Page 11 of Jesse
To make marinade, of all things. For brisket. I clenched my fists, heat rising. That damn customer. Why did I let his comments get under my skin?
And to top it all off, the local sheriff’s deputies arrived first. Not Jackson. Not my brother.
Along with EMTs, they poked around the truck and asked me questions. I answered as best as I could, or at least enough to get them to stop pestering me.
I kept one eye on Preston. They checked him over, threw a blanket on him, and loaded him onto a stretcher. Then nothing.
“That’s it?” My voice came out louder than I intended.
One of them shot me a look. “He’s stable. Shifters heal fast.”
I almost growled. “That’s not the point. He’s unconscious! He?—”
The guy just walked away, clipboard in hand, like I hadn’t said anything. My wolf bristled.
People were staring. I could feel their eyes on me, whispers brushing against the edges of my hearing. Right. I wasn’t home. This wasn’t Silvercrest territory.
These weren’t my people. This was another pack. Another town.
Was that why Jackson hadn’t come? Had he needed to go to his alpha first? I hated that thought, but it made sense.
For a split second, I wanted to be back home. Back in Silvercrest, where things made sense and my brother would have been here already.
I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. I’d fought so hard to leave to prove I could do something on my own. And now? Now I just wanted someone else to take over.
The waiting was the worst. It was the only thing anyone seemed capable of telling me to do. Wait. Stay here. Sit tight.
My wolf hated it, restless, angry, and unsettled. It was all I could do not to snap at the next person who came too close.
Eventually, someone from Pecan Pines’ pack showed up. He was a tall, broad guy with a neutral expression and a calm voice. I didn’t catch his name.
Somehow, I ended up in a corridor, sitting on a bench that smelled faintly of cedar and old leather. Waiting. Again.
The building looked familiar, but it took me a minute to place it. The Pecan Pines pack house. Of course. I’d been here a few months ago for the regional pack summit.
Everything had seemed bigger then, more formal and imposing. Now it just felt claustrophobic.
Something pressed gently against my face. I blinked, realizing too late it wasn’t a trick of the light but a cup being offered. It nudged me again when I didn’t immediately take it.
I looked up, squinting against the bright overhead light. Warm brown eyes met mine, framed by dark lashes and faint creases that hinted at a life of practiced patience.
His wavy hair was neatly combed, except for one rebellious strand that fell over his forehead.
Broad shoulders and a muscular frame gave him the look of someone who could handle himself in any fight, and probably had.
It took a moment to place him. It was the guy who’d picked me and Preston up. My gaze flickered to his mouth, where the edges curved faintly, as if he’d caught me staring.
His lips quirked slightly, and for a split second, I thought I saw the shadow of a dimple on his cheek.
That smile looked vaguely familiar.
I took the water, mumbling, “Thanks… um…”
He gave a small smile. “Jesse.”
I nodded. Jesse turned and began pacing the corridor, pausing now and then to glance through the frosted window of a nearby door.
Trying to break the silence, I asked, “My friend. How is he?”
