by Bru Baker
That was the last thing Jackson wanted right now. He needed to get out of the apartment before Harris came back and demanded an explanation.
“I’ll be fine. And if I’m not, they’ll put me on desk duty for the night.”
He hated paperwork, but concentrating on writing reports and updating case files would be a good distraction for him.
“Do you want me to talk to Harris?”
God, that would be even worse than when Jordan passed a note to Alexander Carmichael asking him if he liked Jackson in the seventh grade.
“Please don’t.”
Jordan gave him a long, serious look. “Okay, but if you don’t talk to him about it soon, I’m going to do it anyway. And if he asks me any direct questions, I’m not going to lie.”
The odds of Harris asking him if he was Jackson’s mate were practically nil. “Fine.”
IT was cowardly, but Jackson stayed at his desk filing reports long after his shift had ended. He’d spent his patrol shift at the front desk, taking reports from people who came in. His CO took one look at his clammy skin and shaking hands and threatened to put him on sick leave, but Jackson had pawned it off as a mild case of food poisoning and offered to work up front for the night.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about their mingled scents and how right Harris looked puttering around in his kitchen.
Jackson hadn’t been able to keep himself from leaning in and taking what he wanted, and now that he knew what Harris’s lips tasted like and how he felt pressed against him, Jackson didn’t know how he’d live without doing that every day.
Which was a problem. A big, complicated problem. Something had slotted into place last night when Harris was in his arms, and it scared the shit out of him. He didn’t want a mate, but that’s what Harris was. Someone he could count on to be there for him. Someone to run with under the full moon. Someone to build a life with.
But Harris’s life was in Indiana, and Jackson’s wasn’t. Even if he didn’t get the Enforcer job, he wouldn’t be staying in Lexington forever. He wanted more for himself, more for his career. That didn’t leave room for a relationship. He’d seen how mating changed people. His brothers had turned their lives upside down for their mates, and he was happy for them. He was. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He couldn’t be tied down by a mate right now. Not even one as perfect as Harris.
Jackson checked his watch and groaned. Candice’s flight would land in less than an hour, so he had to pull up his big boy pants and go meet Jordan and Harris.
He’d turned off his phone when he’d gotten to work because he hadn’t wanted to give in to the temptation to check it constantly to see if Harris had texted him. He dug it out of his pocket and turned it back on as he walked out to his car. Nothing from Harris, but several messages from Jordan and six from Drew.
He thumbed through them, tongue pressed against his teeth to keep himself from cursing out loud. Either Jordan or Harris had told Drew what was going on, since the messages from his stepbrother were a mix between asking if he was okay and berating him for hurting Harris.
He didn’t need anyone else to make him feel guilty about it—he already hated himself for running away. But he still didn’t know what to do about it.
Jordan’s last message said Jackson could meet them at the airport instead of swinging by home first, which would save both time and the stress of being in the apartment together. Harris would be professional when Candice was with them, so Jackson planned to hide behind her like a shield today.
The airport was deserted when he pulled in. He flashed his Fang and Fury credentials to the attendant at the gate and drove up to the private runway where Candice’s chartered jet would land. He parked next to the Camp H.O.W.L. SUV.
“She’s running about an hour late,” Jordan informed him when he got out. “There were issues with paparazzi stealing the flight plan, but they switched to a different airport and filed new plans.”
“It gives us an opportunity to talk,” Harris said, his expression neutral. It was his therapy face, and Jackson hated having it turned on him.
“I’m going to sit in Jackson’s car and let you two hash this out.”
Jordan disappeared before he could protest, so Jackson was left with one option. He stepped forward, sliding into the passenger seat when Harris opened the SUV door for him. He was relieved he hadn’t opted for the back seat. With the center console between them, Jackson wouldn’t be able to jump Harris again.
He stared straight ahead, watching a small Cessna land one runway over. Harris slipped into the car a second later, but Jackson kept his gaze focused on the plane.
“I owe you an apology,” Harris said, surprising Jackson so much that he whipped his head around to look at him.
“What? No!”
“I do,” Harris continued. He was looking at the steering wheel instead of making eye contact. “I—I’m attracted to you, Jackson, and I’ve tried my best over the years not to burden you with that. I value our friendship more than anything in this world, and I never want to jeopardize it.”
Harris was getting this all wrong. The kiss had been Jackson’s fault. If anyone should apologize, it was him.
“We were both in that kitchen. It wasn’t just you.”
Harris shook his head and looked at him. “I misread the signals. When you bolted, the only thing I could think about was how I’d ruined everything. I’d do anything to keep you in my life, Jackson. And if that means forgetting the kiss, then so be it.”
This was exactly what Jackson had been hoping for, but the reality of it rang hollow. He didn’t want to forget about a kiss so electric his lips buzzed for hours afterward. But he also didn’t want the specter of that kiss and his attraction to Harris to crowd out their friendship.
“I think we can both agree that it was a mistake,” he said carefully, ignoring the part of him that was screaming it wasn’t. “And we still want to be friends. If we can move past it. You’re one of my best friends. I can’t lose that.”
I can’t lose you, he thought.
