Adam lets out a quick laugh, then he reaches for his jeans.
Back At The Shop
Raff
Cliff has beenon his phone for forty minutes.
I can see him through the open bay doors, pacing the back lot in a slow path, the way he does when he's having an intense conversation. His free hand moves occasionally as he talks.
He's been like this since the clinic.
I get it. The thing with Adam's scent gland, the underdeveloped right side, the doctor's careful recommendation that we leave it alone. Cliff doesn't do well with problems he can't fix, and right now he's got two of them sitting in his shop, and one of them is his mated beta who just found out he's been an omega his entire life.
I drag a shop towel across my hands and look toward the office.
Through the glass partition, I see Elowen and Adam sitting across from each other at the small table in the corner. Adam is talking excitedly with his hands, andElowen is leaning forward with her chin in her palm, listening with intense focus.
They've been in there for hours.
I'm glad.
I'm so fucking happy that Adam has someone who knows exactly what it feels like to wake up one morning as a completely different thing than you thought you were. I can love him through it, and I will, but I can't know him the way Elle does.
Nobody in this pack can except her.
"This alternator looks like absolute shit," Perrin says from under the hood of a silver Audi on the second lift, his arms buried to the elbow in the engine bay. A podcast plays from the speaker on the tool chest that he's been pretending to listen to for the last hour. "Where did Steven say he swiped this car from?"
"Airport long-term parking," I say.
Perrin makes a sound that suggests he finds this deeply unsurprising. He straightens up, wiping his forearm across his forehead, and looks at me, about to say something else, but then his eyes cut past my shoulder toward the lot outside and go still.
"Someone's pulling in," he says.
"I know," I say.
He looks at me. "You know?"
"I asked him to come."
"Him who?" Perrin straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans, and squints at the lots. Then he looks at me. "Why is Anton here?"
"Because I asked him to come," I say.
Perrin's brows pull together. "Does Cliff know?"
"He does," I say, and set the shop towel down on the tool chest. "Keep working."
Outside, Anton stands next to a black SUV that probably cost more than most people make in a year. His dark hair is trimmed short and clean, his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he takes in the shop like he’s remembering it fondly.
We did have some good times out here as kids.
Anton watches me cross the lot toward him, his dark eyes moving over my face like he’s trying to read me. He doesn't move to meet me halfway. He simply waits, which is its own kind of statement.
I stop a few feet away.
"Raff," he says finally.
"Anton," I say back. "Thanks for coming."
