Page 44 of Knot in the Wedding Cards

That's the biggest one.

Five years ago, she'd float a decision softly, hedged, permission-shaped, does that seem all right, would it be crazy to, trained her whole childhood to pre-apologize for having judgment.

Today I watched her move a two-hundred-person dinner across my own property line in one declarative sentence and dare the lawn to object.

Whoever did that for her, it wasn't me.

I know exactly what my contribution was…

She isn't stronger because of me. She's stronger the way scar tissue prevails with time, and a man doesn't get to be proud of the knife's work.

But fuck…standing in my own ballroom watching her run a room I couldn't hold five years ago, I am proud of her anyway, uselessly, enormously, with nowhere to put it.

So it goes in the drawer with the rest. My drawer's a workshop by now. Whole wing of instances and regrets I dare stack like they’re useless Pokémon cards that don’t deserve to be on shining display.

I hate how I have to act like an emotionless baboon to function anywhere near her. She doesn’t know how it’s driving me fucking mad, pressing every piece of sanity until I can almost feel it snap.

Seeing her in the elevator, her scent beginning to taunt my senses, was already tempting enough, but I swear I didn’t imagine it.

Catching hints of her slick, knowing with every damn second in the shared space that I was turning her on, making her wet.

I wasn’t even touching her, wasn’t even looking, acting like the elevator buttons were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. I have to fight not to think about it, or I’d get hard all over again.

Having to walk silently back to my truck, pretending the distance didn’t feel like it would end me, was just as challenging as standing in that elevator, acting as if I didn’t want to press the emergency stop button, slam her against the metal walls, and kiss her with every emotion I’ve baggaged in the last five years.

Some would say it's pride. Others who’ve done similar to protect those they love, all for the sake of believing there’s some alternate motive for me and my fellow packmates leaving the Omega we absolutely love at the altar with an excuse not worthy of shattering her precious heart.

Now look what our actions have led to.

Consequences that left me in a truck, sitting there for 45 mins, hard as a fucking rock until I couldn’t fucking think.

Just thinking about last night makes me feel shameful and embarrassed because there I am, a coward in my truck with not enough balls to apologize to the woman I surely ruined, and thankfully came out stronger than ever without me…my cock hard and thick while I dare remember the past we shared.

The truck cab is too warm, windows fogged at the edges even though the engine’s off. I’m parked in the service lot behind the inn, far enough from the main building that no one should wander by. Forty-five minutes of sitting here with my cock straining against my zipper, throbbing in time with the memory of her scent—sun-warm apricot and crushed garden roses, sweet and sharp and mine.

Or what used to be mine.

I lean the seat back a notch, jaw clenched, and finally give in. One rough hand palms the thick bulge through my jeans. A low groan escapes before I can swallow it.

Fuck.

Just the ghost of her perfume in that elevator had me leaking pre-cum like a teenager. I drag the zipper down, free my cock, and it slaps heavy against my stomach—thick, veined, flushed dark at the head, already slick at the tip.

I wrap my fist around the base and stroke once, slow and firm.

My eyes close.

The memory floods in, unbidden and vivid.

The elevator doors seal us in. Her scent blooms the second the air settles—apricot ripening under summer sun, roses with broken stems. My control snaps.

I crowd her against the cold steel wall, mouth crashing into hers. She tastes like coffee and longing. My hand shoves her skirt up, fingers finding soaked lace. She’s drenched. One push and two thick fingers sink into tight, fluttering heat.

She moans into my mouth, hips rocking greedily.

“Beck—”

My hand speeds up on my cock, thumb swiping over the sensitive head, spreading the steady leak of pre-cum. The cab fills with the wet sound of skin on skin and my ragged breathing. Cedar and black tea spike heavily in the truck, my own Alpha scent responding to the phantom of hers.