Page 17 of Jesse
He hadn’t run. He hadn’t crumbled. Another wolf might’ve curled up and hidden after finding a body stuffed in their damn fridge. Not Beck.
He had guts. A lot of it. More than some enforcers I knew, and I admired him for that that. Quietly, I approached the truck, boots crunching on the gravel.
The closer I got, the stronger Beck’s scent grew, and the more something inside me relaxed, even though logic told me I should still be on high alert.
I knocked lightly on the food truck door, not wanting to startle Beck.
"Beck? It's Jesse," I called, keeping my voice calm.
I waited. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Nothing. My gut twisted. Something felt off.
I tested the door handle. It was unlocked. Gritting my teeth, I stepped inside, the familiar metallic scent of the kitchen hitting me instantly.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh and too bright in the small space.
Beck was crouched in front of the freezer, scrubbing at the inside walls with a fury that made my chest tighten.
His movements were frantic, almost violent, like he could scrub away what had happened if he just worked hard enough.
Bleach fumes burned my nose, and from the ragged way Beck was breathing, it was getting to him too, but he didn’t stop. Didn't even seem to notice me.
"Beck," I said again, louder this time.
No response. His knuckles were white around the sponge, his arms straining as he attacked invisible stains on the metal.
I moved closer, crouching down beside him. Maybe if I helped, he’d snap out of it.
I reached out, grabbed one of the lower freezer doors to check if it needed cleaning too, and ripped it clean off the hinges with a sharp crack.
I froze, staring at the door hanging uselessly from my hand.Oh no.
Beck finally seemed to register me. He jerked back, his wild eyes locking onto the door, then onto me, and for a second, he looked like he might punch me.
“What the hell are you doing?!” he barked, voice hoarse with anger and something rawer underneath.
“Beck, I was just trying to help—" I started, but he was already on his feet, shoving past me so hard my shoulder slammed into the counter.
I spun around in time to see him stomp down the truck steps, fists clenched at his sides, shoulders tight with frustration.
"Beck, wait!" I called after him, but he didn’t even look back.
Without thinking, I followed, jogging down the steps and into the night.
His scent was easy to track. It was spiked sharp with fury, salt, and something broken that hurt to smell. I found him behind the truck, pacing like a caged wolf.
I slowed, raising my hands in a gesture of peace. "Hey. Look, I'm sorry."
Beck whipped around to glare at me, chest heaving.
"I didn’t mean to mess anything up," I said, taking a step closer. "I saw you scrubbing and... I thought maybe if I helped, it’d take some of the weight off your shoulders."
He stared at me, something flickering behind those stormy eyes.
"And yeah, okay, I screwed up," I added, managing a sheepish smile. "You can yell at me some more if it'll make you feel better."
For a long, taut moment, I thought he might actually take me up on it. But then, Beck's shoulders slumped, some of the fight bleeding out of him.
"You just don’t get it," he muttered, voice rough. "It’s not about the mess. It's... it's all ruined. I built that truck up from scratch. Every damn thing. And now—" He broke off, jaw clenching hard.
