TWENTY

I froze. Why the fuck did I make out with Luke? Mac was right. I was a big, stupid idiot.

Jameson sat up when he saw me standing there. I decided to just ignore him. That was probably the safest plan, right? If I don't talk, I don't tell him what I did. Good, smart. Silence was safe. I was so drunk.

I walked crookedly to my bed and flopped down face first, closing my eyes to adjust to being horizontal. I felt the bed dip as he came to sit on the mattress beside me. Go away until I'm sober enough to handle this.

"You smell like a liquor store," he pointed, giving no indication of what he was feeling. "Did you have fun?"

I just mumbled an affirmative reply into the pillow, hoping he'd get the hint. He didn't because then I felt his fingers in my hair. No, no. Luke's fingers were in there a half hour ago, you don't want to do that.

Jameson sighed. "Sorry, I've been kind of blowing you off," he said. I didn't move, just laid face down, eyes opened into the blackness of my cotton pillowcase. "You shouldn't have gone out alone."

"I wasn't alone," I said, picking my head up. So much for not speaking to him. I gently grabbed his hand out of my hair and dropped it in his lap. "I was with the girls. It was a girls night."

Dear God, stop talking.

He chuckled. "Okay, good," he said. I expected him to go back to the air mattress and leave me be, but instead he started rubbing my back. I avoided his eyes and laid my head back down on the pillow, facing his body. "So I didn't have to worry about any guys hitting on you, right?"

I involuntarily snorted humorlessly. "Not like it matters," left my mouth before I could stop it. Stop. Talking.

His hand on my back stopped rubbing circles. I peeked an eye up at him, finding him looking at me with an unreadable expression. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. I sat up in bed and looked him in the eye, something I often have trouble with when sober.

Wow, Cade, how brave of you.

"It means," I took a deep breath, and in that moment, I knew I was about to say some shit I should not say, "when you pretend like I don't exist all week, I'll find someone else to do it."

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

Jameson took his hand off of me like it seared his skin and I immediately regretted ever being born. I looked away, unable to look at his puppy dog eyes any longer, the guilt starting to kick in and I was still fucking drunk. He didn't move, though, just stared at me.

"What did you do?"

I shook my head, looking down at my lap. "Nothing, I—" I choked on the words, thick on my tongue. "I didn't do anything."

"What did you do?" he repeated, not as calm the second time around.

Oh, God. How was I supposed to fix this? What do I do? I was panicking in my head and I guess my silence was plenty loud enough for him to click his tongue and stand up. I watched in horror because I thought he was going to leave. I didn't want him to leave.

But he only laid down on the air mattress with his back turned to me.

"Jameson—"

"Go to bed."

"Please—"

"You're drunk and I don't want to talk to you."

I was getting frustrated. And kind of cross eyed. "Just let me explain—"

"Explain what?" he nearly yelled, sitting up and looking at me. He looked . . . really fucking sad. "You went out and got drunk and had a great time with some random? I don't think there's much room for explanation, Cade."

Shaking my head, I slid out of the bed and onto the floor. It wasn't really my intention, I kind of just meant to walk over to him, but I guess crawling would work, too. "No," I whined childishly. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" he said coldly.

I sighed, plopping onto my ass on the cold hardwood. I could hardly look at him, not when he was this intense and (fuck, really sexy). I couldn't stop the words from pouring out like a broken pipe, spraying out in a long stream with no pauses. "You've been just coming and going and you won't sleep in my bed anymore and you haven't kissed me in, like, a week and I don't know what I did but I kind of got the impression that maybe you were seeing someone and, ya know, now I'm kind of realizing that was pretty dumb and I'm so sorry—"

"You thought I was seeing someone?"

I flinched at how loud he was. "You were just being so distant, I—"

Jameson stood up and towered over me, making the room spin. I looked up with shameful eyes. "Does the word soulmate mean shit all to you? I can't even fucking think about another person the way I think about you. I can't control it. I didn't fucking ask for you to be my mate—"

He stopped when I must have displayed my hurt on my face, rubbing his hands over his cheeks roughly. I just watched, from the floor, as he put all of his emotions on his sleeve. This was what I wanted, right? I wanted him to talk to me? But not like this . . . I didn't want him to look at me like that.

"I didn't mean it like that, Cade," Jameson sighed. "But you have no right to be upset right now."

Then I stood up, my anger acting as an eject button and somehow shooting me up onto my feet without accident. I steadied myself on the dresser. "I have no right to be upset?" I exclaimed. "Dude, you just showed up back in my life out of nowhere. You don't understand—I did everything just to get over you. And I did, I finally did. But then you just pop back up like nothing happened and you make me fall for you all over again like I'm fucking seventeen again and I—I don't even know what I—"

I had to stop because the tears were making my throat close up. The words were already slurred. He was just standing there, his lips parted and his eyebrows furrowed. This couldn't be the end of us, right? I can't have just screwed everything up.

"I was scared you were going to leave again, Jamie," I whispered, the nickname coming out before I could think about it. "I know it's not an excuse. I shouldn't have—"

Jameson shook his head, looking down at his feet. "I can't do this," he said, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

I tried to slowly pace towards him, but ended up overestimating the space between us. My body kind of crashed into his, my arms wrapping around his torso tightly. He didn't hug me back, just let me cling to him desperately. I wanted for him to hold me tight, to kiss my head, to tell me he forgives me.

