Page 20 of Wolf Lost

Sawyer shot him his best disbelieving look. “Really? So before you were hurt, you could have made this whole thing without help from anyone?”

They had reached Dez’s pickup truck, and Sawyer realized his mistake. He should have asked the employee to help move the wood into the truck. It was a little heavy for him, and Dez seemed to have trouble gripping things sometimes. They didn’t discuss it, and it seemed to bother him a lot more than his leg.

Dez, meanwhile, seemed not to have noticed the issue. He grabbed the first few pieces of wood and hoisted them up with ease. Sawyer did not melt. He wasn’t a weak man. But gods, with that kind of strength Dez could pin him up against a wall and—

“Are you even listening?” Dez asked, but he looked more amused than angry.

“Of course I’m listening. What would make you think I wasn’t?” He tried to make his tone affronted, and missed by a mile, coming out squeaky and pitiful.

“You really want to know?”

“No.”

Dez laughed and set one of the bigger... beams? Blocks? Whatever, pieces of wood, into the truck bed.

Sawyer both did and didn’t want to ask about his hand. He erred on the side of caution, though, since he’d just dug the man out of a funk.

The Kozlowski’s children had been more than happy to come down on the price to cover the new kitchen. After waiting six months with no offers, they’d wanted to unload the shop.

The paperwork had gone quickly, and since the pack had bought the place outright—a thought that made Sawyer choke on his drink when he heard Gavin talking to the realtor—the closing had been quick. Getting the insurance had been the hardest part, since they’d required an in-depth inspection of the building.

Still, the result was that less than two weeks after Sawyer first ran through those distinctive red doors, the Kismet pack were the proud owners of a future coffee shop. They still had a lot of work to do on it, but Sawyer thought it was perfect already.

Sure, they’d ripped out the side counter and bakery case the day before, but Dez was going to build a new one. Or maybe Dez and Sawyer.

Dez and Sawyer and Asher.

Sawyer knew a hammer from a wrench, but that was about the limit of his handyman skills. He’d once topped off the windshield washer fluid in his dad’s car, did that count?

For once, the thought of his father wasn’t a knife in his gut. He still missed him. Always would. But he thought his dad would have liked the Kismet pack. He would have been glad Sawyer found them.

“You’re drifting again,” Dez said, this time in his soft, sweet voice. The one he used when he thought Sawyer was being cute, or something sappy like that.

Someone nearby tossed a box into the back of their vehicle, producing an ear-splitting clang, and Dez’s hand did that thing it did sometimes, sending the last few pieces of wood scattering to the ground. He stood there, clenching and unclenching his hand, pupils dilated and heart rate skyrocketing so loud and fast Sawyer was shocked the humans around them didn’t hear it.

If it had been almost any alpha but his father—maybe still including Gavin—Sawyer would have cringed away and let the man get himself in order. But this was Dez.

The sour tang of adrenaline was seeping from his pores, and he—he needed Sawyer.

Decisively, Sawyer stepped over the fallen wood and leaned up to wrap his arms around Dez’s neck. He slid his fingers up through that thick black hair, and lightly pressed Dez’s head down, toward his own shoulder.

He didn’t push hard—he didn’t want the alpha to feel trapped or forced into anything—but it was just enough pressure to get what he wanted, if Dez allowed it.

Dez did, taking one deep breath after another with his nose tucked into Sawyer’s neck. Normally, Sawyer would be thinking about sex. Now, Dez needed him to be the focused one.

Okay, mostly focused. But still.

He breathed slow and deep, holding Dez against him until his breath and heartbeat evened out, slowing to match Sawyer’s.

“Sorry,” Dez finally murmured, and Sawyer only knew it because he felt those soft lips moving against his neck.

He wanted to laugh it off, or dismiss it as unimportant, but he was pretty sure that was wrong. Instead he pressed his own face into the side of Dez’s and whispered back, “Don’t be.”

14

Summer of ’69

He was going to die of frustration before they were done rebuilding the bakery case and side counter. The plans were fairly complex, but nothing he couldn’t accomplish.

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