by Zoe Chant
Better start with sorry for sneaking up on you.
Olly blinked. It was as though he’d heard her thoughts.
I should have heard you coming, she wrote back.
For a few long, painful minutes, there were no new messages. Then her phone buzzed in her hands.
I left my truck at the Puppy Express. I’ll be around tomorrow morning to pick it up. Figure you should get some advance warning this time.
The next message came only a second later, as though he’d tapped it out and sent it before he could change his mind: And maybe we can talk.
Talk. The word was like ice water trickling under her collar. Because they hadn’t talked. Not after—what had happened—and not when Jackson had left. And not in the twelve months since.
Olly’s gut twisted. What did they have to talk about? He knew the most important thing. She’d gotten everything wrong. He wasn’t her mate and regardless of how she felt, that meant she had nothing to offer him. Nothing true or real.
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
She sent it, and waited until the moon had crossed the sky. He didn’t reply.
11
Jackson
3 days before Christmas
He had left calling the taxi too late. And he couldn’t bear to look at his phone, anyway. Not with that last message blasted across his mind’s eye.
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
If he needed any proof that he wasn’t wanted here…
He spent the night on the sofa, alternating glaring at the fake coals in the gas fire and snatching whispers of sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, his dreams were disturbed. It was as though something was looming behind him—or maybe inside him.
Either way, it left him frustrated and uneasy.
Andrew didn’t wake up until the cuckoo clock in the kitchen squawked twelve. Jackson was in the kitchen, already on his third cup of coffee.
He had considered leaving before Andrew woke up, but part of him felt responsible for the bag of bones he’d dumped onto the bed the night before. A very small part, which shrank every time the cuckoo went through its routine.
Whoever designed it must never have heard a real bird before. It was the most annoying—
“Someone wring that bird’s neck!”
—it was probably important to someone’s cultural heritage, Jackson thought, and grimaced at himself. How long was he going to keep this up, putting himself opposite to Andrew just to prove to himself that they were different?
The cuckoo clock was a monstrosity. Houses were houses, whatever they looked like. He had happily gotten on with being as tall as he was and having a tangled mess of hair and sturdy jaw for decades before he learned it was his father he’d gotten them from.
“Where the hell am I? What’s this? What—Delphine! Delphine? Why’s there—”
Thuds and groans accompanied Andrew’s journey from the bedroom. From the sound, he found the door by falling into sections of the wall until one of them gave way.
Jackson rubbed his face. “In here,” he called.
He was answered by several thuds and more swearing. The kitchen door remained untouched.
He gave up rubbing his face and rested his forehead on his hand. Who would have guessed it. All those shifts looking after the drunk tank were to prepare me for running into my dear old pa again.
“Kitchen!” he called, just as the door sprung open. Andrew’s face appeared in the gap. Last night, he’d been ruddy, the classic top-of-the-world drunk with every inch of his brain fizzing as the alcohol bounced around inside it.
This morning, he was gray.
“Kitchen,” he gasped, staggering against the doorframe. His eyes unfocused, then focused. “Coffee.”
“In the—” Jackson began, but Andrew was already lurching towards the counter. He sagged against it, and managed the coffee machine with surprising deftness. Jackson tried not to be impressed, especially when he saw that Andrew’s eyes had fluttered shut again.
“Nothing like a good coffee to bring you back to the world of the living,” Andrew announced suddenly, fumbling along the counter until his hands found a cup. “Ain’t that right, Del—no—wait…”
He turned slowly. One of his eyes popped open, and the other followed gummily. Both widened when he caught sight of Jackson.
“My boy!”
For one terrifying moment, Jackson thought he was about to surge forward, but at the last minute he collapsed back against the counter and raised his coffee cup to his lips.
“D’you know what a hell of a time I’ve had trying to track you down?” he said, and took a gulp of coffee that made him hiss. “Months—no idea—and a place like this?” He shivered. “Those were dragons I sensed last night, weren’t they?”
Jackson nodded, then realized Andrew’s eyes had gummed themselves shut again. “The Heartwells? They’re dragon shifters, yeah.”
“God!”
“They weren’t too happy about you barging in.”
“Barging in? Barging in? I never barge—oh.” His forehead creased. “Now that you say that, it is coming back to me…”
He groped his way to the kitchen table and sagged into a seat.
“Not the best introduction,” Andrew suggested after a few seconds.
“Probably not,” Jackson agreed.
“Ah, well. Had to be done. Couldn’t—needed a bit of courage. Make it through.” He upended his coffee cup over his mouth and then stared, dazed, into, as though bewildered that it was now empty. “More coffee.”
He hauled himself back to the coffee machine.
Jackson sat back, observing. He wasn’t angry, and it was hard to be humiliated when the only other person around was busy making an ass of himself.
What did Ma ever see in you? he thought, and immediately felt guilty.
Andrew was still muttering to himself. “No way around it—help along. A bit of help along. So’s could…” He stopped and spun around. “I did tell you, didn’t I? Why I’m here?”
