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“Hey, Ky!” a guy says, lifting his hand for a high-five.
I wave and smile as customers file in. I’m popular with the regulars, and with the new ones, too. Boys and girls fancy me. But I’m a reformed man, only interested in my pack.
Except…
Yeah, Sawyer.
Hell.
What does this mean? Can’t I be faithful to my men? I made a promise to be faithful, and I feel it in my fucking bones that this is my pack. These are my people.
So why can’t I fucking stop thinking about him?
A guy who has to hate me for my stupid behavior. It’s just… books. Books hate me, always have. And I just can’t win with them.
I shouldn’t have touched his precious books. I just hadn’t expected a veritable library at the back of the store, and I had been drawn there as if by a spell. Touching what I can’t handle. Looking at what I can’t understand. Drawn to it like a moth to the flame.
Maybe that’s why my mind won’t let go of this Sawyer guy.
He’s mad at me. And with good reason, I guess. Yet my brain is stuck on him. Fuck, it annoys me. Where’s my self-control? Are my promises to my pack mates a lie? They are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
So stop thinking of the pissy café owner, Ky. Easy. Focus on your job. Scan the crowd, make sure you keep the peace. As for your other problem… You have a job. You have mates. So what if they don’t know just how stupid you are? They won’t care if they find out.
Right?
Scowling at a random guy who backs away from me, I return to my post by the door.
They wouldn’t care. I don’t need books to be a functional adult, I don’t need… anything. Everything is fine.
Let sleeping dogs lie.
They deserve their rest.
Until I gather my courage and face the problem head-on.
It’s not the first time I’ve tried to face my issues. But every time, something makes me turn back and put it off for another day.
Doesn’t stop me from going back for more.
At the library, for instance. Sometimes they offer tutors to help you. They are volunteers, as I understand it, but mostly they work with children.
Not huge-ass alpha adults like me.
I made an appointment anyway. Last time I was here, the tutor took a look at me and told me I should be ashamed of myself.
I am.
So I fucked off and didn’t come back in months. But it’s that urge I have, to try what seems out of reach, to try against the odds. Against all the voices in my head, some from memories and some all of my own imagining, telling me how stupid I am, how useless.
How this will never work out.
Fucking books.
The weight of them presses down on me as I climb the steps leading to the library entrance. I enter. A hush reigns inside, making the oppressive feeling worse.
What the hell am I doing? At my age? A bit too late for letters, isn’t it?
But like every time, the thought of my pack finding out about my terrible shortcomings keeps me going. If they find out, at least I want to tell them I tried.
