Hiding In Plain Sight

by Bru Baker

  “Tell me I didn’t interrupt you and Adrian having sex.”

  “You didn’t interrupt me and Adrian having sex,” Tate said dutifully.

  Harris wrinkled his nose. “That wasn’t convincing.”

  Tate laughed. “You really didn’t. My phone was upstairs, and I was downstairs in the office. You’re lucky I noticed it ring on my watch.”

  Tate lived and died by his smart watch. Harris was a bit jealous. Phones were a big no-no while seeing patients, but a watch could be discreetly checked.

  “You’re out of shape if a little sprint up the stairs made you breathe hard,” Harris taunted. “You urban Pack types are lazy.”

  He’d gotten to run with the Connoll Pack when he’d been there for a full moon a few months ago. The Alpha maintained a cabin on a huge plot of land a few hours outside the city, and the entire Pack was welcome to run there whenever they liked. Still, it was nothing like living in the forest and getting to run at will. Tate and Adrian were getting soft.

  “It’s four flights, asshole. This lazy urban type runs about ten miles a day in Central Park.”

  Harris scoffed. “As a human.”

  “True. But you run as a human every day too.”

  “Because Drew’s human, and it would be rude to leave him in my dust as a wolf.” They’d gotten into a routine of sharing a morning run a few times a week. It gave them time to catch up. It was one of the highlights of Harris’s day. Which was kind of sad now that he thought about it. “Besides, you have to run because you spend all day sitting. You don’t even have a commute.”

  Tate and Adrian had spent what seemed like forever renovating their four-story brownstone. They’d had to wait out two leases, and the process itself took months, but the result was stunning. They converted the individual units into a spacious, comfortable house and used the bottom floor for Tate’s practice.

  “What’s up?” Tate asked. “You didn’t just call to tease me about my running habits.”

  He and Tate had been friends for years, and Harris told him everything, but this new distance between him and Jackson was different. Saying it out loud might make it real.

  “I might have,” Harris said.

  “Spill.” Tate was using his therapy voice, pitched deeper and no- nonsense. It was ridiculously effective.

  “Jackson’s mad at me,” he blurted.

  “Jackson spends half his life mad at you and Jordan for some idiotic thing you’ve done.”

  “But this time it’s different. He isn’t talking to me, and he never seems to want to be alone with me. I have no idea what’s going on in his head, but it’s almost like he’s afraid of me. I don’t know what to do.”

  Tate sighed. “Did you finally drop the mate bomb on him? That could take some time to process.”

  Tate had been advising him to talk with Jackson ever since he’d confessed that the crush he’d harbored for years on Jackson had turned into a one-sided mate bond. Harris had never taken the advice, and he didn’t plan to. Jackson didn’t want a mate, and Harris didn’t want to alienate himself from his mate, even if they could only have a platonic relationship. An unrequited bond was better than a rejected bond.

  “No. That’s the thing. He just got, I don’t know, weird.”

  Tate made a disappointed noise. “Then maybe it’s time. What if he’s feeling the bond, and he’s confused? You can’t just leave him hanging on this. It could be messing with his head.”

  Harris hadn’t thought about it that way. What if Jackson was feeling the bond and didn’t understand it? Maybe he was looking at this wrong. If he explained the bond, would Jackson accept it? Would Jackson still come back to Camp H.O.W.L. to visit? Or would Harris only see him in St. Louis for the holidays?

  “Stop freaking out,” Tate said, using his therapist voice again.

  “I’ll freak out if I want to,” Harris said, aware how childish it sounded.

  “If your bond is complete then Jackson could be feeling you freak out,” Tate reminded him.

  Shit, that was right. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He was so used to living with the bond he hadn’t even tried to tap into Jackson. If they had completed the bond then he’d be able to pick up on what Jackson was feeling.

  “Is that like an instant thing?”

  Tate chuckled. “I don’t know.”

  “What kind of distance does that work over?” Harris chewed on his bottom lip, his chest tightening. He couldn’t feel anything unusual.

