took him half a minute to realize he was clenching his teeth. Ollie was long gone and Patrick was alone again with his laptop. He took a deep breath and told himself to relax. He needed to get back to work and not worry too much about stupid shit.
He didn’t turn his gaze away from the screen or stop tapping his fingers over the keyboard when Ollie came back with the giant mug, as he’d ordered. Patrick just muttered his thanks and waited for him to leave, and only then did he pause to delete all the gibberish he’d typed, a heavy weight settling in his chest.
* * * *
Patrick didn’t go to the café over the weekend, since he always tried to keep those days free of work, but he still woke up early, ready to start the day. He didn’t roll out of bed right away, though, choosing instead to read on his tablet or catch up on the news.
And sometimes, like this particular Saturday morning, he did a stupid thing and checked on his family.
Aside from his sister, there wasn’t much to find unless a person knew where to look. But since he did know, he got to learn about his cousin’s new baby, about the paper his aunt had presented at the SoCal WereCommunity Conference and about the Rivera pack’s first visit from Mexico.
The same Rivera pack Patrick had reached out to after arguing with and finally convincing his father that it was important to connect beyond borders.
He closed that tab and moved on to the next one. He always left Caitlin’s social media for last, as if he were working himself up for it.
She’d had the same bio on every one of them for months now. Proud Alpha’s Daughter of the Donnelly Pack. Our strength lies within us.
Patrick watched photo after photo of his baby sister—at the family house, out in the town, posing with the pack members and replying to every message they’d left. She’s good at this, he thought for probably the hundredth time. The pack was going to be in good hands with her in charge one day.
It would never stop being his pack, though. Not for him.
He’d hoped, at the beginning, that this wound would bleed and heal. He’d expected it to leave a scar, the same way being cast out by his own father had forever marked him. He’d take it with him wherever he went.
He hadn’t expected the wound to fester. He’d thought the hardest part of it all would be being hated by his father—or maybe being rejected by every other family member or perhaps leaving his hometown behind for good. But no. The most painful thing was losing his legacy, a part of who he was. He’d been the Alpha’s Son from the moment he’d been born and he’d grown up with it, he’d grown up into it. He loved his pack and he’d been proud to be part of it, even if he didn’t agree with some of his father’s rules. He’d dreamed at night about the pack he would build, once it was his turn to lead.
If he’d known what he was going to lose once he’d come out to his father…
Patrick tossed his tablet onto the mattress next to him and closed his eyes, but the last of Caitlin’s photos he’d seen—the one from Father’s Day—was stuck behind his eyelids all the same.
A few hours later, he wished he’d stayed home, even if he would’ve spent the day feeling sorry for himself. Coming to the Alpha’s house had been a bad idea, but it was also something one didn’t say no to without a damn good reason.
And Patrick doubted ‘I can’t look at you and your family today’ was one that would be well-received.
So he was here, trying and failing to hold a conversation with Adrian and his guys. The trio thankfully didn’t press for details, accepting his bad mood with an ease he was going to appreciate once he was out of this…funk. For now, he sat with them at the table, ate his food and drank his beer, hoping nobody noticed him.
He needed to use the bathroom at some point, though, so he headed into the house. When he
walked in, he almost collided with Taylor and Kevin, who were kissing right there in the hallway.
For fuck’s sake, what is it with my bathroom breaks at parties lately? was Patrick’s first thought, followed by a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts he didn’t want to try to untangle. He muttered his apologies as Taylor and Kevin stepped back from each other, and he hurried to the bathroom without meeting their eyes. Only after the door was closed behind him did he let out a breath he’d held out of… What? Fear?
Patrick rolled his hands into fists and focused on his breathing for a minute, trying to imagine he was out there in the forest, shifted and alone, free to do whatever he wanted.
Maybe that’s what I should do, he thought as his control started to come back. He’d showed up at the party, he’d done his part. Now he could leave and go for a long run, long enough to exhaust him to the point that he wouldn’t have the energy to think once he was back in human form. Yeah, that would be nice.
Having a plan in place, Patrick straightened, used the bathroom then checked his reflection as he washed his hands. The frown made him look ready to kill, so he tried to relax a bit before walking out. It didn’t help much. One more reason to leave, he figured.
Taylor was waiting for him right outside the bathroom.
“I think we need to talk,” he said in a tone Patrick hadn’t heard since his first day in Hills, when Taylor had stepped in between him and Bill just in time to avoid a nasty fight in public. The Alpha’s Son’s tone.
Still, Patrick wanted to protest, to excuse himself. Taylor didn’t give him the chance, though. He turned and headed farther into the house, leaving Patrick no choice but to follow. No matter what, Patrick was a part of Harrington Pack now and he needed to respect all that came with it.
They bypassed the kitchen and the living room, finally ending up in the study. When Taylor closed the door behind them, the background noise of the party disappeared.