Page 19 of Grizzly's Grump
“I’ll look at it first thing,” Beau says. “And Calder?”
“What?”
“She’s not just getting to you,” he says, voice low. “She’s altering your current. Like the ley lines are recalibrating around whatever this is.”
I don’t answer him. Just stand there with my hands braced on the rail, staring out into the dark like it might offer an escape hatch I know damn well isn’t there. My jaw flexes, but I say nothing. Not because he’s wrong—he never is when it comes to this kind of thing—but because admitting it feels too close to surrender.
He doesn’t wait for a reply. Just claps me once on the shoulder and walks back into the dark.
I stay on the porch long after Beau’s footsteps fade, the quiet settling in around me like a second skin. The moon's climbed higher now, casting long shadows across the gravel and outlining the jagged treetops in silver. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a branch cracks. An owl calls twice.
I don’t move. I just lean into the night, the weight of everything unsaid pressing heavier than it should. Cilla's taste still lingers on my lips, her heat woven into the very air I breathe.The space she left in my arms feels louder than the surrounding silence.
And I hate that I want to go back. That I’m thinking about what it would take to knock on that food truck door and ask for something I’m not sure I’m allowed to want.
I grip the railing until my knuckles go white, the rough grain of the wood biting into my palms. The wind moves through the trees like it’s got secrets to spill, but I stay rooted—locked in place by the ache in my chest and the heat still burning low in my gut. I close my eyes and breathe her in like she’s still standing in front of me, like her touch is something I could conjure with will alone.
But I don’t move. Not yet.
I can still feel her—her lips bruised against mine, the curve of her hip beneath my hand, the way her breath hitched when I kissed her like I meant it. The taste of her clings to my tongue, dark and sweet, and the sound of my name on her lips keeps looping in my head like a low-throated moan I can’t outrun.
My body tightens at the memory—hard and aching. I press my palms harder to the rail, grounding myself with splinters and night air. If I go back there tonight, I won’t stop with a kiss. I won’t stop at all.
My bear wants her. Wants to claim her, mark her, pull her so close there’s no space left between us. He doesn’t care about timing. Doesn’t care that we’ve barely scratched the surface of what this thing even is. Doesn’t give a damn about boundaries or regrets.
He just knows she’s ours—already, completely, irrevocably. And the worst part? I’m starting to believe him.
And somewhere deeper in the woods—beyond the reach of firelight and reason—I feel it all unraveling. The ley lines hum like a distant storm, low and relentless, and I swear they’re not just stirring—they’re listening. The night exhales wrong, andsomething beneath the ground shifts, not random but reactive. Like the earth itself recognized her and braced for the impact.
CHAPTER 7
CILLA
Idon’t cry. Not anymore. Not after everything I’ve already endured and used up. Loss, heartbreaks, betrayals, whispered apologies that never meant a damn thing—I’ve hit my lifetime limit. My tear ducts might as well be sealed shut. Every time I’ve given someone my trust, they’ve turned it into a joke. Every time I believed in forever, it lasted just long enough to pull the rug out from under me.
And now here I am again, burning with shame and fury and that low, gnawing ache that comes from wanting something real—and watching it vanish. But no matter how much pressure builds behind my eyes, nothing falls. Not a drop. Like my body knows better than to waste effort on pain that won’t change a damn thing.
I sit on the side rail of my truck, arms locked tight around my middle, and glare into the flames dancing in the firepit. My mouth still tingles from Calder’s kiss—fierce, hungry, real—and my skin still remembers the weight of his body pressed against mine. But it doesn’t matter… because he walked away. Again.
And somehow, that hurts more than the blatant betrayals I’ve lived through. Calder didn’t lie. He didn’t make empty promises or stab me in the back. He just gave me a glimpse ofsomething real—and then pulled it away. Maybe that’s worse. Because it means I let myself believe.
I shouldn’t have expected more. At least he didn’t betray me with my best friend—no bonus round of heartbreak there. Even so, this ache digs deeper. Maybe because it was different. With Troy, I always sensed the cracks beneath the surface, always saw the betrayal coming even when I pretended not to. I knew deep down he wasn’t who he claimed to be. And Lola? Her smile never quite reached her eyes.
But Calder? There weren’t any bright red flags or caution lights when it came to Calder. He came cloaked in silence and heat, in long looks and longer silences, in the steady strength of his hands and the wildfire he never quite hides behind his eyes. He kissed me like he meant it—like he needed it—and I haven’t stopped feeling it since.
And maybe, just for one stolen, breathless heartbeat, I believed he saw me. But I was wrong. He turned away, just like always—no apology, no backward glance. One moment he kissed me like I was air in his lungs, and the next, he vanished into the dark, all stiff shoulders and retreat.
It shouldn’t surprise me that he turned away, and maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it's just that I expected better or at least different. Then again, he’s been warning me from the start that he’s not that kind of guy. Why is it I never believe men when they tell me who or what they really are? Why do I superimpose what I need or want them to be? Why can't it just be easy?
Because it isn't.
Calder told me that whatever this is between us isn’t safe. But safe for who? Him? Me? Both of us? If he felt even a smidge of what I did when he kissed me, isn't it worth pursuing to find out?
With that thought, it occurred to me that maybe I'm a lot tougher than anyone, including me, thinks I am. I shake my head. The way Calder touched me tonight said I was right. It saidthat something was different from what he was saying. The way he looked at me—like I was already his—said everything.
And then he bolted. No warning, no apology—just that same infuriating retreat, like I’d suddenly become too much. Like whatever passed between us scared him more than it should have. One minute, his mouth was on mine, his body anchoring me to something fierce and grounding—and the next, I was alone with nothing but a racing heart and the memory of his touch burning through my skin.
He left without a word or a backward glance. Just that stiff, jaw-clenched retreat he's been doing since the day we met. He turns and walks away every single time things start to get too real. One second he was kissing me like he wanted to devour every inch of me—and the next, he was gone, leaving nothing but the press of his mouth on mine and a dozen unspoken questions mocking me as they danced in the firelight.