  “Depends. For me and Adrian? There’s no limit. At least none we’ve found. I can still feel him even when he’s in Portland. But I’m not sure what the typical range is for a bond.”

  Harris blew out a gusty breath. Adrian and Tate were moonmates, which was a different level of connection entirely. “Great. So I won’t know for sure until I’m with him.”

  “Hey, it could be stress from work,” Tate said, his voice gentle. “Jackson being distant might not have anything to do with you.”

  “You’re right,” Harris said. “I’m probably overreacting.”

  “That’s not what I said. Your reaction is perfectly normal, but you’re working without all of the facts. Take it slow, figure out what’s going on, and go from there. Okay? Don’t beat yourself up about this. You’re in a difficult situation, Harris. That you’ve made it this long without going feral or breaking down is a real testament to your strength.”

  He’d heard of a handful of cases like theirs over the years. Mate bonds—both platonic and romantic—were common, but usually both sides acknowledged it. One-sided mate bonds were less common, but they did happen. It sucked that it was happening to him.

  “If the bond is completing, that’s a good thing, right?” Tate said after the silence dragged on.

  “Sure. Of course.”

  Harris had spent the last few years hoping his bond with Jackson would complete, but now he wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. What if it did and he got to experience that and then had it taken away? Enforcers couldn’t have bonds of any kind. Not even a Pack.

  Harris rubbed a hand over his face. What would he tell a wolfling in this situation? That it didn’t do any good to borrow trouble. They always hated when he pulled that old chestnut out, and now he could see why. It was impossible not to worry about the future.

  “Listen, I’ve got to go. Adrian and I are due over at the Alpha’s for dinner tonight. I don’t want to leave you hanging, though. Are you going to be okay?”

  The obvious concern in Tate’s voice made Harris crack a smile. “I’m good. Don’t be late for Alpha Connoll.”

  “Text me later and tell me how it’s going.”

  Tate worried like a mother hen, though he’d deny it if anyone called him on it.

  “Will do.”

  Harris turned on music after he ended the call, determined not to let himself stew. He’d grab groceries and lose himself in cooking a meal for his mate. Taking care of Jackson always made him feel better.

  Chapter Four

  JACKSON knew Harris was in the apartment the moment he woke up. For starters, he felt more relaxed than he had in days. He could also smell Harris’s scent over the spicy aroma of the chili he was cooking.

  He groaned and pulled his quilt over his face. Harris was in his kitchen cooking. Life was so unfair. He’d hoped a few days apart would dull the need he felt, but it had only intensified it. He was going to have to come clean and tell Harris what was going on. Continuing to avoid him wasn’t fair to Harris, and being a dick to him physically hurt. His wolf was going nuts.

  He’d always been attracted to Harris, and he loved spending time with him. They were close, and he could see how that could morph into more. Not right now, though. Why couldn’t this drive to mate have popped up later? Maybe in a few years when Jackson was secure in a Tribunal job and ready to look for a Pack where he could be Second.

  He rolled onto his stomach and buried his head under the pillows. The thought of making a home with Harris had him hard in an ins
tant. For a second he let himself pretend he lived in that future—that he was napping in their bed while Harris pulled together dinner in their kitchen.

  Jackson rutted against the mattress, caught up in a fantasy amplified by having Harris so close. He’d given up trying to pretend that Harris wasn’t his mate. It hadn’t made the decision to ignore the mate bond any easier.

  The shrill ring of the oven timer brought Jackson’s hips to a sudden halt, reality streaming back in. He was hiding in his room while Harris cooked dinner. This wasn’t their bedroom, and while he might acknowledge Harris was his mate, he wasn’t his.

  Jackson sighed and hauled himself out of bed. He’d grab a shower and get ready for work. With any luck, he could procrastinate until it was almost time to leave for his shift and then dash through the kitchen with the excuse of being late on his tongue.

  Guilt seeped in while he was showering, and he sped up, steeling himself to man the fuck up and have dinner with Harris. The man was one of his best friends, and he deserved an explanation. God knew if the tables were turned, Jackson would be out of his mind with worry that something was seriously wrong.

