Page 2 of Falling for My Shifter Guardian

Ben’s jaw tightens, and he glances over his shoulder at Ethan, who’s now chatting with Maya at the counter. “You should be more careful around people like him.”

“People like him?” My irritation flares, but I keep my voice low. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ben shrugs, his expression guarded. “You know what I mean. Just… be careful.”

I know exactly what he’s hinting at—Ethan being a shifter. Ben’s been acting strange about them for a while now, but it doesn’t bother me. Why would it? My father’s best friend was a wolf shifter, and I practically grew up around them. I’ve always liked shifters. They might be different, but they’ve never given me a reason to fear them. Maya’s a wolf shifter too, and she’s my best friend. If anything, I trust shifters more than I trust most humans these days.

Before I can respond, Maya clears her throat loudly. “Hey, Liv, your shift’s almost up. Go eat your sandwich before I get stuck covering for you.”

I give her a grateful smile and grab the bag, muttering a quick “thanks” to Ben. I watch him leave, his shoulders tense, his gaze darting to Ethan with a glare that lingers too long, I can’t shake the feeling that something is fundamentally wrong.

I retreat to the break room. The sandwich is good, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen. Ben’s always been protective, but lately, there’s an edge to it—sharper, heavier. I don’t know when things started to shift, when that easy friendship turned into something uncomfortable. Maybe it was gradual, like the way cracks creep across glass—so small at first you almost don’t notice, until one day, the entire thing splinters and falls apart.

**

After my break, the diner starts to slow down, the buzz of the dinner rush fading into a quieter hum. I wipe down tables and refill coffee cups, letting my thoughts drift.

Ben wasn’t the only one who moved to Whispering Pines after my dad passed away. Derek Mercer did too. My dad’s best friend from the military. The man who’d been like a shadow in the background of my life ever since.

It’s been three years, and I still don’t understand why he’s here. His reasoning was vague—something about wanting a quiet place to settle down after years of military work. At least, that’s what I tell myself. That he moved here for the fresh start, not because of me. But sometimes, when I catch him looking at me, it feels like there’s more to it. Something deeper. Something I can’t quite name.

I shake my head, trying to focus on the task at hand. Derek’s always been an enigma—quiet, stoic, impossible to read. And yet, there’s something about him that draws me in. It’s not just his looks, though there’s no denying he’s attractive in that rugged, salt-and-pepper, ex-military way. It’s the way he makes me feel... safe. Like no matter what happens, he’ll always be there.

But then there’s the other side of him—the distance he keeps, the way he always seems to hold himself back. It’s frustrating, and it makes me wonder if I’m imagining things. Maybe he doesn’t see me at all. Not the way I see him.

The clock above the counter ticks loudly as I count down the minutes to the end of my shift. By the time I clock out, the diner is quiet, the kind of stillness that makes the night feel heavier. I step outside, the cool air brushing against my skin, and take a deep breath.

I’m halfway down the block when I see him.

Derek.

He’s here. Again. Just like always. He has a way of appearing when I’m on the verge of needing him—and sometimes even when I don’t.

Leaning casually against his black truck, his arms are crossed over his broad chest like a shield. The streetlight above flickers slightly, throwing jagged shadows across his sharp, weathered features. Somehow, the interplay of light and shadow only makes him look more imposing, more untouchable. My breath hitches, the familiar reaction settling in my chest like a drumbeat I can’t control.

“You shouldn’t be walking home this late,” he says, his voice low and steady, with that unmistakable edge of authority that always sends a shiver down my spine.

“I’m fine,” I reply, though my pulse quickens under his gaze. “It’s only a few blocks.”

“Get in.” He nods toward the passenger side of his truck. “I’ll take you home.”

I hesitate, caught between wanting to argue and the strange pull I always feel around him. Finally, I nod and climb into the truck. The scent of leather and pine fills the cab, and I try not to fidget as he starts the engine.

The drive is quiet, the kind of silence that feels heavy with unspoken words. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, taking in the hard set of his jaw and the way his hands grip the steering wheel. He’s always like this—calm, controlled, like nothing could shake him. But there’s something else there, something I can’t quite name. A fragility, maybe. Like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say softly as we pull up in front of my apartment complex, the hum of the truck’s engine filling the silence between us.

Derek nods, his steel-gray eyes flicking to mine before shifting away, as if the weight of my gaze is too much. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. For a second, I think he’s going to say something, but instead, he exhales sharply, his jaw visibly clenching. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “I’ll always be there when it matters.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken things lingering beneath them.

I open the door and step out, my pulse thrumming in my ears as I turn back to look at him. “Goodnight, Derek,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended.

He doesn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his expression unreadable. Then, with a brief, almost imperceptible nod, he puts the truck into gear and drives off, the taillights disappearing into the night.

The stillness that follows feels deafening, and his words replay in my mind.

I’ll always be there when it matters.

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