Free Web NovelChapter 60: Answers
I work to keep my expression neutral, to not let the hurt show on my face. Weeks of brutal training and late-night conversations and slowly transforming into something new, and Ezra hasn’t visited once since that day in the woods. Hasn’t called. Hasn’t texted beyond the occasional brief message asking if I’m okay. The others came, stayed until Vaela kicked them out at change over. But Ezra stayed away.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That he’s busy, that he has his reasons, that the distance doesn’t mean anything. But the wolf inside me whines at his absence, confused and hurt, and I can’t quite silence her. Can’t quite convince myself that everything is fine when the one person I most want to see isn’t here.
Jax slings an arm around my shoulders and steers me toward the house, chattering about something funny that happened at work, and I force myself to focus on his words, to be present in this moment instead of spiralling into anxiety about what Ezra’s absence means.
The front door swings open, and the smell of food hits me, bacon and eggs, fresh bread and coffee, rich and savoury and exactly what my body needs after the long drive.
The kitchen’s chaos in the best possible way.
Every surface is covered with food, platters of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs fluffy and golden, hash browns perfectly browned, fresh fruit cut into neat pieces, toast stacked high, and what looks like an entire tray of cinnamon rolls still warm from the oven. It’s an absurd amount of food, especially considering it’s well past noon, but Jax has never been one to do things halfway. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
When he cooks, he cooks like he’s feeding an army. Which, considering the appetites of five alpha wolves, might not be that far off.
"I know it’s lunchtime," Jax says, already moving to the stove where a pan of sausages is still sizzling. "But you’ve been gone for years and I missed cooking for you, so we’re having breakfast. Deal with it."
"Won’t hear me complaining," I say, and my stomach growls in agreement.
The training’s increased my appetite dramatically, another side effect of the changes happening in my body, and I’m ravenous in a way that has nothing to do with the protein bar I ate two hours ago.
We settle around the large dining table, plates piled high, and for a few minutes there’s nothing but the sound of eating and satisfied groans and the easy comfort of being together.
Leo sits close enough that our thighs press together, his hand occasionally dropping to my knee in casual affection. River is across from me, his foot hooked around my ankle under the table, maintaining that constant physical connection he seems to need. Jax keeps getting up to bring more food, more coffee, more everything, his need to care for people through feeding them on full display.
Corrian sits at the head of the table, watching all of us with that quiet satisfaction he gets when his pack is together and happy.
But the empty chair beside Corrian feels like a presence all its own. Ezra’s chair. The place he should be sitting, his massive frame taking up space, his dark eyes watching me with that intensity that always makes my breath catch. The absence is a weight in the room, and I can feel the others noticing it too, even if nobody says anything.
There’s a careful quality to the conversation, we’re all dancing around the obvious, pretending everything is normal when it very clearly isn’t.
I push eggs around my plate, my appetite gone despite my earlier hunger. The food tastes like ash in my mouth, and I have to force myself to swallow, to keep up the pretence that I’m fine. That I’m not hurt by Ezra’s absence. That it doesn’t matter that the one person I’ve been thinking about constantly for three weeks couldn’t be bothered to show up when I came home.
Corrian’s eyes find mine across the table, and I see the understanding there. The sympathy. He knows exactly what I’m thinking, exactly what I’m feeling, because of course he does. Corrian has always been able to read me like a book, always known what I need before I know it myself.
I hold his gaze for a long moment, asking the question I can’t voice out loud with everyone else here. Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Did I do something wrong?
Corrian’s expression softens, and he gives me the smallest nod, his eyes flicking briefly toward the windows that look out over the back of the property. Toward the separate structure that houses his office, the place where he goes when he needs space to work, to think, to be alone.
The place where, apparently, Ezra has been hiding.
The realisation that he’s been here this whole time but chose not to come out to greet me, hurts worse than if he’d been gone entirely. At least absence could be explained by work or obligation or something beyond his control. But this? This is a choice. A deliberate decision to stay away, to not see me, to not be part of this reunion.
I set down my fork, my hands trembling slightly, and push back from the table. The others look up, concern flickering across their faces, but I force a smile that probably doesn’t reach my eyes.
"Just going to use the bathroom," I say, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue.
But Corrian knows. He stands as well, moving around the table to pull me into a hug that’s both comfort and permission. His arms are strong around me, his scent familiar and grounding, and he presses a kiss to the top of my head before releasing me.
"He needs you," he says quietly, just for me. "Even if he doesn’t know it yet."
I nod, not trusting my voice, and head toward the back door. The others have gone quiet behind me, and I can feel their eyes on my back, their concern and support following me like a physical touch. But I don’t turn around. I can’t. Because if I look at them, if I see the sympathy in their faces, I might lose the fragile control I’m holding onto.
The path to the office is short, just a stone walkway cutting through the garden, but it feels like miles. My heart’s pounding, my palms sweating, and my wolf is pacing anxiously, torn between the need to see our mate and the fear of what we might find.
Tears threaten as I consider if something fundamental shifted between us during that argument in the woods, if the connection we had is broken beyond repair.
The office is a small building, designed to feel like an extension of the outdoors rather than a separate space. Through the glass I can see him, and my breath catches in my throat. Ezra sits at the desk, his massive frame hunched over a laptop, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He looks tired. Worn down in a way I’ve never seen him before. There are shadows under his eyes, tension in his shoulders, and something about his posture speaks of exhaustion that goes deeper than just lack of sleep.
For a second I can only stand there, my heart kicking hard against my ribs as the reality of what I’m seeing struggles to catch up with my brain. This is Ezra. My Ezra. The man who carried me to bed and demanded answers, who lost control and claimed me with a desperation that left us both shaking, who growled and snarled and made me feel more wanted than I’ve ever felt in my life. And he looks broken.
She whines, my wolf, desperate to go to him, to comfort him, to demand answers for why he’s been avoiding me. But the human part of me, the part that’s still learning how to navigate this new world and these complicated relationships, hesitates. Because what if he doesn’t want me here? What if the distance wasn’t about him needing space, but about him realising he doesn’t want this? Doesn’t want me?
Even as the fear rises, I know I can’t walk away. Can’t leave him sitting there alone, drowning in whatever darkness has been consuming him for the past weeks.
So I take a breath, square my shoulders, and reach for the door handle.
It’s time to get some answers.