He did none of that. Instead, much to my dismay, he peeled me off of him and took a step back. "I'm gonna sleep on the couch tonight and tomorrow I'll find a hotel," Jameson frowned. I shook my head vigorously.

"No, please stay with me," I pleaded, reaching for him but retracting my hands when he only flinched away. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry and I'm drunk and I'm sorry."

"Cade," he sighed, making me look into his eyes. "I would never do what you did. Remember that."

I nodded, then shook my head, because he was right and everything was wrong and also happening at a terrible time. "Please stay."

"I just need some time to think," he muttered, grabbing his blanket and pillow from the air mattress. "Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

And then he was gone. I sunk onto my bed, cradling my head in my hands. I should have listened to Mac. I shouldn't have gone out tonight. I should have had some God damn self control. I was lucky Jameson didn't leave my apartment at all.

I didn't want to cry.

He could probably hear me. He mentioned a week ago that he had very sensitive hearing, so he probably heard every breath I took. I didn't want to fucking cry. I wished I knew what he was doing out there, if he could sleep, if he was staring at the ceiling, too.

Eventually, I passed out due to the alcoholic comedown and my thoughts driving me to exhaustion. It didn't last long because I woke up in the middle of the night, my throat dry and parched.

I had remembered what happened instantly, Jameson's face coming to my memory and making me feel nauseous. I climbed out of bed and tip-toed out of my room and down the hallway, stopping in the living room. I squinted in the darkness to try to make out the shape of his body splayed across the couch, only to realize it was just the blanket.

My heart pounded in my chest. He had left?

Sulking, I went to the kitchen to chug a glass of water. Once I no longer had the Sahara in my throat, I turned to head back to my room. The sliding glass balcony door caught my eye.

I pressed my lips together and debated on what I was about to do. He wanted space. I could respect that, right? Wrong.

Jameson didn't turn around when I stepped out. He was leaning on the metal bars and looking out into the distance, his fingers gripping the railing tightly. "I thought you'd left," I said quietly, moving to stand beside him.

It was God damn fucking freezing. I had ditched my pants in my sleep somehow, leaving me in just my alcohol stained cropped shirt and my underwear. I thought I might get frostbite in seconds. Jameson glanced over to me, his expression softening. That was a good sign.

"Do you want to know where I've been?"

I gulped. I really did, but maybe inside where it was warm and I could concentrate on anything but the quivering of my knees— "Yes."

Jameson cleared his throat. "The Hernandezes have been harassing me since before I left Edgewood, you know that. But they didn't stop," he said, his top lip curling in disgust. "They threatened Matt and me, making us do petty tasks for them over the past few years, or else they'd kill us. Apparently, they've got pack all over the fucking country, so it didn't matter where I went."

I listened attentively. I hugged myself tightly, sticking my hands in my armpits in an attempt to stay warm.

"They fucking killed Matt," he choked out. I hadn't noticed the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, now sliding down his cheeks. "The only blood I had left, they took him. And it was my fault."

He buried his face in his sleeved elbow, covering his eyes from me. I grabbed his arm and pulled it away, forcing him to face me. He didn't fight it as I cupped his cheeks, catching his tears in my freezing cold palms.

I pulled him to the wicker bench and sat him down. Jameson immediately leaned on me, burying his face in my neck. I clutched his shoulders, pulling him closer. "I'm the last of the Chevalier family," he said. I noted that he didn't say 'pack'.

Nothing I could say would help, so I just stayed silent. My body was absolutely vibrating from how hard I was shivering, but I didn't pay it any mind.

"They know about you," he said, his voice breaking. "And I can't lose you, too. Even though I can hardly even look at you right now . . . I can't let them take you from me."

I ran my fingers through his hair. "They won't," I said, though I hadn't the foggiest fucking idea. Honestly, I was probably too tired to understand the gravity of the situation.

"You're right, they fucking won't, because they're running me ragged right now, using me as a fucking drug mule."

My eyes widened in shock. He pulled away and clawed at his eyes, his voice now nasally from the tears. "We can't call the cops?" I asked, probably sounding a bit childish. This situation was beyond the government, it was supernatural.

"They're so powerful," he said weakly. "I didn't even fucking do anything, but they see a lone wolf as a target, I guess. How they found out that you're my mate is beyond me, but this was exactly what I was afraid of. Now you're in danger and it's all my fault."

I pushed his hair back from his forehead. "Listen," I said hoarsely, "I don't really know what the fuck you're talking about and I'm still a little bit drunk. But it is what it is, okay? All I know is whatever the fuck is going on, we're in this together."

He let out a sob, unexpected because he had calmed down. I linked my arms around his neck and pulled him into my chest, draping myself over his lap. I wasn't sure how much of this he would let slide, because I knew he was mad at me, but I had to show him that I was in on this one hundred percent. I couldn't fuck it up more by turning my back on him when he clearly needed me.

"You're freezing," he mumbled into my shirt.

I closed my eyes, resting my chin atop his head. "I know."

"Let's go to bed."

"No."

He pulled away and looked up at my face. "No?"

"No," I said meekly, "because if we go in there, you're going to go back to hating me and I don't think I can take any more of it."

Jameson placed a miraculously warm hand on my thigh, running it down over my knobby knees and then back up. "I could never hate you, Petals," he whispered, pressing a short kiss to my lips. "It's in my blood."