Page 19 of Flint's Arrow
“So fix it.” Wren’s voice was soft but unyielding. “If you can’t, then leave. He doesn’t need someone who sees him as a pretty face and a convenient hole. He deserves to be seen for who he truly is.”
Arrow flinched. Hearing his own words thrown back at him made him physically sick.
“Shower’s through that door.” Levi pointed. “You’ve got ninety minutes before we take you to his house. Don’t waste them.”
Arrow stood on shaking legs and walked toward the workshop. Behind him, he heard Pax mutter, “If he screws this up, I’m doing the fire ants. I don’t care what Devon says.”
The shower was small but functional, tucked into a corner of the workshop. Arrow stripped off the towel and stepped under the spray, turning the water as hot as he could stand.
He’d spent three days thinking about what he’d say to Flint, rehearsing apologies in his head. But now that the moment was approaching, every word felt inadequate.
I’m sorry,didn’t cover it.
I was wrong,was obvious and didn’t need stating.
Please forgive me,sounded pathetic, and yet Arrow wanted that forgiveness more than anything else.
Arrow scrubbed himself raw, doing his best to wash away three days of captivity and a lifetime of arrogance. The water ran down the drain, and he wished his mistakes could disappear as easily. When he finally shut off the water, Storm was waiting outside with clothes - jeans that were slightly too long, and a dark blue Henley. “They’ll do,” Storm said simply.
Arrow dressed in silence. The clothes smelled clean, nothing like his expensive suits or designer labels. He looked like an ordinary person - he was dressed like the men in the Alley, and maybe that was the point, but Arrow didn’t know for sure.
“You’ve still got plenty of time left,” Calvin said when Arrow emerged. The bull shifter was carving something from a piece of wood, his massive hands surprisingly delicate. “Have you worked out what you’re going to say?”
“No.” Arrow’s voice was barely a whisper. “How do I apologize for all I said or implied?”
Calvin’s knife stilled. “You can start by meaning anything that comes out of your mouth. You wolves think you have the monopoly on being able to pick up emotions through scent, butI’ll stake my truck that Flint’s snake is better. He’ll smell a lie from a mile away.”
“I do mean it.” Arrow’s throat burned. “I was an asshole. I was arrogant and dismissive, and I treated him like he was nothing. But he’s not nothing. He’s…”
“The next word out of your mouth had better be ‘everything’,” Storm finished, his expression firm. “That’s what a mate is, and it’s about damn time. It took you long enough to figure that out.”
Arrow slumped into a chair, burying his face in his hands. His wolf paced inside him, anxious and miserable. The mating pull throbbed like an open wound, and knowing Flint was so close - just a few hundred yards away - made it almost unbearable.
But he’d waited this long, he could wait one more hour.
Python appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Clock’s ticking, puppy. You ready?”
“No.”
“Good answer.” Python’s smile was sharp. “If you’d said yes, I’d have called you a liar. But come on. Flint couldn’t nap knowing you’re here. He’s told me you can come early.”
Arrow stood. His legs felt weak, and his hands were clammy. He still didn’t have a clue what he was going to say, but he followed Python out of the sawmill, into the brightness of another crisp, clear day, toward the small house with the greenhouse. Flint’s house - holding the only chance he had left.Don’t fuck it up.
Chapter Seven
“Come in.”
Flint’s voice sounded steadier than he felt. He stood in his small kitchen, hands gripping the counter, listening to Python’s footsteps fade as his friend left him alone with Arrow.
The door opened. Arrow stepped inside, and Flint’s breath caught. Gone was the arrogant wolf in the expensive suit who’d slapped his ass and demanded he bend over. This man looked...smaller somehow, broken. His shoulders hunched forward, his eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. The borrowed clothes hung on him awkwardly, and his hair - that had been so styled in the bar - stuck up in damp clumps from a recent shower.
Flint’s snake stirred, conflicted.Mate looks hurt. Mate needs us.
Mate hurt us first,Flint reminded the animal, but his hands trembled against the counter.
“Thank you for seeing me.” Arrow’s voice was hoarse, like he’d been screaming. Which, according to Python, he had been - well, whining at least in wolf form for the last hour of his captivity.
“I’m not sure why I am.” Flint turned away, busying himself with the kettle. Tea. He needed tea, something to do with his hands. “You made yourself pretty clear the first time we met that you had expectations about me that I have no intention of following.”
