Chilly, I veer into the living room and grab a throw off the back of the couch before making my way toward the kitchen. I drape the soft fabric over my naked body, snuggling it close.
When I find Myrick, he’s standing by the sink.
Still.
He’s wearing his navy silk robe and holding an untouched glass of water in one hand. His other hand rests lightly on the edge of the counter. And he’s just... staring. Into nothing. His expression is unreadable, lost somewhere far away.
“Myrick?” I say softly.
He jumps, and the glass in his hand sloshes, water spilling over the rim. “Shit—” he exhales, blinking rapidly, like he’s shaking off a dream. “Autry. You scared me.” He smiles widely, letting out a nervous laugh.
“Are you okay?” I move closer, and the strange stillness of him now feels unsettling.
He doesn’t answer right away.
And I realize—I’ve never seen Myrick look like this before. Hollowed out. Like something inside him came loose, and he doesn’t know how to fit it back. Is he upset about Charlie and Oli?
“You looked lost for a second,” I lean against the counter next to him.
“I was thinking about the past,” he finally says with a shadow of a smile.
“Oh.” I freeze, not sure what to say to that. I know exactly how he feels, but I’m not sure I can tell him that. I want to, but I’m not ready.
“Hey.” I reach for him, my fingers brushing his arm. “You don’t have to say anything.” I step into his warmth and wrap my arms around his waist before he has a chance to shut down completely. His body goes rigid, like he’s caught between reflex and decision—then, slowly, he leans in. Not fully, just enough. “I love you,” I whisper, and he smiles. It’s little, barely curling the edges of his lips, but I’ll take it.
“I love you, too.” The beta exhales, slow and shaky.
“Please know that I’m here if you want to talk about it,” I offer.
His smile softens, growing more genuine. “I want to,” he murmurs, pressing his nose into my hair. “I need to. Packs share everything.”
Guilt cuts through me, and I pull back enough to see his face. His eyes are distant again, but not empty. Just sorting through something heavy.
“Before we got you…” He pauses and swallows hard, trying to collect himself. He looks like someone bracing for impact. “About a year ago,” his voice is stronger, “it was me and Rhett. And… Jason.” His jaw tightens. His grip on the glass shifts, fingers going white. “He was our mate.”
Myrick’s hand rises almost absently to his throat. And that’s when I see it.
Two bite marks, almost completely overlapped. So close together they could pass for one if you didn’t know.
“I never noticed,” I whisper, still staring at his silver scars.
“No one does,” he says softly. “Thankfully.” He lowers his hand, and I see something change in him. Not strength, exactly—but readiness. Like he’s standing at the edge of something and has finally decided to jump.
“Jason was…” he goes on, pain clear in his voice. “He was strict. Controlling. But only when Rhett wasn’t around. I thought—” he pauses as if trying to find the right word, “—I thought that wasnormal. That alphas acted differently when their pack alpha wasn’t there.” His voice drops, flat and quiet. “It started with grabbing my wrist too hard or a slap when I said something he didn’t like. I told myself he was stressed. That he loved me. That if I could be better, it would stop.”
My stomach twists, and tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I don’t say anything. I let him talk.
“Then it got worse,” he continues. “He’d find any excuse to hit me—but only where bruises weren’t obvious. My back, my chest. He even convinced me that Rhett knew. That Rhett approved of how he was treating me.” His face tightens, a mix of pain and fury. “He told me Rhett thought I needed the discipline.”
“Rhett didn’t see the bruises?” I ask gently—no judgment, only a need to understand. I know Rhett. He’d rip apart anyone who hurt Myrick.
“He was working crazy hours at the time,” Myrick says. “And even though a part of me believed he really did know, I still tried to hide it. I wore long sleeves. We only had sex inthe dark. And if Rhett did notice a bruise, Jason would laugh and say it was fromfucking,” he says the word like it’s poison.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, wrapping my hands around his forearm. He’s still holding his glass of water, clutching it like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
“Jason…” his lip curls, like the name itself is foul. “He’d always hit me. And then he’d… he’d…” His voice breaks. Tears well in his eyes, and my heart splits down the middle.
“Myrick.” I squeeze his arm, gentle but firm. “You don’t have to keep going. It’s okay.”