To pat my shoulder and make sure everyone whose opinion I care about knows my father’s a complete loser? Jackson opened his mouth—and closed it again.
Not everyone. Olly was already gone by then.
And whatever else his father—Andrew—had come here to achieve, he’d at least stopped Jackson from making the mistake of chasing after her.
“Sure,” he said out loud.
“Good! Good.” Andrew sounded uncertain. “And you met Delphine?”
“Your PA?” Andrew seemed to expect him to say more. “She seems nice.”
“Nice.” Andrew’s voice echoed his, hollowly. “Ah, well.”
He staggered back to the table, fresh coffee in hand. “I definitely told you,” he repeated, half a question, half seeming to want to reassure himself. “Yes.”
This isn’t going anywhere. Jackson stood up. “There’s breakfast things in the fridge,” he said, having already rummaged through it while he was waiting for Andrew to emerge.
“You’re going?” Consternation oozed across Andrew’s face. “But… I just got here! Surely you have questions…”
“I have a lot to do.”
Luckily, or unluckily, his father was hungover enough not to argue. And had a driver on speed-dial.
“You’re quiet this morning.” Delphine peered through the windscreen as she navigated the road to the Puppy Express.
“Huh,” Jackson grunted, and she laughed.
“God. You’re really nothing like your father, you know that?”
The road opened out to the parking area in front of the Puppy Express building. There was hardly a trace of the chaos from the night before: the broken tent had been packed away, and any ice that had melted from the dragonlets’ small fires had frozen over again.
To Jackson’s relief, Delphine pulled in directly in front of the building. There. Olly knew he was coming, and now she’d be able to spy on him to her heart’s content. If that was all she wanted from him,
then he would happily give it to her.
“Nothing like my father?” he echoed as he stepped out of the truck. “That’s the best news I’ve had all year.”
“I’ll try to remember not to tell him that.” Delphine looked amused. “Though you might find—never mind. Will we see you later?”
Jackson paused, one hand on the door. “I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “Look, Delphine, it was nice to meet you and maybe in time I’ll be able to say it was nice to see Andrew again. If only to confirm what I already knew. But I’m not in the mood for a father–son reunion. I have other problems to deal with right now.”
Delphine leveled her gaze at him. “What sort of problems?”
She wasn’t very good at making questions sound casual. Jackson shrugged. “Just tying up some loose ends.”
“Oh, yes. I meant to ask you. I spoke to the woman at reception at my hotel, and she sounded surprised that you were in town. What brought you back? Do you—” She hesitated, and the part of Jackson that was assessing her as a suspicious deputy silently congratulated her on not tipping whatever the hell hand she was trying to play.
“Same thing that made me leave,” he muttered, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
He glanced at the Puppy Express building just in time to see a flash of movement behind one of the windows.
“Oh.” Delphine’s half-moon eyebrows shot up. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find him.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Jackson drawled, with no intention of doing so. “Thanks for the ride.”
“You’re welcome. See you later.”
Like hell. Jackson remembered his manners in time to keep the words from slipping out. He shook his head at himself as Delphine drove off. One day in his dad’s presence, most of it with Andrew unconscious, and he was already regressing to teenagerhood? Talk about making up for lost time.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and they bumped up against his keys—and his phone.
I should have called her the moment I got back into town. Cleared the air between us. Acted like a goddamn adult. Now…
Now, it was too late. He’d already gone ahead and ruined everything, jumping her like that last night. If there was one thing Olly hated it was surprises. She always made sure to check out any room or building before she went inside, so she knew what to expect.
And when she was the one already inside, she kept an eye on the windows and doors to see anyone who was coming by, so she could get the jump on them when she came out to say hi. Which meant that if that had been her in the window just now then she’d made it clear she didn’t want to see him. Same as last night.
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
His chest ached and he forced himself not to watch the Puppy Express windows as he trudged towards his truck.
He had his keys in his hand. His truck was right there. He was damned sure Olly must have already seen him coming—she never missed anything.
That prickle of unease on the back of his neck again. He almost felt like someone was standing there, breathing cold air on him.
Keys. Truck. There was no reason for him to go inside, except…
Something here didn’t fit.
Olly always watched from the windows. That was normal. But she wasn’t watching, this time. She’d glimpsed him and disappeared.
If that had even been her.
And if it wasn’t…
He was already marching up to the front door. He didn’t know what was worse: the possibility that something was wrong, and he had a reason to storm in on Olly like this, or that he was making it all up and had no excuses, no reason except the yearning tug in his heart, pulling him to the last place he’d seen her.
Like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime, he thought, scowling. Or a dog biting at a wound so it never heals.
Olly would laugh at that. The Puppy Express had special, festive cones for when their dogs needed a bit of encouragement not to bite themselves crazy. Or maybe she’d just think he was pathetic, since it was his own cursed fault that he—
Anyway. He wasn’t a dog. Olly liked watching how shifters betrayed their animal sides when they were in human form, but he didn’t have an animal side and she didn’t like him.
