Page 1

Chapter 1

Gabe

I shuffle out of bed, feeling like I wrestled with a mad momma seal all goddamn night long. Glancing in the mirror, I see my hair standing up on end. Fuck. I need to shift a few times to help get rid of the run-over-by-a-truck look I’m rocking right now. I scratch at my stubble, wondering if it’s worth the effort today. Coffee first, grooming decisions later.

The kitchen is quiet except for the goddamn loud ass birds chirping outside the large window. I walk into my large, stainless steel kitchen and glance around. I’ve spent the last few years making sure this house is perfect, but lately, as I stand in this spacious, two-story log cabin, I’m starting to feel a little lonely.

With my siblings all mated and happy, I’m starting to fucking feel left out. I keep asking myself who needs all that mushy stuff anyway. Not me. My life is perfect the way it is. I answer myself.

“No, it isn’t. You’re fucking lonely and grouchy, and I’m tired of dealing with your stubborn ass,” my inner polar bear argues.

“Shut up.” I mentally flip him off before pouring myself a mug of the dark, strong coffee. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I already know who’s calling. Twin intuition tells me it’s Grant interrupting my peaceful morning ritual. Of course, he'd call now. He probably sensed my unease and decided to stick his nose in my business. I consider letting it ring out, but I know he’ll just call back.

“What the fuck do you want?” My voice comes out gravelly, even to my own ears.

“Morning, Sunshine!” Grant's annoyingly chipper voice ruffles my feathers.

“Bite my hairy ass,” I grunt into my mug, inhaling the rich aroma.

“No, thank you. I have a much prettier ass to bite here at home,” Grant teases, and I can practically hear his smirk through the phone.

“Not in the mood to listen to your shit. I haven’t even had my coffee yet,” I growl and take a sip of the black gold in my mug.

“You’re a goddamn polar bear shifter.” I can picture my twin rolling his eyes. “Coffee isn’t going to do shit for you.”

It’s true. Human stimulants don’t really have much effect on shifters, but I’ve learned to make my coffee strong enough to give me just a little kick. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Plus, I fucking love the taste. “Just let me enjoy my coffee without your goddamn input. Now, why the fuck did you call?”

“I felt your unease,” he expresses his worry like only a twin can.

The thing is, he's right. I have been feeling off. Restless. Like there's an itch in my bear skin I just can't seem to scratch. But I’m not sure what to do about it.

“I just need to spend a day in my bear form hunting,” I counter, trying to sound convincing. “Enjoying my peace and quiet now that you lot are all off playing house.”

Grant snorts. “If playing house means being exhausted as hell from nightly⁠—”

“Stop right there,” I interrupt him before I’m forced to listen to his bragging. “I don’t need you to go into play-by-play detail.” I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see it.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he practically sings.

“If that’s all you need, I’m gonna hang up.”

“Grumpy fucker,” he growls under his breath. “I have another reason for calling. I thought you might want to check out the new ice cream parlor in town with me. I’ll buy you a banana split.” Oh. My inner polar bear perks up and nudges me hard. Grant knows how much my inner bear fucking loves banana splits.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to process why he thinks I’d want to eat ice cream right now. “Seriously?”

Grant laughs, completely ignoring my point. “I’ve heard it’s the best ice cream on earth.”

I sigh, feeling the weight of perpetual eldest brother obligation pressing down on me. Ignoring Grant is like ignoring a persistent rash: easier said than done. Besides, maybe getting out of this too-quiet cabin will help lift the funk that's been eating at me for days. “Fine. Noon it is. But you’re buying me my banana split.”

“Deal. And try not to look like a mountain man who just crawled out of hibernation, okay?” He hangs up before I can respond with a growly retort. Typical Grant.

A shower and a hastily thrown-together outfit later, I’m almost ready. I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to decide if this whole going-out thing is worth it. My reflection looks back, unimpressed. Hair tamed, beard in a semi-respectable state, I figure I clean up well enough for a mid-winter ice cream outing.

Glacier Pass is doing its usual white winter thing outside. I don’t bother with a coat since my inner polar bear keeps me warm and toasty no matter how cold it is outside. I groan, seeing all the white crud built up on my black truck. Fuck. I hope the weather warms up a little so I can wash it before the salt and sludge eat through my paint.

The drive into town is uneventful, the familiar twists and turns of the icy roads more comforting than I’d admit out loud. The new ice cream parlor sits snugly between the bakery and the post office, its front window aglow with soft pastel lights spelling out “Polar Scoops.”

I park next to Grant’s SUV and hop out of the warm truck, instantly feeling the arctic air slap me in the face.