Page 139 of Haze

“Everything good out there? Need anything?” Ideas run through my head of things to send him with his next care package: jeans, flannels, T-shirts, more movies, a do-it-yourself science kit, baking supplies.

“You know me, makin’ do.” Ansel laughs. “But it’s gettin’ late. I’ll let you go. Text me some pictures from the lab. I wanna see more of those microscope things.” Ansel makes a request for entertainment, and it breaks me out of my funk, even if it’s only a little bit.

Smiling despite the heartache, I answer him, “Yeah. I’ll see if I can’t get some cool samples for you. We’re coming into winter. Lots of fun cultures to look at.”

“Love you, Lena. Don’t kill that new mate of yours.” Ansel seems to remember out of nowhere the last thing he wanted to talk about.

The thought of Finn makes me roll my eyes. “No promises. If I kill him, I get to come live with you, so that might be tempting.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Ansel reminds me. “No murder necessary.”

“Love you too, Annie. I’ll catch you later.” I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up.

Hanging up with Ansel is hard. Talking to him is easy. His whole deal is that if someone wants to talk about their troubles, he’s available but never pushes. It’s pure and wholesome in his own dorky way. Once we disconnect, I make a note in my phone to send him a better mix of reading levels next month. He’s stressed, and some light reads will be better.

But after I don’t have anything to distract myself with, I get that hollow, lonely feeling. Up off the couch, I head toward the canvas and turn on my lighting setup. I sit and stare at my blank canvas, hoping for something, anything, to jump out at me as a place to start working. But no inspiration hits. I don’t know what to put on this canvas. Why did I let Thalia sign me up for this? Because it’s an impressive accolade to add to your collection of accomplishments, the greedy little gremlin part of me reminds me.

It’s not worth sitting here and staring at it. Turning the light off, I feel even more alone with every passing minute. Better to turn the television on and fall asleep.

Or go and get our mate. We literally don’t have to be alone. You’re isolating yourself because you’re stubborn and won’t let us be loved, my wolf snaps.

This attachment I’ve let her form isn’t healthy.

He will reject us. You know that, right? One more heat and we don’t get knocked up... he’ll know something’s wrong, that it’s true we’re sterile.

She goes silent. Clearly no witty comeback for that. Further proof I’m right. But she has a point. There’s no reason we couldn’t snuggle for one more night. I’ll adjust when I go back to school Monday. Once I’ve seen more people and am overwhelmed with school, work, and people-ing, it’ll be nice to have the quiet again.

I pull my keys out of my purse, slip on my clogs, and walk out of my apartment. I can’t believe I’m doing this. He’s probably not awake. And if he’s not, then I’ll go back to my place. Problem solved. My feet make it down the hall to his location but only that far.

Standing there, I raise my fist, but I don’t know what to say. I didn’t have a plan beyond knocking. My fist lands on the door. Once. When the door to Finn’s apartment opens, he’s standing there shirtless. There’s no game plan. No words come out.

“What’s wrong, faolan? Miss me?” Finn taunts me.

It hurts that he’s not surprised. He knows me better than I know me.

When I don’t say anything, Finn reaches over alongside the door. I hear him pull his keys from his coat pocket.

As he steps toward me, his voice loses the mocking tone and goes to that simple, reassuring one. “It’s okay, Kathleen.”

He cares, my wolf chimes in. I push her back again.

Finn wraps his arm around my shoulder and leads me back to my apartment, where he opens the door and leads me inside.

“You can always text me, faolan. I know we’re the only two people on this floor, for now, but I’d appreciate it if you’d be safe and not leave at night alone.”

Finn doesn’t scold, but shame drapes over me. I slouch under its weight.

“You always get softer after night falls,” Finn observes when I slip off my shoes.

“Listen, I don’t want to be a bother. You can go. I shouldn’t have asked—”

Finn walks deeper into my apartment toward my bedroom, ending our conversation.

I double-check the lock before following him. When I get to my room, Finn is straightening the sheets and fluffing the pillows.

He steps back and tilts his head at the bed, and I struggle with myself. Did I make a mistake?

Crossing the room, Finn wraps his arms around me. “You get soft when you get tired. It’s isolating being in the city without a pack. You didn’t have someone here for you, but now you do. It’s okay to know now that you’re not alone and crave that connection.”

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