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Shit.
“I’m working,” I say quietly, my hand squeezing the hell out of the cleaning rag. “Go away.”
“You’re not returning my calls, or my messages.” He comes to lean against the bar, and fuck, now I have to clean that spot again. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
He sighs. “I can see that you’re not, so quit lying to me, little brother. Have you talked to our parents?”
“They left a voicemail,” I say miserably.
“And?”
I don’t reply. I have tried to put it out of my mind, but… it was a fucking ultimatum. Choose a pack, one of the packs we suggested, and choose it now, or the café will close and we will choose for you. It’s not legal, of course, for them to force me.
But there is the contract I signed, and if I lose the café… I may lose my mind, too.
“They’re persistent, aren’t they?” he says, and I realize he knows about the voicemail. It makes me feel somehow violated, that he’s in on our parents’ shenanigans. But then he says, “I was calling to warn you.”
“What good would it have done?” I mutter. “They won’t back down.”
“No,” he says, just as quietly, “they won’t. I tried talking to them to change their minds. But nothing.”
I blink at him, my cleaning rag forgotten in front of me. “You did?”
He rolls his eyes. “I want you happy, Sawyer. You don’t seem happy right now.”
“You say that,” I grumble, “and yet you agree with them. You’ve been trying to get me to do what they want for years now! Dammit.”
He hangs his head. “I know. Are these packs our parents have chosen for you so bad?”
“No,” I say. Shrug. “They’re not.”
“Then what’s the issue? Scent-matching? You know finding the perfect match is rare.”
“I know,” I snap. “I know that.”
Even though I think I’ve found mine, but neither Brinlee nor the McGraw Pack have made any move to court me.
“Then what’s wrong? Is there…? Have you found another pack?”
“No,” I say. Then more softly, “No.”
And yes.
“You’re not telling me the truth,” Eric says. “I know when you’re not telling me the truth.”
“I am,” I insist, because if they wanted me, if they needed me like they seem to need Brinlee, they’d have told me, right? A weird notion, since I need Brinlee, but I also can’t stop thinking about them, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
At least, Eric doesn’t know about my little episode where I didn’t realize a day had passed while cleaning, reading, and playing videogames. Lost inside my mind. My palms are still raw from all the products I used to scrub the floor, the bathroom, and the kitchen. Then every piece of furniture. Every shelf. Every book cover.
I ruined at least one book.
Dammit.
“All right, I’ll leave you alone then.” Eric pushes off the bar, a resigned look on his face. “Answer my texts and I won’t have to come here in person to check on you.”
Like Kyrian had. He’d said something about drawing the short stick, right? Straw. The short straw. Had he come against his will?
