Page 65 of Grace of a Wolf 1
He sighs, a long exhale that seems to deflate him. "Because what they did to you was wrong. What Rafe did was wrong."
I stare at his profile, searching for the lie. "You never liked me."
"I never said I didn't like you."
"You didn't have to. It was pretty clear."
Andrew's mouth twists. "It wasn't about liking or not liking you, Grace."
"Then what was it about?"
His shoulders rise and fall. "Does it matter now?"
"Yes." I'm surprised by how much it matters, suddenly.
The road hums beneath us. A semi-truck passes in the opposite direction, its headlights briefly illuminating the car's interior in harsh white light. I catch the conflict on Andrew's face before darkness reclaims him.
"I kept my distance because Rafe asked me to," he finally says. "In the beginning."
"What? Why would he—"
"Because I liked you too much." He says it casually, like commenting on the weather, but his grip on the steering wheel tightens. "Back when you first came to the pack. Rafe noticed before I even said anything."
The confession lands like a stone in still water, ripples of implication spreading outward. I struggle to reorganize my memories around this new information, trying to make sense of years of perceived indifference.
"You're lying."
"Why would I lie about that?" A humorless laugh escapes him. "It wasn't a big deal. Just a stupid crush. But Rafe..." His voice hardens. "Rafe made it clear you were off-limits."
I think back to all those times Andrew avoided me, how he'd leave rooms when I entered, the careful distance he maintained. I'd interpreted it as disdain—the same disdain most of the pack felt toward me.
"You could have just told me."
"What would have been the point? You only had eyes for him."
The truth of that statement stings more than it should. I turn toward the window. "So all those times you were cold to me—"
"Self-preservation." The corner of his mouth lifts in a wry smile. "Being around someone you want but can't have isn't exactly fun."
A road sign flashes by—Sterling City, 7 miles.
"And now?"
"Now I'm helping an old friend escape a bad situation." His tone is deliberately light. "Or trying to, anyway."
I study his profile, seeing him—really seeing him—for perhaps the first time. The slight bump in his nose from when Rafe broke it during training. The small scar above his right eyebrow. Freckles. His face has been background noise in my life for years.
It doesn't feel like the full story behind this person named 'Andrew', but it's a piece of it. One I never knew before.
"I'm sorry," I say, meaning it. "For not seeing."
"Nothing to be sorry for." He shrugs. "We don't get to choose who we fall for."
The irony of his statement isn't lost on me—not with Rafe and Ellie and their fated bond, and not with whatever strange pull exists between me and the Lycan King.
"No," I agree softly. "We don't."
The car eats up the miles, the highway empty except for the occasional truck. I notice Andrew checking the rearview mirror more frequently now.