That was all there was to it.
So if he did have this all wrong, and he was just bothering Olly when she didn’t want to be bothered, it wasn’t like she was going to like him any less.
He pushed the door open.
The air inside was warm, but not warm enough to account for the beads of sweat that broke out on his forehead. What the hell was he doing? For just a second, he felt like he was back six months ago, letting his need for action overwhelm his common sense. That same buzz in his ears as though he’d lost concentration for one second and—sure, he probably wasn’t going to be shot at this time, but this might just be worse…
A jolly Christmas carol rang from the speakers, making his shoulders hunch. He glanced towards the counter and despite everything, despite the crystal-clear knowledge that he was the last person Olly would want to see, a smile started to curl around—
Olly wasn’t there.
The confusion of hope and guilt and self-loathing that had been writhing inside Jackson swept away. Olly wasn’t behind the counter. Instead, there was a man who had no right to be there.
Sullen expression, heavy jaw, shoulders like a linebacker. He couldn’t remember the guy’s name, but he’d recognize him anywhere.
He was a hellhound shifter.
Jackson’s blood boiled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” he demanded, striding towards the hellhound.
“Hi, welcome to the Puppy—hey!” The hellhound backed away as Jackson got closer. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem? Let’s start with you.” Jackson bit off a growl. “Where’s Olly?”
The hellhound’s jaw jutted. “Who’s asking? Hey, you’re not allowed to come back here—”
Jackson stormed around the counter. Hellfire flared in the shifter’s eyes. It sparked a deep and primal fear in the back of Jackson’s brain and he paused, breathing heavily.
He knew this trick. He’d seen the effects of hellhound terror before. Last year, when this asshole and his friends had tormented Olly.
“Where is she? If you’ve hurt her again—”
“What? Who? Olly? I don’t know, out the back?” The hellhound’s eyebrows lowered menacingly. Every word he spoke sounded like it was being dredged up from a tar pit. Fear simmered across Jackson’s mind, primal and… distracting.
I’m missing something. Again.
“I said, you’re not meant to be back here.” The hellhound shifter moved forwards and it took all of Jackson’s bloody-mindedness not to back off as his fiery gaze hit him full force. Every self-hating thought he’d ever had, every bump in the night he’d been afraid of, simmered like hot oil across his mind. “You’d better—”
His gaze went hazy and unfocused. Jackson caught himself on the counter as the hellfire onslaught stopped.
“You’d better…” Something broke behind the hellhound shifter’s eyes. His shoulders slumped. “Seriously? You want me to… shit, alright, alright.” He focused on Jackson again and said in an embarrassed monotone: “You’d better tell me… who that woman was who dropped you off outside.”
His expression said I dare you to start shit over this.
Jackson sighed. Without the hellfire, the hellhound shifter looked like a normal guy in his early twenties.
“Olly, I know you’re around here somewhere,” he called out, ignoring the hellhound shifter. “Come on. Can’t we just… talk?”
There was no reply, either from Olly or the hellhound. Jackson glared at the door that led into the employees-only back room, and then at the shifter.
Who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere but here.
“What’s your name again?”
“Manu.”
“You want to tell me what the hell is going on here?”
Manu shuffled his feet. “She doesn’t want to see you,” he muttered. His eye twitched. “Um, and she says… Maybe you should use your eyes before you run in somewhere and start…” He broke off. “Um. You get the idea. Sir.”
Jackson stared at him. Properly, this time.
He’d been so quick to action after he saw the shifter that he hadn’t paid any attention to what he was actually seeing. The guy was wearing a Puppy Express uniform. Right down to the name badge with a grinning husky on it.
“You work here?”
The hellhound shifter nodded gloomily.
Jackson’s frown didn’t grow any lighter. Olly’s uncle was employing a hellhound shifter now? After what they’d done?
“Since when?” How much had changed in Pine Valley since he left?
“Since—” The shifter’s expression became pained. “I’m telling him!” he muttered under his breath. To Olly, Jackson assumed, and his scar ached. Where was she? “Since last summer. I guess we all needed jobs, and the boss and Caine didn’t want us hanging around being useless and Olly doesn’t do so well at front of house, you know, and—”
“I don’t know, actually.” Jackson’s fingers twitched. His first impression had been right. Something was wrong here. “Olly’s worked here for years. This is her home turf. She might be watchful, but she’s not the sort to hide herself away.”
He punctuated that last sentence with a suspicious glance at the door. Behind it, something clattered.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Something’s wrong here. I’m not going to wait around and—”
The door creaked open. Olly was just visible behind it, staring out through the gap. Her mouth was pressed into a thin, determined line.
“Um, she says, what are you even doing here—” Manu began, miserably, and she shot him a sharp look. By the way his shoulders shot up, he felt that look right through the back of his head.