Page 16 of Knot Just A Fan

“I have no such intention, I swear it. I’m tryingnotto hurt her. That’s why I said?—”

She holds up her hand, widening the door, then it slams shut. I hear her whisper on the other side, “Message me. And it better be good, Cove, or I will hang your arse out to dry.”

If that’s all I’ll get, I’ll take it.

CHAPTER 6

Ronan

“You can’t be actinglike that, mate. That’s not how packs stick together and this one’s been on a slippery slope for awhile in case you hadn’t?—”

“Yes of course I’ve noticed!” I snap, jerking my arm out of Enzo’s pinchy grip. His shorter frame ambles about at my side as we head out into the freezing January air.

Enzo doesn’t react to others’ reactions, and I guess that’s why he’s been our glue. I fly off on everything, and I always know it, and I always can’t do a damn thing about it. As the last sibling of eight, it always seemed like all the emotion genes skipped through the first seven kids and crammed themselves all into me.

I pull a cigarette from my coat pocket and feel Enzo’s thick-ass eyebrows narrow in the dark. “And before you say it, this is my one-a-month.”

“Of course,” he says, his thick accent dripping with judgment. “You just happen to carry this with you everywhere and it doesn’t get crushed?”

“Of course,” I say, lighting it up with the custom Zippo my eldest brother Kyren gifted me over a decade ago. The last time Isaw him, before he became a successful surgeon in Glasgow. The last time I sawanyof them, actually.

At this point, the smoking has nothing to do with nicotine, and everything to do with the Zippo.

I flip the cool metal around in my hand for a minute before returning it safely to my pocket. I take a drag, barely inhaling, and blow it away on the fucking arctic air. God, I miss California weather.

Enzo’s got his fists balled in his pockets and that stupid scarf that he wears ninety-per-cent of the time when he’s not drumming. I think he’d wear it even then if it wouldn’t get in the way.

“If you’re going to say something, just say it,” I mutter, as I lean against the cold brick beside the venue’s service entrance. After a moment’s touch, though, I back away and just hold one arm across my stomach, propping up my smoking arm.

“We can’t keep fighting,” Enzo says. “We straighten our differences out or I’m dragging your sorry arses to therapy. You guys are my brothers. But you never see eye to eye.”

“Well, Mr. Tortured Artist in there refuses to let us in, refuses to get Willow down here. My rut suppressants work just fine, but this calling her ours when she clearly has no desire to be is so fucking tired. Why can’t he just admit it, and give it up? I’d be happier if he did.”

“I protect this pack from falling apart,” Enzo leans against the wall with his elbows, and stays there. We look out at the light snow drifting down on the full car park and the dog park across the road. It’s a fairly quiet neighborhood, except for the noise pulsing from the gig and the partiers inside. “I want to keep doing this. It feels like my task. Like Grayson is pack lead, and you are pack prick. I am the breath of calming air that chills us all the fuck out, yes?”

His wears his ever-present grin like breathing, so I can’t help but snort. But I can’t smile and give in. Doesn’t help that since he claims his nose was broken in a fight as a teen, it’s slightly crooked, which gives him a sort of perma-smirk. He always looks like he’s taking the piss, in a jovial way. Similar to how Grayson always looks like he’s highly amused by everyone’s opinions and that he knows best, in some mysterious, holier-than-thou way. I’m sure the ladies love it. Drives me fucking bonkers.

But everyone loves a leader with charisma, and I can’t deny he has that. MaybeIdreamt of being the head of a pack. Maybe after growing up mostly unseen, forgotten, and the end recipient of an assembly line of hand-me-downs, it felt like finding other Alphas I could stand out amongst was my reward. But life doesn’t just reward you for going through scrapes and tumbles. You have to work to make something of it.

I take another puff then look at the cigarette. I kneel down, snuff it out on the pavement, then stuff it in the nearby cigarette receptacle.

“I think we need to talk to Briella ourselves. You saw what happened. What’s been happening, with him and her since we came back to England.”

Enzo nods slowly, but he’s watching me with thoughtful eyes. I know what he and Gray both are thinking most of the time. But Enzo won’t say it. So I do.

“He’s anxious for Willow to finally join us, but he knows she never will. He knows her work and her life up there is more important to her. And fine if it is! Just fucking tell us so Gray can stop holding us hostage to his teenage dick Olympics. I mean, at the end of the day, if we really want an Omega after all this time, I’d have a mate who’s devoted andwantsto be with us over the perfect scent-match who couldn’t give two shits. And who says she is, anyhow? Neither you nor I have ever scented her. The two times we fucking met, she smelled like dried glue to me.”

“That is all true …” Enzo says, drawing out the last syllable like abutisn’t far behind.

“But Gray’s committed, and if he is, we are. The problem is this photographer. You see how he looks at her as she leaves the room. He’s as subtle as a giant inflatable cock and balls. He’s been thinking of her foryears.”

“Done more than think of her,” Enzo says with an easy laugh. “But fuck, man, I don’t know … I think he just looks out for her. He was her mentor first, remember?”

“No.” I hold up my hand. “It’s more than that. And it’s grown since we got back. He’s torn. He’s supposed to want to protect Willow and do everything he can to bring her into the pack, and yet she’s taking her sweet fucking time, probably getting banged in the middle of stone circles by all kinds of hot Scots up there while we’re sitting around twiddling our dicks!”

If Briella weren’t around, Grayson wouldn’t be confused and doing his classic dither about something. And I think, if he was distraction-free at last, he would realize Willow’s not for us either, and he’d stop pretending.

“If we’re not constantly holding our breath for her, if we’re settled, we can commit to more regular gigs around the UK and Europe. You heard Ash last week. If we’re seen as willing to fly off to do residencies in LA and NY and Austin and wherever they hell else the label wants to send us, we’ll always be on the move. If we want. I for one am starting to feel too old for that shit. A holiday a few times of year, a tour every few years, maybe. That’s the dream. But I want a home.” I pause and mirror Enzo, jamming one hand in a pocket and wishing I had my own douchey scarf to wrap up in. “Don’t you?”

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