Page 10 of Pack Baines

Grabbing my cell and keys, I head out of the room, locking the door after myself. I’m tucking my cell into the side pocket of my leggings when I open the entrance door to the dorm building, the crisp Fall air a welcoming rush against my face.

With a deep breath, I head down the steps carefully, still feeling a little weak legged and sluggish. Seeing Creek yesterday shook me more than I care to admit, and for more reasons than one. I mean, I haven’t seen him in eight years. My heart aches knowing he’s here, and I didn’t even fucking hug him like I should have. Instead, I froze like a deer in the headlights, fear gripping me so tightly that I could have barfed. Because if Creek is here, so are the others. And if they’re here, what’s to say the pack I left behind won’t find them, too? I’ve tried very hard to disappear over the years, especially after the letters started. The letters that kept finding me at every foster home I was forced to. They only stopped when I ran away, but I’ve lived on edge every day since, worried. Scared. Always looking over my shoulder for the moment they appear again.

Logically, I know they won’t find me. I mean, how can they? There’s no trace of me anywhere, foster care doesn’t know where I went, and I’ll surely be out of the system now that I’m twenty years old. They can’t find me. They can’t touch me. They can’t fucking hurt me anymore.

I’ve only just taken the last step, lost to my shitty thoughts, when I freeze at the sound of his voice.

“Hey, stranger,” Creek greets, lips tipped up in a crushing smile that would have me melting if my heart wasn’t stalling in my damned chest.

I can do nothing but stare at him in literal shock, wondering if my thoughts conjured the devil himself or if some form of divine intervention brought him to my proverbial doorstep. As it was, mycommon sense and paranoia kick in pretty quickly this morning, my brain still a little sluggish from yesterday’s meltdown.

“You following me or something?” I wonder, eyeing Creek closely. Close enough to notice how fucking hot he got. Not that he wasn’t handsome before, because lord knows he was. But now? Hell, younger me didn’t know how lucky she was.

Leaning languidly against the wall, holding two cups of steaming liquid, his defined body is practically on display for my perusal. Dressed in only a pair of jeans that look like they hug his ass snugly, a Henley shirt that looks molded to his impressive physique, and a ball cap that I know is hiding that honey-blond hair I used to run my hands through regularly, the man is a vision. A very pretty vision, though a surprising one.

Ocean eyes peer at me from under his cap, lips twitching like he somehow knows what I’m thinking, Creek pushes himself from the wall before approaching me. He’s careful about it, too, slow enough that it makes me feel like a skittish stray cat being confronted by a snarling dog. Only, he isn’t snarling. In fact, a smile I used to look forward to seeing is on his face, his broad shoulders are relaxed, and there’s an air of calm that surrounds him as he steps close enough that I’m instantly met with his strong scent. I can’t help but inhale the moment he’s near enough. Ginger and spice, strong andmasculine, and somehow familiar and foreign all at once. An alpha scent, if I’m not mistaken. Hell, I should know how to recognize them after bartending as long as I have. One sniff and I can recognize an alpha from a mile away. Often betas, too, since their scents seem to be fainter, less overpowering.

I’m so beyond distracted by the scent wafting off his skin that it takes me a moment to realize he’s holding one of those cups out to me, eyebrows raised in question, and I swallow hard as I blurt, “What’s that?”

Lips twitching, he shakes the paper cup slightly, and says, “A coffee. Didn’t know what you liked, but I’m pretty sure that sweet tooth hasn’t wavered over the years. It’s a mocha. Three sugars. Enough to give you a cavity, I’m sure.”

I eye the cup, my mouth watering, and peer back at Creek. I want to take the cup, I really do, but I don’t know if I can make myself. I mean, I trust very few people nowadays, Mack being the only one I allowed partially into my life. It also hasn’t escaped me that he ignored my question, which has my hackles rising and my eyes narrowing on the handsome, creepy bastard.

“Take a sip first,” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest.

He laughs, shocked, but relents. I’m an idiot, because I didn’t account for the way that mouth would look taking a small sip of the hot coffee. The wince he pulls, however, tears my attention away. “That’s fucking sickly, J. Jesus.”

My lips twitch, and I hold my hand out for it, knowing it’s safe enough to drink now. Man wouldn’t have poisoned himself or anything, right?

