Page 41 of The Rust in Her Hair

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

And my entire body jolts sideways into Adrian's arm. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything. He just shifts his weight a little, giving me more room without making it a thing.

He seems like a pretty decent guy.

It doesn't really surprise me. After all, Owen is an amazing person, so of course his friends would be amazing too.

Outside the window, the city thins. The streetlights spread apart. Buildings shrink into houses, and the houses get smaller and more tired the farther we go, paint peeling, gutters sagging, lawns gone shaggy and wild.

I watch all of it slide past the glass and none of it reaches me. It's only shapes. Only light sliding by.

I keep breathing Owen and Adrian in, thinking only about the hem, letting the world stay in shapes.

My wrists throb where the sleeves cover them. Lower down, deeper in, there's a raw ache that pulses in time with the truck. I press my knees together against the sensation and keep my eyes on the window.

Adrian slows and steers wide around a crater in the pavement. The old truck swings smoothly around it. We turn onto a street of small houses, then he pulls into a gravel drive beside a pale blue one and cuts the engine.

The truck shudders once and goes still.

Both men open their doors. The warm press of them on either side of me is gone all at once. The seat goes cold, and my hands start to shake again.

Owen turns back to me and reaches out. His hand finds mine where it's lost inside the flannel. He closes his warm fingers around the cuff and the hand buried in it.

"Careful." He guides me toward him, then down onto the gravel, slow, keeping hold of me the whole way. "Watch your step."

The drop isn't far, but my knees don't trust the ground. I lean into Owen’s grip harder than I mean to, and he takes the weight without a word.

We walk toward Adrian, waiting for us on the little porch.

Owen keeps my hand tucked in his, and I press into his side as we go, close enough that my shoulder fits against his ribs.

My legs carry me up the steps on their own.

Terracotta pots line the rail and glass sun-catchers turn under the eaves, throwing small pink flashes across the boards, and I put one foot in front of the other and make myself keep moving.

"Owen." My voice comes out thin. "Does your mate know I'm here?"

For a quick moment, Owen's face goes still. His eyes cut to Adrian, and something passes between them before he smiles like he just realized what I meant.

"Yeah." His warm hazel eyes meet mine. "I texted Nico before we left."

Nico.

His name is Nico.

While Owen has talked about his mate often with me, I fear I'm going to forget the alpha’s name and insult this alpha in his own house.

It's the only clear thought I've managed in an hour, and I hold on to it with both hands.

Adrian pushes the door open and waves me through.

I step inside, and a rush of scents hit me at once.

It’s everywhere in this room. Worked into the walls, into the couch, into the air itself.