Page 55 of Choose the Bears

“These are damn good burgers.”

Slate, one of the other bear shifters that worked here said, stepping into my path, speaking with his mouth half full.

“They are,” I agreed, even though I hadn’t eaten one yet. “And I need to make sure my mate has one.”

His eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder, seeing Imogen in quite a different light now. He moved aside so I didn’t have to force him to get out of my way. People seemed to sense my mood, the crowds parting, until I was standing in front of Imogen.

“Asher…” She was trying so hard to be pleasant and useful, but that mask seemed to shatter the moment she was near me. I almost smiled to see the real her rise, if only for a second. Eyes wide and staring, her lips parted and her tongue flicked over the bottom, making me wonder. Did she see that hot, desperate, aching dream playing out over and over, the same way I did every time we got close? I liked to think she did. But she recovered all too quickly, putting on a professional smile before clacking her tongs. “Did you want a burger?”

“Yes.” I would say that to anything she might have to offer, that I knew, but that wasn’t what I meant right now.

“Veggie, beef, chicken, or fish?” she asked.

“What would you have?”

My tone was too low, the bear too close, but she just nodded in response.

“Beef burgers are a classic, and we got this special brisket mix Kyle was harping on about.” She picked up a bun and split it, putting it on the plate. “Salad? Mayo? Sauce?”

“Make it the way you would if you made it for yourself,” I replied.

“Ohh-kay.”

One wary look my way and she went to work, assembling the burger only to present it to me. I took the plate, then walked around the trestle table to her side, slowing my steps when she took one backwards.

“Go and sit down.” That came out like an order, not a suggestion and I instantly regretted that while realising I also didn’t want her to refuse. “Eat.”

“But you’re paying me?—”

“To do as I ask.” I sucked in a breath, then another, my brain conjuring more and more ways I could get her to do exactly what I wanted for our mutual pleasure, but that impulse was shoved to one side. “I don’t expect you to be everyone’s personal chef. This is a barbeque. People are enjoying themselves.” I turned around to confirm that. “And you should too.”

“Oh.”

I don’t think I’d ever seen my mate surprised, and I sucked in her expression right now. The flush in her cheeks, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O.’ Imogen recovered quickly though, nodding and then pulling away from the table.

“Well done.” My sister had followed me and now appeared at my shoulder, using the same tongs to make herself a burger. “You’ll have to watch out for her. She’s going to want to lose herself in work, in staying busy, to avoid what’s coming.”

I stared into my sister’s eyes, neither of us needing to explain what she meant. The price all abuse victims seemed to pay. Once you were safe, free of the people causing you pain, that’s when the real work began. Like aftershocks from an earthquake, emotions that weren’t safe to feel while you were in immediate danger came rushing up, sucking all the relief, the pleasure, everything good away.

“I’ll make sure she has all the support she needs,” I told Ursula, “but I can’t make her sit with her feelings.”

“No.” Her wry smile contained a wealth of experience, of pain I knew well. “I don’t suppose you can. Hurt people gotta hurt in only the way they can.” I watched her gaze sharpen. “Speaking of which, don’t go hunting Phil Jackson down.”

I let out an involuntary snort at that. The impulse was like a snake in my guts, roiling, roiling, growing more and more venomous by the second. I hated that there were witnesses when I had the arsehole in hand that night in the car park. The need to break that fuckhead’s neck was pressing down on me so hard. I hated that I listened to the guard, to my sleuth mates, and let Phil get away, but nothing, I mean nothing, filled me with rage more than the moment I walked into that apartment.

Imogen had just started to build something for herself. The place was old, crusty, and in need of updating back in the 80s, let alone now, but like so many people, she made the most of what she had. Each book she slotted into place, each cupboard she filled, was a ritual claiming of the space. It was hers and hers alone, and no one could take that from her.

Except he did.

Fucking arsehole, I was sure I know why Phil had staged this attack. With the bullshit he pulled, he’d contravened the conditions of his bail and would spend the months before his trial in jail. In his tiny little brain, he thought if he could silence Imogen, that problem would go away.

Except we would never allow that to happen.

He made a mistake, hurting Mary and Scott, but I could’ve pursued justice for them through the courts if he just kept his head down. He made another mistake menacing my mate, not once, but twice. Each time, someone stepped in before something happened, and that was all I needed to keep the bear back.

So in his mind and mine, I just needed to make sure I found Phil when no one else was around to stop me from making clear his actions had consequences he wouldn’t survive.

“Why would I do that?” I asked, busying myself with making my own burger. It was an effort to get me to engage with food, but suddenly the smell of the grilled meat was too tempting to resist. My sister made a rude noise.

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