Page 24 of Knot Your Karma
“He told me he kissed you during a panic attack and you ran, and now he’s sitting in his hotel room convinced he ruined everything.” I pull the chair closer and sit down, making myself less imposing. “He’s worried about you, Karma. That’s why I’m here—just to check that you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay,” she says, gripping the edge of her desk. “I’m definitely not okay. This whole situation is completely insane, and I don’t know how to handle any of it.”
“What situation?” I ask gently. “What’s got you this scared?”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I can see her internal struggle written across her face. Her hand keeps going to that bracelet, twisting it like a lifeline.
“Someone hurt you,” I say quietly.
“Yeah.” She sinks deeper into her chair, the fight going out of her all at once. “Someone I trusted completely. Someone who made me believe in forever right up until the moment he destroyed everything.”
“What happened?”
For a moment, I think she’s going to tell me. The words seem right there, desperate to escape. But then she looks at me—really looks at me, with genuine care and something that might be hope—and something in her expression crumbles.
“I can’t,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, Reed. I want to trust you, I do, but I can’t. Not yet.”
“Okay.” I don’t push, don’t demand explanations. Just accept her boundaries like they matter. Because they fucking do. “When you’re ready.”
“What if I’m never ready? What if the thing I did is too terrible to forgive?”
The raw pain in her voice makes my chest ache. Whatever she’s carrying, it’s eating her alive.
“Then we’ll figure it out when we get there,” I say simply. “But Karma? Whatever it is, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re worth caring about.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you fell off a ladder trying to reach something for your shop. I know you organize maritime antiques with the same care most people reserve for handling newborns. I know you trusted me to catch you, and you let me help you fix your office when you were falling apart.” I lean forward slightly, keeping my voice gentle. “I know you smell like vanilla and sea salt and something that makes me want to protect you from whatever’s got you this scared.”
Tears gather in her eyes, and her scent shifts to something that smells like she wants to believe me but doesn’t dare.
“I think you should go,” she says, not meeting my eyes. “Thank you for helping with the office, and for not letting me fall off a ladder, but I think you should go back to Declan and tell him I’m fine.”
“I’m not leaving you like this.”
“You have to.” She finally looks at me, and the pain in her expression nearly levels me. “Because you’re looking at me like I’m something worth protecting. And when you find outwhat I’ve done, you’ll look at me the same way everyone else does when they realize what I’m really like.”
I stand there for a moment, every instinct screaming at me to comfort her, to fix whatever’s broken, to create the safety she desperately needs. But I also recognize the walls she’s throwing up.
“Okay,” I say finally, moving toward the door. “But Karma?”
“Yeah?”
“Dec’s going to keep looking for you because he’s got that whole noble alpha thing going on. So do I and I know Adrian will feel the same way. And whatever you think you’ve done that’s so terrible? I’ve seen pack forgive worse. Trust issues run deep with us, but so does loyalty.”
Three men? Declan. Reed. And this mysterious Adrian.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know him. And I know that if you matter to him the way I think you do, he’s going to want to figure out how to fix whatever’s broken.” I pause at the door. “We both are.”
She doesn’t respond, just stands there hugging herself while her scent fills the air with longing and fear and something else—something that smells like she wants to believe me.
I leave, but I keep catching myself looking over my shoulder toward her shop. My chest feels too tight, like someone rearranged my ribcage while I wasn’t paying attention.
Adrian’s waiting by the inn entrance, takes one look at my face, and raises an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“Worse.” I run a hand through my hair. “She’s perfect for us, she’s terrified of us, and she has every reason to be.”