Harris’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said, his voice breaking. “Yeah. Of course.”
They both started when Jordan knocked on the window. Harris opened the door, and Jordan stuck his head in. He had a pair of gigantic neon noise-canceling headphones around his neck, and he held two pairs out to them.
“Candice’s plane is early. Wheels down in ten minutes.”
Harris rubbed his knuckles against his eyes, but Jackson wasn’t sure if he was dashing away tears or just tired. He reached out and took one of the headsets.
“You should ride with Harris,” he told Jordan. “I’ll follow to make sure no one tails you.”
They might have reached a tentative peace, but that didn’t mean Jackson wanted to be in a car with Harris for two hours.
Harris nodded and blew out a breath. “T-minus ten minutes to teeny bopper. Roger that.”
Jackson grabbed the headset Jordan held out for him and walked back to his car, thankful for the slight chill in the air. He pressed the side of his face against the cool glass, taking a minute to get his head back on straight.
“Go okay?” Jordan asked, popping up next to him. “I didn’t listen in, but I did keep an eye out for bloodshed.”
“No bloodshed,” Jackson confirmed. “We agreed to forget about it.”
Jordan let out an exasperated sigh. “You were supposed to talk about your feelings.”
Jackson shot a hand out and twisted Jordan’s nipple through his shirt, drawing a sharp squeak out of Jordan. “I’m feeling like you need to butt out,” he said.
“Smitten you is vicious,” Jordan said, rubbing his chest. “I like career-driven and lonely you better.”
The plane Jackson assumed was carrying Candice banked overhead to come in for a landing, so he ignored Jordan’s trolling, donned the headphones, and went to stand near the stairs that a man in a Day-Glo yellow vest had pushed out a moment ago. Harris pa
ced by the SUV, and Jackson’s heart broke. He wanted to go offer him comfort, but he was the reason Harris was so upset. It was a mess.
Jordan strode across the tarmac and wrapped an arm around Harris’s shoulders, stopping him in the middle of a lap. The headphones didn’t do much to dull the roar of the Cessna a few hundred feet away, Jackson had no chance of overhearing their conversation.
Jordan pulled back and nodded, offering Harris the smile that never failed to put their skittish clients at ease. He kept his arm locked around him, which Jackson’s wolf didn’t love, but at least he was comforting Harris.
The man with the stairs guided them over to the plane, and a minute later Candice appeared. She was in jeans and a T-shirt and had her hair up in a simple ponytail. From this distance, she looked like any other wolfling on their way to Camp H.O.W.L. Jackson hoped she got to have a normal experience there. He and Jordan had worked their asses off to give her the best chance. Now it was up to her and the wolflings in her cohort.
Chapter Five
“IF it really is her, then she so Photoshops her Insta. I mean, sure, filters, but c’mon.”
Harris paused at the corner of the art studio, keeping himself hidden to eavesdrop on the conversation a group of wolflings were having.
“Like, she’s totally had her boobs done.”
“Omigod, what do you think will happen to them during the Turn? Like, will her body push them out?”
“Gross! Of course it won’t, Trisha. Did you pay any attention in your Were biology sessions? Or is your Pack too poor to have those?”
All right, that was enough.
Harris steeled his expression into one of disappointment and strode around the corner, stopping in front of the small group of wolflings huddled over a phone. The trash talking continued until one of them noticed him, squeaking in alarm.
“I want all of you in my office, now.”
“We have orientation in five minutes,” one of the girls said. He zeroed in on her as the ringleader. She was the one who’d called another wolfling poor. These girls had been here less than a day—how had they already formed a social hierarchy? Teenagers were complicated.
“You will report to the director’s office afterward, and she can give you a private orientation session.”
The other three shrank into themselves, but their leader bristled and drew her shoulders back. The challenge in her gaze was clear.
“You can’t make that decision. You’re just the art teacher.”
Harris frowned, then realized it looked like he’d come out of the art building. “Actually, I’m one of the counselors. But even if I was the art teacher, you’d still be expected to obey me.”
She rolled her eyes. “I take it you don’t know who my father is. He’ll be hearing about how you spoke to me, and it will not go well for you.”
Harris gritted his teeth and spared a moment to be grateful the majority of wolflings he worked with were decent kids. A little moody, but they were swimming in hormone soup right now, and that was before adding the stress of the Turn. But then there were kids like this little shit, wolflings who thought their Pack status afforded them special treatment.
He had a good guess who this wolfling was after her threat. The only true high-profile camper they had this month was Candice, but there were wolflings from a few prominent Were families attending. He’d dealt with an attitude exactly like this one a few years ago, and he’d recognized the last name when he was going over all his patient intake forms this afternoon.
“If you’re Stephanie Chastain then I’m already well acquainted with your father,” he said, amused when her expression turned thunderous. “Your brother Justin had quite a hard time adjusting to life here at camp. Henry and I chatted often.”
