Page 7 of Pack Baines

It takes me a moment to realize I’m suspended in the air, my eyes clenched tight in preparation for the fall, one that never comes. I’m a little slow on the uptake, my eyes blinking open in a daze, only to find a fucking gorgeous man holding me upright, saving my ass from meeting the concrete. His short, honey-blonde hair is pushed back is a faux hawk, cut short on the sides from what I can see. He’s built, impressively so, but not overdone to the point of bulging. He clearly works out, defined muscles outlined in the dark-gray shirt that wraps around him like a Christmas gift come early. And let’s not mention the familiar, pretty, deep-blue eyes that sparkle down at me, concern flashing in their depths as he eyes me with a pinched brow.

Wait. Why the fuck do I recognize those eyes?

And the flat line those kissable lips are pressed in, and his eyebrows dip lower as that stormy gaze runs over every single one of my features, and the mirroring shock that beams at me through a stunned gaze I can feel on my own face.

“Sorry. Wasn’t looking where I was going,” I murmur slowly, as though I’m drugged as I peer up at a somewhat familiar face, hoping the hands gripping my arms will release me so I can climbinto my truck and disappear into a fucking void that I hope will swallow me whole.

They don’t, stealing my hopes and dreams from right under my feet.

Oh, no. Those strong, capable hands only tighten, squeezing my biceps hard enough that my eyes snap to his once more.

It’s only then that time seems to stand still, the recognition of those stormy blues finally registering in my mind. The chiseled jaw that used to be softened by youth. The straight nose that was almost broken during a football game against a team that was out for blood. The short hair that used to be a smidge longer, forcing me to move it from his face every now and then.

And with that realization, my other senses awaken. The feel of his larger hands, hands that used to be scrawny and soft, now gripping me firmly and securely. The heat of his body seeping into mine, his filled out and defined body so close that I can almost feel every ridge against me. But the most distinguishable, the most fucking obvious thing that cements the person holding me upright, is the familiar but stronger than before scent of ginger and spice. An aroma that was only faint as we grew up. A tickle of the senses. A tease now turned into an enveloping of one's senses. A scent that now overpowers all rational thought, that begs for me to sink into the familiar hold, bare my neck, and whine as I beg for him to do anything but hold me tightly as he looks down at me like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. I can relate.

Mouth parting in shock, my body reacting like a betraying bitch as it tries to lean closer, I stare wide eyed at Creek fucking Whitlock as he peers down at me in equal amounts of shock. It’s like my brain stutters, the reboot button having been pressed one too many times, and I do nothing but gape at the man who used to be one fifths of the pack I thought I’d eventually be bonded to.

What. The. Actual.Fuck?

“Juno?” Creek rasps, hands sliding down my arms, scrawny compared to him, until he reaches my clammy hands. Time standsstill the moment his skin meets mine, and I can do nothing but gape at the man that used to be the boy I used to dream about. Still fucking dream about. One of the boys I thought would have forgotten me after all this time.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Chapter 3

Creek

My heart is thundering so hard that I’m actually certain it’s going to break through my rib cage, falling at Juniper Henley’s feet like it’s been dying to get to her in the eight years she’s been missing. I mean, I’d let it go gladly. I’d wrap it in her shaking hands and beg her to take the damned thing at this rate, but the shock painting her delicate features screams that’s probably not the best route to take.

Eight years.

Eight long, miserable,lonelyfucking years without her. And here she is, purple haired and just as beautiful, if not more, as the last day I set my eyes on her. She’s changed a whole fucking lot, but not enough that I wouldn’t recognize the girl I’ve been pining for over the past eight years. Her hair is shorter, eggplant colored, wavy strands only just dusting her shoulders. Pale, sky-blue eyes peer up at me, blinking rapidly like she’s trying to make sense of the thoughts scrambling her head, of the sight she’s seeing, and her dainty hands grip tightly the shirt covering my waist. It’s as though she hasn’t heard me, haunted eyes gazing at me as though I’m nothing but a mirage in the desert, her thirst-muddled brain conjuring images that don’t actually exist. I can fucking relate, my shock at seeing the girl I thought I’d always end up with still riding me hard enough that my chest physically aches.

But I do. I’m here.She’sfucking here.

“Juno, what the fuck?” I breathe, right before I haul her skinny ass into a hug so tight that I almost worry when I hear bones creak and joints crackle like that weird crispy cereal she used to like.

The moment she’s in my arms, bundled up against me, I press my nose into her hair. I’m met with the faintest scent of pineapples, creamy coconut, and a dull shot of sugary vanilla the moment I inhale, her scent far fainter than it used to be, but no less familiar and addictive. I could breathe her in every hour of the day and never tire of it.

Sadly, it’s that moment that she seems to come to her senses, the once feisty girl I used to know scrambling out of my hold like she can’t get away from me fast enough. I can’t lie and say that doesn’t hurt, but I guess I can understand it. Years have passed since I saw her last, so it’s no wonder she’d be leery of getting close.

“Creek?” she croaks, her voice raspier than it used to be, but no less alluring. In fact, the smoky hue to her words almost has me stepping closer, despite her rigid stance and wary gaze. It’s a fucking miracle I manage to keep my feet planted where they are, my body actually aching to be near her now that she’s standing right there, only a foot of space separating us.

“Yeah, honey. It’s me,” I damn near whisper, my voice escaping me, leaving only the deepest instinct to draw her near, to wrap her in my arms, and never let her go again.

A plan that poofs to dust the moment Juniper wrenches her arms out of my hold, her leather-covered back colliding with the side of a truck that might have seen better days. Unblinking eyes peer up at me like a baby deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, and I watch with deep concern as her entire body starts trembling. I watch with pain as her head starts shaking in denial, like she doesn’t want to believe what she’s seeing. And I can do nothing but watch with heartache and a bone-deep desperation to reach out to her as she practically dives into the cabin of her truck, turns on the ignition, and floors it from me, taking my heart with her a second time.

Only this time, I’m not a helpless thirteen-year-old kid. And I’ll be fucking damned if I let that woman get away again.

Like a lit fire has appeared under my ass, I’m moving. All rational thought disappears as I literally dive into the car, thankful I just so happened to park directly next to her, and I’m shredding my tires to pull out and follow behind the truck with a few rust spots in the faded black paint.

It takes me a moment to find her through the morning traffic, but when I do, I blurt, “Fuck yes. Gotcha.”

For the next twenty or so minutes, I hang back as I follow Juniper weaving through traffic carefully, taking turns and bends with care. It’s when we’re only about five minutes away from North U that I almost lose her, a red light halting my progress. Thankfully, fate is on my side, and I catch up just in time to watch her park in the student lot for the university. Wait, the school? Does… Juno goes to North U?

Opting to remain in the car instead of vaulting over several that separates me from the only girl I’ve ever loved, I watch with a thundering heart as Juno tries to pull herself together. Her forehead rests on the steering wheel, head shaking side to side as she keeps a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. An irrational niggle of envy for the fucking thing worms under my skin. There was a time when she held me like that, my touch, my hold, grounding her.

I’m fisting my own steering wheel a moment later, the plastic groaning in strain. It’s the only thing keeping me in the car. That, and the shuddering breath I watch Juno take, right before a single tear drop scales her pale cheek before dropping out of sight. It makes my stomach turn, my chest aching something fierce, and that desperate need to scoop her up and cradle her in my arms comes back with a vengeance.

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