by Anna Martin
JACKSON PICKED him up at eight the next evening, waiting outside in the truck instead of coming up to the apartment. Leo rushed out, running late and frustrated with himself for it.
“Sorry,” he said, slipping into the passenger seat and leaning over to kiss Jackson’s cheek.
“It’s fine.” Jackson turned his head to get a proper kiss on the lips, then reversed out of the parking space. “I know we said we’d go out for dinner, but I’ve been invited to a thing.”
“A thing?”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “My cousin Celeste is having her annual Thanksmas party. It’s lame, but she’s my cousin, and she asked me to go.”
“Did that invitation include me? I don’t want to just gatecrash.”
“No, it definitely includes you.”
“Okay, because I’m nervous about meeting your family and a whole room of werewolves.”
Jackson grinned at him. “I’d be more concerned about the family thing than the werewolf thing if I were you.”
Leo smacked him on the arm. “Not helping, Jackson. Do I look okay?”
“You look good enough to eat.”
He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You’re terrible.”
“So, we’re going? I mean, we can stop in for a half hour, then split, if you like.”
Leo nodded. This had to happen sooner or later. He couldn’t hide from Jackson’s family forever. It was better that he didn’t know in advance too. He would have worked himself into a total panic.
Eight, maybe ten vehicles were already parked haphazardly in the expansive front yard when Jackson pulled up in front of a huge house in a nice neighborhood. That was good, Leo decided. It meant hopefully their arrival wouldn’t be too noticeable.
“I practically grew up in this house,” he said as they walked up the long path to the front door. “We all lived in each other’s pockets when we were kids. Me and Brandon and Valerie, Celeste and her sister, Megan, Tegan and Corey.”
The music wasn’t obnoxiously loud—there was still an atmosphere, but it was low enough to be able to hear one another talk. There were plenty of people milling around, and they all seemed to know one another. Leo was pretty sure they didn’t know who he was either, which was more than a little disconcerting.
Jackson grabbed a pretty girl with dark hair and murmured something to her Leo didn’t hear. She laughed, then smiled at Leo.
“Hey, I’m Celeste.”
“Nice to meet you,” Leo said, nodding at her.
“Grab a seat,” Jackson said. “I’ll go find us drinks.”
“Okay.”
Celeste disappeared with Jackson, and Leo took a corner of the sofa, feeling awkward. Since there really wasn’t much seating, it didn’t take long for someone to squeeze in next to him. She was short, had long dark hair, and wore a red velvet party dress.
“Hi. I’m Valerie,” the young woman said with a smile. “Jackson’s sister.”
“Leo.”
Her expression changed immediately. “You’re him.”
“I… am?”
“You’re his soul mate.”
“Oh,” Leo said, only a little relieved. She still had an almost terrifying expression as she gulped from her glass of wine. “Yeah. I am.”
“Oh my God, tell me everything.”
Leo chuckled at that. “I don’t know what there is to tell.”
“You’re very handsome. But not at all his type.”
“I’d noticed,” Leo said drily, making her laugh.
“Don’t worry. Jackson is a sourpuss, but he’s a sweetheart underneath.”
Leo smiled. “Yeah, I’d noticed.”
“So you met my sister?”
They both jumped at the sound of Jackson’s voice, though Valerie recovered quicker. She stood, smoothing her dress over her knees, and gave Jackson a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I’m going to get a drink.”
Jackson raised an eyebrow as she strode away on ice-pick heels. “Everything okay?”
Leo plastered a smile on his face.
“Sure.”
LEO MET plenty of people, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with folks Jackson may or may not have been related to. He got into a conversation with one girl when Jackson disappeared to go use the bathroom, though she kept giving him strange looks that he couldn’t interpret.
When Jackson got back, he grabbed Leo’s wrist and dragged him outside.
“You okay?” Leo asked.
“What the hell?”
Leo recoiled. “I’m sorry?”
“Did you come out here to intentionally embarrass me?”
“Jackson, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Leo wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. It was cold out here.
Jackson grabbed Leo’s wrist and yanked at the blue bracelet.
“Where did you get this?”
“My mom gave it to me.”
Jackson laughed coldly and turned around, then walked away a few paces and back.
“Your mom gave it to you.”
“Yes!” Leo exclaimed. “And you’re being a total bastard right now. What’s going on?”
“I’m being a bastard? You have the audacity to walk into my family’s house wearing a HPL symbol—”
“What’s that?”
“Human Protection League,” Jackson said, his eyes narrowing. “They campaign against werewolf rights.”
Leo felt his stomach sink. “They approached me at work. Just after I met you.”
“So you’ve already been talking to them? Fucking great. Thanks, Leo.”
“I didn’t say that!” Leo forced himself to take a deep breath. Then he yanked the bracelet off and stuffed it into his pocket. “Two people came up to me when I finished my shift and said they could help me get out of an abusive relationship.”
“Am I an abusive partner?”
“You’re being an asshole right now!” Leo folded his arms over his chest to try to hide how much his hands were trembling. “I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know what it was.”