  HARRIS had the chili simmering on the stove and cornbread in the oven by the time Jackson wandered into the kitchen. Jackson had given himself the creepiest pep talk ever while he was dressing. He wasn’t going to let his feelings get in the way of his friendship with Harris, and he would pretend the mate bond didn’t exist. Couldn’t be that hard, right?

  Jackson’s heart lurched at the hesitant smile Harris shot him when he walked into the kitchen. He’d been a terrible friend over the last week, and he needed to make it up to him. None of this was Harris’s fault. Hell, none of it was Jackson’s either, but he was the one acting like an ass.

  Jackson perched on the counter, trying to summon a lightness he didn’t feel.

  Harris had unearthed a frilly apron Jordan bought as a joke and was wearing it over his jeans and T-shirt to save his clothes from chili spatter. He looked edible with his long sleeves pushed up to his elbows and a light flush across his cheeks.

  “You didn’t have to cook,” Jackson said, picking up a handful of the cheese Harris had shredded and tossing it into his mouth to give his hands something to do. They itched to reach out and touch. “You’re a guest.”

  Harris smacked his hand when he reached for more. “Leave some for the chili. And I’m hardly a guest. I invited myself over. Cooking for you was the least I could do.”

  Jackson nearly choked on his cheese. God, Harris was pushing all his buttons, and he didn’t even know it.

  He coughed a few times to cover the choking. “You’re always welcome here.”

  Harris bent over to check the cornbread in the oven and Jackson thought his heart might burst out of his chest. He tried to look calm when Harris turned around, but from the way his eyes had widened in alarm, he knew he’d failed.

  “These are done. Is Jordan going to be back soon?”

  Jackson reached over him and opened the cabinet to grab two bowls. “He texted a bit ago. He’s held up with a client and said not to wait for him.”

  Bastard. No doubt he’d texted rather than called because he knew Jackson would be able to hear the lie in his voice. Jordan was probably going through an Arby’s drive-through right now and sitting in a parking lot until Jackson left for work. He’d also told Jackson to grow a pair and talk to Harris about what was happening, but Jackson wasn’t planning to share that part of the message.

  It was hard not to lean into Harris’s warmth as the two of them moved around putting the finishing touches on dinner. It was painfully domestic, like a taste of what they could have if their bond was complete. Jackson didn’t know whether to stockpile memories like this one to help get him through the bad times when his wolf cried for his mate or to do his best to forget them.

  “Look, I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting,” Jackson blurted as they sat down. “I’m not mad at you. I shouldn’t have said that. It was never about you, not really. I was mad at myself, and I took it out on you. I’ve got a lot going on, and I’m letting it get to me.”

  Worry lines framed Harris’s gorgeous dark eyes as he leaned in to listen, but he made no effort to interject. He just waited for Jackson to continue.

  Jackson swallowed hard and steeled himself. “I really want the Tribunal job, but I’m realizing that if I get it, it’s going to take me away from a lot of things I love.”

  Harris’s expression eased and he sat back, nodding. “You’ve just gotten used to having Drew so close. It’s going to be hard going back to only seeing him on holidays. I get it.”

  Jackson bit his tongue to keep himself from correcting him. Sure, he’d miss his stepbrother, but leaving him wouldn’t be nearly as hard as leaving his mate.

  Harris picked up the conversation, falling back into their old comfortable patterns. They chatted about benign things as they ate, and the anxiety that had lodged in Jackson’s throat for the last few days eased. This was what he’d needed. He was an idiot for trying to avoid Harris.

  Jackson gathered up their bowls, and Harris headed to the kitchen to find something to put the leftover chili in. He’d made plenty, and Jackson’s wolf smugly crooned about this display of how well his mate could provide for him. Even after Jordan ate his portion tonight, there would be enough for a few more meals during the week.

  Harris reached for the pot lid at the same time as Jackson, and Jackson found himself caged between the stove and Harris. He turned, heart stuttering, and came face-to-face with Harris. Harris’s pupils dilated, and Jackson could hear Harris’s pulse hammering almost as fast as his own.