Justin had been so terrible they’d been on the verge of kicking him out. Harris could count on one hand how many kids they’d expelled, but Justin almost joined their ranks. He’d disobeyed staff left and right and walked around camp with a huge chip on his shoulder. They’d drawn the line after his fourth fight. That had been around the time Jackson and Jordan moved to Lexington. After that cohort left Camp H.O.W.L., Harris and Tate, who’d been a counselor then, had driven over to their new place and spent an entire weekend drunk. That probably wouldn’t be an option this time. Not after Jackson had kissed him. Harris had said he’d forget about it, but there was no chance in hell of that happening. The feel of Jackson’s lips was seared into his memories. He could almost feel them now just thinking about them.
Which wasn’t ideal, since he had a major situation to deal with. He wished Jackson were here. He was always better at playing bad cop than Harris was, and he needed to scare the ever-living shit out of these kids so they didn’t cause even bigger problems.
He schooled his features into a disappointed frown. “I hope I won’t have to call home with daily updates about you too.”
She didn’t have a retort for that, but she shrieked in outrage when he reached over and took her phone from her.
“Unlock it.”
“No! What are you, some kind of fascist dictator?”
He gave her a grim smile. “I’m Tinker Bell compared to the director. You can either unlock it for me or you can unlock it for her. I guarantee you won’t like what happens to you if it’s the latter.”
Her lower lip trembled as she tapped out her passcode. She had Candice’s Instagram open, as he’d suspected.
“If you were going to orientation this evening, you’d learn that Kandie Bates is in your cohort. And she deserves as much respect and civility as everyone else. You will not post about her presence, you will not take any photos of her, and you will absolutely not harass her with your catty comments. Do I make myself clear?”
All of the girls nodded, and even Stephanie looked cowed.
“We’re going back to my office to talk about how harmful gossip and bullying is, and then I’m going go over the same ground rules about Kandie’s presence that the rest of your cohort will hear from the director.”
Stephanie reached out expectantly, but Harris dropped her phone in his pocket. “You can have it back when you’ve proven you can be trusted with it.”
“You can’t just keep my phone. I’m an adult.”
“I can and I will. The paperwork you signed before you arrived gave Camp H.O.W.L. permission to take the necessary measures to keep you and your fellow wolflings safe. If word got out that Kandie is here, you’d be jeopardizing the safety of everyone on campus.”
Stephanie opened her mouth, but another girl grabbed her arm. “Shut up. You’ve already gotten us in enough trouble.”
They walked across campus in stony silence. He ushered them into his office, giving one of them his desk chair and directing the others to the couch. When they’d settled, he perched on the edge of his desk.
“Do you understand why you’re here?”
“Because you’re a camp counselor on an ego trip?” Stephanie said, her expression downright hateful. “You know camp counselors aren’t, like, actual counselors, right?”
Harris smirked and pointed over his shoulder at his framed diploma. “Oh, I’m sorry. I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’m Dr. Wick, one of three licensed psychologists here at Camp H.O.W.L.”
Stephanie deflated, but Harris wanted to nip this attitude in the bud while he still could. Tensions were high enough with Candice arriving and all the security changes—the staff didn’t need a little stuck-up brat pushing their buttons right and left.
“Everyone here is an expert in their field. Our fencing instructor was a US Olympian and has a master’s degree in kinesiology. Our archery instructor was also an Olympian, and she’s still ranked seventh in the world. We take seriously our commitment to giving you the absolute best place to experience your Turn and learn to manage your wolf.”
“And keeping us from orientation accomplishes that how?”
It was tempting to dismiss the other three and focus on Stephanie, since she was clearly
the ringleader and the wolfling with the worst attitude. But taking the easy way out now would set up problems later. He almost laughed out loud at the thought—how much pain could he have saved himself if he’d applied that to his relationship with Jackson? If he’d told him about the mate bond when it formed then maybe they wouldn’t be doing this awkward everything’s fine farce.
“As I told you, the director will personally see to your orientation. I assure you it will be thorough, and you won’t miss anything. What we’re doing here is just as important.”
“What are we doing here?” one of the other girls asked.
“We’re going to discuss appropriate behavior, both on social media and in person,” he said, and Stephanie rolled her eyes.
God, he was glad Nick was the one teaching the social media class this session. They traded off because it sucked so much. It was difficult to convince a room full of nineteen-year-olds that what they said and did online could have major consequences. And it wasn’t just guarding against giving away their secret by snapchatting something that exposed wolves—it was also the basic human kindness aspect that seemed beyond almost all of their grasps.
Hell, even adults struggled with it. He’d had to learn Jackson was in a relationship with his last serious boyfriend, Raoul, on Facebook. That stung, and not only because Jackson was his mate. He’d done the same thing when they broke up—changed his relationship status.
Social media was brutal. Add werewolf puberty on top of that, and all the stress of the Turn, and they could end up in a disaster quickly.
“We’re going to talk about why what you four were saying about Kandie’s photos was hurtful. We do not tolerate bullying of any kind here at Camp H.O.W.L.”
“I didn’t even say anything, though,” one girl said, tears welling in her eyes.
“You were all involved in that conversation. Even if you didn’t say anything, by not putting a stop to it you’re complicit. We have high standards for our campers here. We want you to leave Camp H.O.W.L. not only with solid control of your wolf but with a good grounding in being a respectful, productive member of society.”