“Well, now you do,” Jackson said coldly. “Have you been going behind my back this whole time? After everything I told you….” He trailed off and shook his head. “I trusted you.”
“I haven’t been going behind your back on anything,” Leo said. “I told my friends about you, my mother—”
“You told your mother about me. Then she gives you a HPL bracelet. You think that’s a coincidence?”
Leo hesitated. His mom wouldn’t, not anymore. He had to believe she’d changed.
The moment it took for Leo to come to this conclusion was apparently enough for Jackson to make up his own mind.
“Your parents don’t want you to be with me.”
“I’m a fucking adult, Jackson. I make my own decisions.”
“And I make mine,” Jackson snapped. “I should have listened to them. I never should have gotten involved with a human. With a fucking man.”
Leo recoiled. “Are you still hung up on that? Seriously?”
“You’re the one who showed up wearing a symbol from a fucking terrorist organization!”
Leo shook his head and started walking down to where they’d parked Jackson’s truck. His jacket was inside with his wallet; otherwise he would have just started walking.
“I’ll drive you home,” Jackson muttered.
“Fuck you,” Leo spat. “I just want my jacket.”
It felt colder out on the street, away from the house.
Jackson yanked the back door open and tossed Leo his jacket.
“You agree with them,” he said as Leo started to walk away. “Even if you don’t know it, your values align with theirs.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know what toppings I like on my pizza,” Leo snapped back. “Don’t try to tell me what my values are.”
“I’ve seen enough.”
“Yeah, because it’s easy for you to make judgments about me,” Leo said. “You didn’t ne
ed to know me as a person because as far as you were concerned, I’m your soul mate and I’m a man, so that’s your issue to overcome. Did you ever think that I needed time too? That I had to adjust and come to terms with being a werewolf’s soul mate?”
Jackson just stared at him.
“Exactly. I’ve tried so fucking hard to make this easy for you, Jackson, but you’re not willing to meet me halfway. You’re not helping me understand your family dynamics, or your friends, or what any of this really means to you. I’ve found out more from Mitch about being a soul mate than from you, and that sucks. It really sucks. It should have been something we worked out together, but you’re so fucking shortsighted and self-obsessed, it had to all be about you.”
Jackson shook his head. “I can’t handle this right now.”
“You can’t handle it at all!” Leo yelled. “Tell you what, you take all the time you need to figure it out. I’m done.”
He turned around, heart pounding, and started to walk. For the first few steps, he hoped Jackson would stop him. For the rest of the block, he convinced himself that he was glad Jackson didn’t.
Chapter Thirteen
JACKSON WATCHED Leo walk away, afraid that whatever move he made next would be the wrong one.
When Leo reached the corner and an Uber pulled up, Jackson went back inside, grabbed a beer, and started drinking.
No one asked where Leo had gone, not even Celeste, who had pointed out Leo’s bracelet. He was furious, simmering with anger and embarrassment, though his family was too polite to mention it.
Jackson didn’t get drunk very often, which surprised people who knew he owned a brewery. It wasn’t supposed to be the sort of party where everyone got wrecked, but by three in the morning, they were doing tequila shots in the kitchen and chasing them with more beer. Jackson liked the comfortably numb state he’d achieved, and he passed out on the couch somewhere around sunrise.
He woke only a few hours later and threw up in the bathroom until his eyes watered. That was fine—the alcohol was better out than in. With the house mostly quiet, Jackson made his way to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, knowing it was the only thing that would get him through the morning. Well, that and the Tylenol he’d swiped from the bathroom cabinet.
For a long time, he stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, and sipped at his disgustingly strong black coffee. Then he grabbed a trash bag and started the laborious process of cleaning up.
The people in his family were actually fairly considerate, so apart from a few plates and glasses left in weird places, the house wasn’t too much of a mess. He almost regretted that; having to do a deep clean would be a good distraction.
When the first floor was as clean as he was going to get it without running the vacuum cleaner around—and then waking everyone up—he went upstairs to the bathroom to splash water on his face. A glance in the mirror proved he looked like shit. Jackson didn’t care.
Since it was tradition, he went back to the kitchen and started prepping his post-Thanksmas-party breakfast. Every year Celeste threw the party and Jackson provided the beer and made carb, sugar, and fat-rich food the next morning. Usually Valerie helped, but she had yet to surface from wherever she’d crashed the night before.
The food was mostly out of a box or a can, but whatever. By now he wasn’t expected to be some kind of fancy chef.
Cinnamon roll dough was sliced and thrown in the oven, pancake mix mixed, eggs cracked, seasoned, and whisked, ready for the pan. The second round of coffee was initiated, and he was pretty sure the smell alone would start stirring people enough to come down and eat. And then he could get the fuck out of this house.
By the time he got the bacon sizzling on a skillet, they started to tumble down the stairs. In ones and twos at first, then the last great sweep. Jackson laughed and joked with his cousins, threatening bodily harm with a spatula when Megan went to steal bacon from the pan, laughing when she suggested that he’d made the cinnamon rolls from scratch.
