by Bru Baker
Jackson hesitated before shaking his head. “I’ll catch you after class.”
Harris nodded. “You can walk me over to the mess. I’ve got duty there after this.”
He headed over to clean up the mess instead of watching Jackson leave. The wolflings were all rubbing their noses.
“This is what I’m talking about,” Harris said, sweeping at a clump of beads with his shoe. He’d need a broom to get them all, but the smell would be bearable if he got most of them back in the canister.
“What you’re all doing right now? Holding your noses, coughing—a human wouldn’t be doing that. The smell wouldn’t be strong enough to elicit that kind of response. You’ve got to train yourself not to react.”
“So, we’re supposed to pretend our noses aren’t burning?”
Harris looked up, pinpointing a boy at the back of the room. “Yes, Liam, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. That’s literally the entire point of this exercise.”
Harris sighed and stood up, the half-full canister tucked under his arm. “Did you see me covering my nose? Do you think the smell was any less strong for me? It wasn’t. But I didn’t allow myself to react.”
He waved a hand out at the kids, who had all taken their seats again. “We can’t do much about the pure physiological reactions. The sneezing and coughing? That’s out of our control. But you can pass it off as a dry throat or a patch of dust—humans will always believe the easiest answer.”
Just like friends will kindly overlook your all-encompassing crush on them until they decide it’s beneficial for them and indulge you long enough to get you into bed. Harris squashed the thought and focused back on the class. Several of them had pulled their shirts up over their noses, and others were hiding their faces in the crooks of their arms.
They were drama queens. It wasn’t bad enough to merit that. Harris was tempted to borrow the pepper spray Drew carried around with him for safety. That would teach them a lesson.
“Even though humans operate on the Occam’s razor principle—the most common explanation is probably the answer—you still have to have ironclad control out in public. We give you a good foundation for that, but you’re going to have to keep working at it at home until your Alpha agrees you’re ready.”
He looked at the clock. “We’ll end a few minutes early so you can escape the smell. But be prepared for small group work tomorrow! We’re going to keep doing drills until you can manage to hide your reactions.”
A few of the wolflings grumbled as they walked out, but most just bolted for the doors without comment. He was going to have to have someone come help him work on toning down their speed and agility so they walked like humans.
Harris dragged his heels cleaning up the mess, but a few minutes after the last wolfling left, Jackson poked his head in the door.
“Class over?”
Harris nodded. “I hate having the slot before dinner. They’re too hungry to concentrate on anything but the clock.”
Jackson laughed. “I remember those days.”
The Turn took a lot of energy, as did shifting. The wolflings were burning through an incredible amount of energy right now, and it showed in their eating habits.
Harris would have to text George to come clean the room. They were going to let the wolflings watch a movie in here later, and he didn’t want to have to deal with all the bitching over the pine scent.
Jackson reached out and touched his elbow as Harris stared at the desk and ran through the mental list of things he had to do tonight.
He looked up, his stomach dropping at the expression on Jackson’s face. This was going to hurt.
Jackson rubbed his neck. “I got the call from the Tribunal.”
Harris had been preparing himself for this, but it still ripped the air out of his lungs. “So soon?”
“It’s only a week short of their estimate. They need a fully functional team. It’s already been over a month since the position opened up. I’d imagine the team is more than ready to be back at full steam.”
Of course. Harris tried to take a breath, but his chest wouldn’t cooperate. He coughed to cover the awkwardness, forcing himself to inhale.
“They offered you the job, I assume?”
Jackson nodded, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“That’s wonderful,” Harris said, ducking his head to hide the tears that clouded his vision. “It’s—wow. Just what you wanted. Wonderful. I said that already, didn’t I? I mean, congrats. Really. I have to get to a session, but—wow. Yeah. That’s great.”
He fled before Jackson gave him any more details. Honestly, Harris didn’t want any. Jackson wasn’t his anymore—he was the Tribunal’s. The sooner Harris got that through his head the better.
Jackson called his name, but Harris pretended he hadn’t heard him and pushed through the double doors. Thank God for the restrictions—there weren’t any groups of wolflings out on the lawn or milling around outside the building. Harris let the tears stream down his face as he took off at a sprint. He was supposed to be supervising dinner in the mess, but he just wanted to curl up and lick his wounds.
He hadn’t had his phone all day, since he’d left it charging next to his bed this morning. Harris cursed. He’d meant to go get it a dozen times today, but something had always come up. Part of him knew he’d been hiding from possible text messages from Jackson, but the absurdity of that almost made him laugh now. Bad news had a way of finding you whether or not you had your phone.
“Hey, man. It’s taco night, what are you doing out here?”
Harris swallowed hard and looked up, catching sight of Scott a few yards away. Scott did a double take when he came closer.
“Harris? What’s wrong?”
Harris shook his head. “Stuff. Personal stuff. Find someone to cover for my mess duty? And have Anne Marie cancel my evening sessions.”
Scott reached out but let his hand hover over Harris’s shoulder, like he wasn’t sure if his touch would be welcomed. Harris offered him a weak smile.
