Page 131 of Knotted By my Pack
I pull back, scanning their faces. “What’s going on?”
Noah clears his throat. “Just came in for coffee. And something sweet.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
Elias reaches over the counter and grabs a mug. “Dead serious.”
Julian doesn’t say a word. He just drags a hand over his face and stares at the croissants like they hold the answers to the universe.
My pulse skips, but I turn on my heel and head back to the espresso machine.
Fine.
If they want to play it like that, we’ll play it like that. I serve two regulars—Mick and his teenage daughter Claire—then bring out a tray of fresh lemon poppyseed scones for the case.
My hands are moving on instinct, muscle memory carrying me through the motions, but my mind keeps circling the same thought.
Are they here to end it?
I drop a spoon. It clatters to the floor and I flinch, blinking rapidly as I crouch to grab it.
God. Please don’t let them be here to end it.
By the time I ring up the last customer, I’m sweating.
They are still seated at the back table. Still quiet. Watching me every time I pass. Like they’re holding something inside that might explode if they shift too fast.
I flip the sign to closed, turn the lock, and draw the shades. The silence that follows is too heavy. The soft hum of the fridge isn’t enough to fill it. I turn to face them, arms crossed tightly over my chest.
“You’re not here for coffee. So talk. Because I can’t keep pretending everything is fine.”
They exchange a glance. Elias pushes off the table first and nods toward the back room. Noah opens the door. Julian follows silently.
I trail behind them, my apron still dusted with flour, my nerves now snapping under the surface.
The second the door clicks shut, Julian starts talking. And with every word, the ground beneath me shifts.
He tells me about the bribe. How he paid Lockwood to manipulate the permit process.
How his father orchestrated the vandalism. How none of the construction was ever clean or legal, or about restoring the town. It was about control. About vengeance. And it was all orchestrated by him and his family.
The betrayal sluices inside me.
It was his father, after all.
I sit down slowly. My mouth has gone dry.
Julian’s eyes flick to me. “He wanted leverage. When I didn’t give him what he wanted, he made it personal.”
The room tilts. It’s the only way I can describe it. My skin goes hot, then cold, then hotter again. My fingertips burn. My stomach flips. Everything pulses in strange, uneven waves.
I press a hand to my chest, then to the back of my neck. My body aches, throbs, hums. My breath catches.
“Wait.” My voice cracks. “What is?—?”
Elias crouches next to me. “Breathe. You’re okay.”
“No, I am not okay, Elias. My body is on fire, and there’s a town meeting with Lockwood to discuss the vandalism this weekend, and I need to?—”