Taking my own small sip, I sigh as my eyes flutter, the taste of heaven on my tongue. Since I never have enough cash for fancy coffee, I usually stick with a white coffee, adding heaps of sugar to it until it tastes more sweet than bitter. This is much better, the rich, chocolatey goodness melting in my mouth.

When I finally open my eyes again, I notice Creek has taken a step closer, the smell of warm ginger melding with smoky spice practically enveloping me in a warm hug I’ve needed for fuckingyears.

Swallowing hard, I tuck the cup against my chest and repeat my earlier question. “So, you gonna tell me how you found me? Last I heard, following someone is considered stalking. Pretty sure stalking is harassment. This the start of a budding harassment, C?”

Creek laughs, and I feel it to my bones. I feel the ache in my chest at the yearning to hear it again, the way I’ve missed hearing it. Of missing him, and the others, over the years.

With a little cringe, lips still tilted in a private smile I only ever remember him sharing with me, he confesses, “After you ran yesterday, I couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing you again. Imight have followed behind you. I promise this isn’t a case of stalkery, though. Unless you’re suddenly into that thing.”

Only if it’s him doing the stalking, I think to myself, right before promptly squashing that thought and stomping all over it with my chuck-covered feet. Clearly, I need to either get a grip or catch more sleep. Maybe both. Both is good.

Rolling my eyes instead of reacting to the thoughts ping-ponging in my mind, I start walking towards my truck. Creek falls in step instantly, unbothered by my cold shoulder and lack of engagement, tucking his hands into the pockets of the jeans that really do hug his ass. Holy fuck. Just one quick glance and I already want to sink my teeth into those globes. Because clearly I’m too sleep deprived and fucked in the head for this shit this morning.

“Why’d you follow me?” I wonder, snapping my eyes to the sidewalk before me, praying he didn’t catch me looking at parts of his body I should not be looking at.

“That a real question, Juno?” he teases, nudging me with his elbow. I’ll be damned if my touch-starved body doesn’t break out into goosebumps at the innocent touch, though, my brain begging and pleading for another.

I offer a shrug instead of using my big girl words, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he’s here. He followed me, found out where I was staying, and appeared like a coffee nymph. Wait, how long was he even waiting? Can’t have been long, since the coffee is still hot. How long was he prepared to wait for me to appear?

Eyeing him carefully from the corner of my eye, I watch as his beautiful chest expands with a deep sigh before he explains, “I guess I wanted to see you again. I’ve missed you, J. So fucking much. Didn’t think I was ever going to see you again, so when I bumped into you yesterday, I thought for sure I was dreaming. Then you ran, and I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing you again.”

My throat closes, because I felt the same. My fear was riding me hard enough that I couldn’t think straight, but that didn’t stop all the longing from filling me from head to toe. If I were being honestwith myself, I’d admit that I was cautiously ecstatic that he followed me, that he showed up here, that he was willing to wait for me to appear just so he could see me again. Not to mention the truth I can feel in his words, the vulnerability that he’s willing to show, even after I fucking chickened out and ran away like a kicked dog with its tail tucked between its legs. I just assumed they’d all forgotten about me after I almost died at the hands of Hershal fucking Henley. Convinced myself they no longer wanted to know the broken girl from a waste of space pack who lived out of a trailer park and would spend more days than one hungry and cold. Hearing the heartache in his worlds has me questioning my truth, my reality, and I wonder for the first time if maybe I’ve been wrong all these years.

It’s for that reason among others that I quietly confess, “I’ve missed you, too.”

I hear his sigh, his shoulders dropping from their tense position I hadn’t realized they were in, and he stops walking suddenly. I look over at him, and find his features morphed into an expression that both steals the air in my lungs and crushes my heart in the same breath. A longing, acraving, that I know all too well. Pain I’ve become familiar with. A need that I thought I was alone in feeling over the years.

Creek eyes me carefully, that stormy gaze peering into my eyes for a long moment before he must find something that offers him the courage to finally ask, “Can I hug you now? I mean, I did bring you coffee, after all. Pretty sure that, and waiting eight fucking years to find you again, means I get to have at least a hug.”

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