This—this normality—was all that held him together as he pulled out the second batch of disposable plates and napkins and started serving up. It was good hangover food, just right for mopping up the alcohol enough for people to feel like they could drive home.
“You okay?” Megan asked, putting her hand on Jackson’s shoulder.
He jumped at the touch. “Huh?”
“You look out of it.”
Jackson shook his head and leaned his shoulder against his cousin’s for just a moment. “Sorry. I’m not feeling my greatest right now.”
She smiled. “I don’t think any of us are. Where did the cute guy from last night go? Leon?”
“Leo,” he corrected automatically.
“That’s it! Leo. I was talking to him, but then I got so fucking drunk….”
“He had to get home.” The lie rolled off his tongue.
“He was okay to drive?”
“He got a car,” Jackson said, ignoring the pain in his stomach.
“That’s good,” Megan said and plucked a freshly cooked pancake from the pile.
Jackson watched her walk back to the table and hated himself more than he thought was even possible.
AS SOON as he could reasonably escape, Jackson packed up and drove back to his house in Nine Mile Falls. If anyone had noticed something was wrong, they didn’t mention it, and he was grateful for the reprieve. He’d be seeing them all again at Christmas, so he didn’t let himself feel bad for abandoning ship.
For the next few days, Jackson threw himself into his work, starting earlier and staying up later than he had in years. It was like right back at the beginning of the business, when he was desperate to get production underway so he could start paying off his debts and making the brewery actually work.
He’d had some good feedback from the party—the beers that worked, the wine that tasted good, which flavors he should work on more and which ones should be ditched. Some of that feedback needed to be taken with a decent pinch of salt; his friends were fairly drunk when waving the wine around and declaring it the best they’d ever had.
He’d had a chance to bash out his plan for individual bespoke sparkling wines for weddings and celebrations with Valerie and Megan, who had adored the idea. Now it was starting to take shape in his head. It would, of course, be ridiculously expensive, but Jackson would take online orders for a distinctive sparkling wine for a couple’s wedding, tweaking his existing recipes just slightly every time. When he sent the order off, the bride and groom could choose to keep any number of bottles back with Jackson, who would hold on to them until the time came to celebrate a special anniversary or the birth of the couple’s children.
It was personal, intimate, and exactly the kind of operation Jackson could afford to run, being a small independent business. People got everything personalized for weddings these days. A specially created wine was just the natural next step.
He spent the last few hours of the day, and then the first few hours of the next day, in his office, hammering out overheads and prices and how, exactly, he’d make this branch of his business work. He researched wedding venues to contact across the state and into Idaho and Oregon, then ruled out any that weren’t fancy enough.
It was easy to get lost in his work; Jackson had years of practice doing just that.
During the day, he worked hard on increasing production, doing the physical labor that was as exhausting as it was rewarding. Then in the evening, he worked on his website, contacted venues, designed labels and logos, made orders for stock, and worked on his accounts. Most nights he fell into bed around two in the morning, only for his alarm to go off again at seven.
He worked every day, without fail, throwing himself into something he knew would be successful. The lack of sleep prompted a hazy sort of fatigue that didn’t allow him to focus on more than one thing at a time, so there was no space in his head to think about Leo or the gaping chasm of pain that had opened up in his chest. His whole body was violently
reacting to their separation, something he didn’t even know was possible.
He ached for Leo in a very physical, very real way.
Jackson dreamed in echoes of their conversations, in the whisper of Leo’s laughter, in the deep swirl of blue the exact color of his eyes. Only in sleep did his defenses fail; asleep, he couldn’t keep Leo away.
Sometimes his alarm was a welcome relief from the unrelenting dreams.
Chapter Fourteen
FOR TWO days straight, Leo locked himself in his room and listened to “And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going” on repeat. He couldn’t face Mitch telling him “I told you so.” He couldn’t face going to his parents and admitting that he’d fucked things up with his werewolf mate. He really couldn’t even face looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, so he avoided that too.
He’d never, ever called in sick to work before when he wasn’t even sick, so Monday was a big deal. Like, a really big deal. It wasn’t as if he worked some crappy job that he hated, locked away in an office cubicle pushing paper or flipping burgers. He’d done both of those things before when he’d needed the money. Now it was different. Now he was letting down a bunch of sick kids because he couldn’t get his personal life together.
Mitch tried to tempt Leo out of his room a couple of times—first with the promise of good food, then margaritas, then the offer of a blowjob. Leo had shouted at him to go away and turned up Jennifer Hudson. Eventually Mitch got the message.
This felt different from other breakups. Leo had been in relationships before, good relationships with nice guys, and when they ended, he’d been sad. Because it was sad. He didn’t want to say goodbye to someone who’d been a positive influence on some part of his life.
He was Jackson’s soul mate, though, and Leo had wanted that to mean something. He’d moved on from those other relationships because he’d been content, deep down inside, that the ex-boyfriend wasn’t the right person for Leo.
He’d thought being Jackson’s soul mate would mean they would be able to work it out, however bad it got. Leo felt a grim sort of sadness about his naïveté about stupid werewolves and their stupid soul mates.