“Of course. But are you sure you don’t need someone with you? Harris, man, you look—”
Harris had a good idea of what he must look like right now. He cut Scott off with a shake of his head. “I’m good. Tell her I’ll be fine for tomorrow, okay? I just need the night off.”
Scott pursed his lips but nodded and jogged off toward the mess. Harris took a shuddery breath and tried to think clearly.
He had no idea if Jackson was going to come after him or not, but his cabin would be the first place he checked. Same with his office, so he turned toward the lake. No one was allowed to be out, so the wolflings wouldn’t be using the boats tonight. He’d hole up in the boathouse. It was kind of poetic, given that had been the scene of their first date.
Harris muffled a sob against his arm. He was an idiot. He’d known this would hurt, but he hadn’t realized how much. Would it have been better if they’d had a week together, like he’d planned? Or would it have been worse?
The boathouse was locked, but he balanced on the thin ledge the wainscoting formed and made his way around to the side where he could jump onto the dock.
Harris climbed into a canoe tied up in one of the slips. There was a pontoon boat with padded seats in the other slip, but Harris wasn’t looking for comfort right now. He curled up on the floor of the canoe and closed his eyes, focusing on the way the boat swayed in the water.
He’d take a nap. He always advised his patients hiding from your problems never worked, but it wouldn’t hurt to try for a little bit.
Chapter Twelve
JORDAN tapped at his phone, broadcasting his annoyance loud and clear with his brusque movements.
“If your flight is at eight we’re already going to be cutting it close.”
Jackson growled, sending yet another text to Harris. He’d been too stunned by Harris’s reaction to the news to follow him out of the auditorium, and by the time he’d gone after him Harris had been nowhere to
be found. He’d even tried to follow his scent, but the camp was so saturated with it the trails were difficult to pick out.
“I know, I know. But I need to talk to him before I leave.”
Jordan frowned at him. “If he told you to take the job, then take the job. Maybe you’re reading too much into things. We know he’s into you, but he might not be looking for something long-term. I mean, his life is here at the camp. Are you telling me you’d be happy living here?”
Jackson wouldn’t be. But he didn’t have to—he could stay in Lexington and keep his spot on the force. Between that and Fang and Fury, he’d be happy. Or at least, he would if it meant being with his mate. They might not be able to live together, but at least he’d see him on the weekends.
He’d been so sure Harris was all in after last night, but the way he’d brushed him off earlier made him doubt his senses. Maybe they hadn’t connected the way he’d thought they had during sex. It might have been his imagination, or how much he wanted it to be true. If they really were mates, Harris would fight for him, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t be content to let Jackson walk away.
“We can’t wait anymore. You can keep trying to call him from the car.” Jordan wrapped an arm around Jackson’s shoulders and steered him toward the garage.
Jackson had called the Tribunal recruiter that afternoon to decline the job, but she’d insisted he come meet with the Enforcers face-to-face. It would make it a lot harder to turn the job down, but how could he take it when it meant giving up a life with Harris?
He relented and let Jordan put him in the car. “I don’t understand why he won’t pick up. He didn’t let me explain. He just… took off.”
Jordan started the SUV. “Well, you’d just told him you were offered a job across the country. What did you want him to say?”
“That he wanted me to stay,” Jackson blurted.
Jordan gave him a long look as he waited for the gates to open. “And what did you say when Raoul asked you not to apply?”
Jackson looked down at the phone in his lap. Still no message from Harris. “That I wasn’t going to give up my career for a relationship.”
“And then you broke up with him,” Jordan said. “Can you see how Harris might have gotten the impression you were dumping him?”
Jackson groaned and slammed his head back against the headrest. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, buddy,” Jordan said. “This is a shitshow of your own making. I don’t blame him for ignoring you. Give him some time. At some point, he’ll read your texts and realize you’re only flying out to New York to turn down the job. I’m sure he’ll call you then.”
But would he be calling to tell Jackson not to do it? He had no way of knowing if Harris wanted him to take the job or not. If he took what Harris said at face value, then he should accept it. But Harris hadn’t looked happy. The smile he’d given him had been brittle at best. Jackson would know for sure if the scent of the damn pine air freshener hadn’t drowned out Harris’s chemosignals, but as it was he was flying blind.
“I’m going to do it,” he said decisively. “This isn’t what I want. Even if Harris hates me, I’ll turn it down and come back here to convince him he’s my mate.”
Jordan chuckled. “That’s not really how it works.”
“How would you know? You don’t have a mate,” Jackson snapped. “It took me how many years to realize Harris was mine? That just means he needs time. Maybe he hasn’t realized it yet. But I wouldn’t be able to form a mating bond with him if we weren’t compatible.”
“Being compatible doesn’t mean you’re mates. And even if you are, it’s not like set in stone. You could have dozens of potential mates out there, Jacks. We’re not real wolves. We have free will, and that means the ability to walk away from something even if your biology is pushing you toward it.”
He knew that. Fuck, it was all he’d been able to think about for weeks. But he had to try. He’d spent so much time trying to deny it or figure out how to work around it—but last night had proven that they belonged together. He’d been fooling himself trying to ignore it.
