Page 56 of Ethan
The wild wolf problem had the enforcers running near-constant patrols, and with that came injuries.
Nothing too serious so far, but “mild” didn’t mean easy.
Patching up bruises, cuts, and sprains over and over, all day and half the night, wore on me.
Sometimes I wondered how much longer I could keep going like this. I’d already tried asking Cooper if Devon was coming back soon.
Cooper just said Devon was still handling his family problem and told me I was doing a good job.
A pat on the shoulder, a reassuring smile, but no real answer. And Devon still wasn’t answering his phone.
I wasn’t satisfied with that. I was running myself into the ground, trying to keep up with the clinic during the day and finishing paperwork late into the night.
That was how I usually ended up stumbling into Dean’s place too tired to care about appearances, just grateful for how close it was.
Not that there weren’t other perks.
I let out a quiet laugh and buried my face in the pillow, breathing in the faint mix of cedarwood and smoke that clung to Dean’s sheets. His scent grounded me in a way I hadn’t expected it would.
Somewhere beyond the bedroom, I heard him humming, followed by the clatter of dishes hitting the table.
My lips tugged into a smile before I could stop them. Of course, he was already making breakfast. I pushed myself upright and padded out of the bedroom.
Dean’s temporary housing wasn’t much. It was a modest unit on pack lands with just enough space for a living area, dining table, and a compact kitchen that only had a single electric plate, a microwave, and a fridge. But he’d already stamped his personality all over it.
His training schedule was tacked to the fridge, right beside a small thank-you note Micah had left him a few weeks back.
A little plant sat on the counter, the one we’d picked out at the supermarket the other day, its leaves stretching toward the light from the window.
And then there were the cups and utensils, which looked suspiciously like they’d been “borrowed” from the pack house cafeteria.
I raised an eyebrow at them but didn’t say anything. That one I was saving for later, in case I ever needed something to hold over Dean.
I rubbed at my eyes as I shuffled into the kitchen. “Morning.”
Dean perked up the second he saw me. He crossed the space with that easy grin of his and pressed a warm mug into my hands, leaning down to brush a quick kiss against my temple.
“You could’ve slept in a little longer,” he said.
I huffed quietly into the steam rising from the cup. He could’ve slept in too.
I wouldn’t even have woken up if the bed hadn’t gone so cold. But I kept my mouth shut.
The last time I said something like that, it had ended with both of us tangled up, late for work, and Griffin chewing us out for messing up the patrol schedule. I wasn’t about to repeat that.
So instead, I stepped aside and let him finish setting up the table. “You didn’t have to do all this. We could’ve just grabbed something from the dining hall.”
“Ah, well…” Dean’s voice trailed off.
He turned away a little too quickly, busying himself with bringing over a plate stacked with toast, eggs, and bacon.
My eyes narrowed. Not only did the plate itself look suspiciously like it came from the cafeteria, but so did the food on it. I took a sip of the coffee he’d given me, and the taste confirmed it.
“Did you sneak out early to get all this?” I asked.
Dean didn’t answer right away. Instead, he nudged the trash can further into the corner, like he thought I wouldn’t notice it overflowing with takeout cartons.
His pout gave him away before he mumbled, “Knew this’d probably be the only real meal you’d bother eating today…”
