Lila leaves eventually. Makes me promise to eat something, get some sleep, take care of myself.
I promise. I don't know if I'll keep it.
The greenhouse settles into evening quiet. Sun setting, shadows lengthening. Plants around me are thriving despite the Novembercold.
I feel withered.
"Tomorrow," I whisper to the lavender I'm absently stroking. "I'll decide tomorrow."
The door opens behind me.
I don't turn. Expecting Tyler or Julian checking on me again, ready to reassure them I'm fine even though we all know it's a lie.
The footsteps are different. Heavier. Uncertain.
Cedar-smoke scent hits me and my breath stops.
"Elowen." Calder's voice. Rough with emotion, loaded with everything he hasn't said for days.
I turn.
He's standing in the doorway. Disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, looking like he hasn't slept either. Hands shoved deep in pockets, shoulders tense, but his eyes?—
His eyes are full of everything he's been too afraid to say.
"I—" He stops. Starts over. "Can we talk?"
Hope blooms painfully in my chest.
"Yes," I manage. "We can talk."
CHAPTER Twenty-threeElowen
Calder steps inside, and the greenhouse door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds far too loud in the silence stretching between us. The familiar space feels different now, charged with everything unsaid, heavy with days of absence and hurt that hang in the air like the scent of dying roses.
He doesn't sit. Can't seem to manage stillness. He paces three steps toward the east window where lavender catches afternoon light, turns sharply, paces back toward the door. His hands flex at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them, like touching anything might shatter whatever fragile chance he has at fixing this.
I wait, rooted where I'm standing beside the table where I'd been repotting seedlings before he arrived. I won't make this easy for him. The part of me that spent a week crying while I felt our pack fracture in real time like ice cracking beneath my feet, needs him to work for this reconciliation.
"I'm sorry."
"For what specifically?"
I'm not letting him off with vague apologies that cost nothing. He needs to name it, to understand exactly what he's apologizing for, to own the specific hurts instead of wrapping them in comfortable generalities.
He stops pacing. Looks at me directly for the first time since entering, and I see the toll these days have taken, like the separation has been as brutal for him as it was for me.
"For walking away when you needed me to stay." His voice cracks slightly on the admission. "For shutting you out instead of talking through my fear. For making you feel like you'd done something wrong when this was entirely about my past, my family, my inability to trust what we were building." He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "For proving every doubt you might have harbored about alphas and control, about whether wanting you means eventually limiting you."
I let the words settle. Then, "You hurt me."
He flinches like I've struck him across the face. He doesn't look away though, doesn't make excuses, and every part of me wants to kiss him, hold him tightly, make it better.
"I know."
"Do you?" It hurts so much, but I need to be sure this won’t happen again. "It's been almost a week, Calder. Seven days of watching you pull away like I was something toxic. Seven days of wondering what I did wrong and not knowing if it could be fixed." My voice rises. "Do you have any idea how that feels?"
"No." The admission is quiet, honest. "But I'm trying to understand."