Jordan sighed and looked over at him. “You’ve already formed a bond. This isn’t hypothetical.”
Jackson grimaced. “I’m almost positive I felt him last night. It’s not just a fledgling bond. I think we’ve completed all the steps except for the formal mating.”
He rolled his eyes when Jordan let out a whistle. “Damn, boy, you move fast.”
Actually, he moved slowly. Glacially slowly. This bond must have been forming for a decade. He was just finally at a place in his life he could acknowledge it.
“What about your career? You always said you weren’t going to let anything stop you from being a Pack Second.”
“I still want that. But I think I can have it and still have my mate. Maybe it pushes the timeline out, sure. But Harris won’t want to stay at Camp H.O.W.L. forever. And when he’s ready to move on, we can try to find a Pack that needs me.”
It would likely be a small Pack in the middle of nowhere and not a big-city Pack like he’d planned, but that didn’t matter. It would work out.
Jordan started to say something but snapped his mouth shut, shaking his head. “You do you, buddy. But have you talked to Drew about this? Your dad? Anyone?”
He was talking to Jordan now, but he didn’t think that was the answer Jordan was looking for. “I will.”
“Before you commit career suicide or after?”
Jackson clenched his fist around his phone. “After.”
“So, you’re not disputing this is a terrible idea?”
He wasn’t. But he honestly didn’t see any other path. He’d wanted this job for so long, and he felt sick giving it up, but he felt worse when he thought about being forced to sever his mating bond.
“Good talk,” he said, learning forward and turning the radio up to end the conversation.
JACKSON’S flight arrived twenty minutes early, so he had time before the car from the Tribunal arrived to pick him up. He didn’t have any luggage because he didn’t plan to stay. He had a late afternoon flight back to Indiana, and with any luck he’d be with his mate by dinner.
He slumped on a bench and took out his phone. Harris hadn’t returned any of his calls or texts while he’d been in the air. He blew out a breath and called Drew, who answered on the second ring like he’d been waiting for a call. Jackson felt like an asshole—he’d been calling to see if his stepbrother knew anything about Harris, completely forgetting he’d promised to let him know the moment he landed.
“Get there okay?”
“Yeah. Waiting for my ride now.” Jackson fiddled with the zipper on his bookbag. “Hear anything from Harris?”
“He didn’t text you before he left?”
Jackson’s stomach dropped to his toes. “He left?”
“Just to take Candice to Bloomington,” Drew said in a rush, clearly picking up on Jackson’s distress. “She has a meeting with her agent today, and Harris volunteered to take her because he had to go into town to get that inflatable movie screen thing. They left just after breakfast. He said they’d be back this afternoon.”
Jackson took a breath. “Have you talked to him?”
“No. The idiot spent the night in the boathouse, I guess. Andrew found him there when he opened it up this morning. He slept in one of the canoes. Did you guys have a fight?”
Everything had happened in such a whirlwind he hadn’t told Drew about spending the night with Harris or how they’d parted yesterday. Hell, he hadn’t even told him he was turning down the Enforcer job.
“Something like that.”
He’d called for advice, but the request died on his tongue. Jackson didn’t need Drew’s counsel on this. He already knew what he had to do—he just had to dig deep and find the courage to do it.
“Hey, I’ve got to go,” he said as a black town car pulled up in front of the curb. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For picking up the ph
one.” Jackson grabbed his bookbag and stood up. “My ride’s here.”
“Good luck.”
Jackson grinned. He had a mate and a life to start—he already had all the luck he needed.
THE news hadn’t gone over well, but Jackson was still smiling ear-to-ear when he left the Tribunal headquarters. He’d accomplished what he came to New York to do, even though it was difficult. The Tribunal put on a full court press to get him to stay, offering him more money and the opportunity to be on a fast track toward being a team lead with the Enforcers. It was everything he could have hoped for, but he still felt like he was on top of the world walking away from it.
That had to prove they were really mates, didn’t it? He’d just slammed a door shut he’d been working years to open, and he didn’t have the slightest regret.
“Leaving already, sir?” the guard at the reception desk asked when Jackson walked up.
“It was a short meeting,” Jackson said, flashing him a smile. He handed over the laminated ID badge he’d been given when he arrived, waiting as the guard opened a lock box to return his phone and bookbag.
The Tribunal had an impressive security setup. He had a pang of regret at all the things he could have learned here, but it was fleeting. He was getting the better deal in the end. Even if he had to spend the rest of his life with the Lexington police force, he’d have Harris there with him.
“Have a good day, Enforcer Berrings,” the man said as he handed over his things.
It wasn’t a title he had a right to anymore, since they’d stripped his district Enforcer duties after he’d declined the Tribunal job. He’d hoped he could keep it, but he understood why they did it. He’d have more time to spend at Camp H.O.W.L. this way, at least.
Jackson thumbed across his phone, frowning when he saw dozens of missed calls and even more missed texts. He leaned up against the outside of the building, staring at his phone. None of the notifications were from Harris.
“Jackson!” He nearly dropped his phone, startled by the frantic voice.