Chapter 76
The packhouse buzzed with news of Jake’s return before dawn, but it wasn’t the triumphant homecoming you’d expect from an Alpha. Instead, the whispers carried fragments of worry. Injured. Distant. Refusing medical help.
I waited anxiously in the common area, pacing back and forth as the sun rose higher. I told myself it was because of the twins—that they’d missed their father. That was my excuse, anyway.
When the heavy oak doors finally creaked open, the sight of him hit me harder than I expected. Jake strode in, tall and proud as ever, but his movements were stiff, his expression carved from stone. Blood smeared his shirt, and his left arm hung limply at his side.
“Jake—”
“Alpha,” he corrected coldly, his voice like a blade.
The sharpness made me pause, but I squared my shoulders. “You’re hurt. Let me—”
“I don’t need your help,” he snapped, brushing past me.
I turned and followed him, frustration bubbling up. “You’re bleeding, Jake. This is ridiculous. At least let Sophie—”
“I said I don’t need help.” His tone was final, his back rigid as he ascended the stairs.
I clenched my fists, my temper flaring. “Fine. Be a stubborn idiot. See if I care when you pass out from blood loss.”
He froze halfway up the staircase, his head turning slightly. For a moment, I thought he might apologize—or at least acknowledge me—but then he kept climbing, leaving me standing there with my anger and worry tangled together.
Later that day, I found him in his office.
The door was ajar, and through the gap, I saw him sitting at his desk, his injured arm hastily bandaged and his head bowed. He looked tired—more than tired. Broken.
I knocked gently, stepping inside before he could deny me entry.
“What do you want, Ayla?” he asked without looking up. His voice lacked its usual venom, but the exhaustion in it stung just as much.
“We need to talk,” I said, closing the door behind me.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “About what?”
“The twins,” I began carefully. “Something happened while you were gone.”
His eyes darkened, but not with curiosity. With irritation. “Let me guess. They cried when I didn’t say goodbye?”
My jaw tightened. “No, Jake. I’m serious. Something strange happened. They—”
“Ayla.” He cut me off, his tone dripping with condescension. “Whatever you think you saw, it’s just your imagination. They’re babies. They cry, they laugh, they—”
“They made me float,” I interrupted, my voice rising. “I was about to fall, and they stopped me. Their eyes—”
“You’re imagining things,” he said flatly.
I stared at him, my chest tightening. “You don’t believe me?”
“I don’t have time for your fantasies,” he said, standing and walking past me. “Drop it, Ayla.”
I turned to follow him, anger sparking in my veins. “You’re such a coward, you know that? You refuse to face anything that doesn’t fit into your perfect little box. Not your grief, not your children—”
He spun around, his glare icy enough to freeze me in place. “Don’t,” he warned, his voice low. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”
His words stung, but I refused to back down. “You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you’re so determined to push everyone away. But guess what, Jake? I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes flickered—something softer, something conflicted—but it was gone before I could place it. Without another word, he turned and left, leaving me alone in his office.
I marched down the hall to deliver some soup I’d made for him, balancing the tray carefully as I pushed his office door open.
“Jake, I—”
I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before my foot caught on the edge of the rug, and I stumbled forward. The tray slipped from my hands, the bowl of soup tipping precariously—
—and landing squarely on his lap.
“Oh my goddess!” I exclaimed, my hands flying to my mouth.
Jake shot up from his chair, soup dripping from his pants. “Ayla!” he growled, his voice full of incredulous anger.
“I’m so sorry!” I said, rushing forward with a napkin.
“Don’t!” he barked, grabbing my wrist before I could dab at his soaked trousers. “Just—stop.”
I bit back a laugh, but it bubbled out anyway. “You should see your face right now,” I said, trying to stifle my giggles.
His glare could have melted steel. “This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” I admitted, stepping back as he grabbed another napkin and began furiously wiping at his pants.
“If this is your idea of helping, I’ll pass,” he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Well, maybe if you weren’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t have to resort to creative measures,” I shot back, crossing my arms.
He looked up, his lips twitching despite himself. “Creative? Dumping soup on me is creative now?”
I shrugged, trying to hide my smirk. “I prefer to think of it as assertive problem-solving.”
He shook his head, a low chuckle escaping him. The sound surprised me, warm and unguarded, and for a moment, I forgot how cold and distant he usually was.
“You’re impossible,” he said, his voice softer now.
“And you’re insufferable,” I replied, matching his tone.
We stood there, the air between us shifting. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I felt like I could see past his walls—past the anger and grief, to the man beneath. I wanted to tell him about the twins again, but I had a feeling this would turn into another horrible argument and I really didn't have the energy for it.
But then he looked away, clearing his throat. “I’ll handle this,” he said, gesturing to his soaked pants.
“Right,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it.”
As I turned to leave, I caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make my heart race.
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