  Jackson gave in to his instincts and leaned in, hesitating a second as his lips hovered over Harris’s. Harris was the one to close the tiny distance, and the first tentative touch of Harris’s lips to his own set Jackson’s nerve endings on fire. He gasped and leaned into the soft touch, letting Harris steer the kiss but giving as good as he got as it deepened. Harris ran a hand up his back, pulling him in closer, and Jackson wrapped his hands around Harris’s waist, fisting the material of the thin T-shirt.

  Harris kissed like a man starved for affection, and Jackson poured himself into it, meeting every nip and thrust with one of his own.

  The sound of the front door slamming brought reality back with crystal clarity. Fuck, what was he doing? Jackson pulled away, unable to look Harris in the eye. He heard his mate breathing heavily and smelled how aroused he was, which made things worse. Jackson bolted down the hallway, tearing his uniform off as he went. He had to get Harris’s scent off before he lost the willpower to walk away.

  What would have happened if Jordan hadn’t come home? Would he have let Harris fuck him on the kitchen counter?

  Jesus.

  He was fumbling with his belt when he heard a chair scraping across the kitchen floor, followed by Jordan whistling. What they’d been up to in there would be obvious to any Were with a nose. Even the spicy tang of the chili didn’t mask the thick musk of arousal in the air.

  Jordan cleared his throat. “Jackson finally—”

  “Shut the fuck up, Jordan!” Jackson yelled from his bedroom.

  “I’m going to go deal with that,” Jordan said.

  Harris had been quiet through the whole exchange, so Jackson had no idea what was happening. Was he horrified? Disgusted? Confused?

  It almost hurt to breathe. Every inhalation brought Harris’s scent with it.

  Jackson was down to his boxers when Jordan pushed his door open and came in, mercifully closing it behind himself. The rooms weren’t soundproofed, but it at least gave him some protection from Harris’s scent wafting in.

  “I’m going to finish putting this away and then go for a walk!” Harris called from the kitchen.

  God. What if he hated him?

  If he hadn’t been so tuned in to him, Jackson would never have heard what he said softly to himself as he moved through the apartment. “Jackson finally what?” Harris mumbled. �
��Fuck.”

  Jackson held himself rigidly until he heard the click of the front door closing. He held his breath and strained, tracking Harris until the elevator doors closed.

  As soon as he was sure Harris was out of hearing range, Jackson slumped onto his bed like his strings had been cut, panic welling up in his chest. Jordan was already going through his closet, finding another uniform for him.

  “Dude,” he said as he held it out to him. “Get yourself together. What the fuck happened in there? Harris looked like he’d been hit by a truck and then told his dog died, and you’re in here looking like Leonardo DiCaprio in that freak-out scene in The Aviator.”

  “Fuck you,” Jackson said, but the mental image made him chuckle anyway.

  Jordan flashed him a grin. “Now that you’re not staring at the door like it’s going to eat you, wanna tell me what happened? I mean, I know something happened. The kitchen smells like a—”

  “He made dinner, and he was just there being charming and irresistible, and I kissed him,” Jackson said. He didn’t want to know how Jordan thought the kitchen smelled.

  “Okay?” Jordan said, drawing the word out into a question. When Jackson stayed silent, he added, “And did he kiss you back?”

  Jackson squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes.”

  “And did you both seem to be enjoying yourselves?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the problem is…?”

  Jackson opened his eyes and shot an incredulous look at him. “The problem is with any luck I’m going to be in New York starting next month. A mate is a complication I can’t afford right now.”

  “And yet you seem to have one,” Jordan said, and Jackson hated how logical and calm he was being. Jordan of all people should understand. He didn’t want anything serious right now either.

  Jackson blew out a heavy breath and buttoned his shirt. His fingers trembled hard enough to make it a challenge, and after a moment Jordan batted his hand aside and did it for him.

  “If you can’t pull yourself together, I’m going to call in for you. You have no business being armed if you’re this shaky.”