Waindale

Adam is in his office. I hear his voice and two others as I make my way down the hall. The double doors are open, and when I appear between them, Adam’s eyes immediately find mine. It’s Ben and Alexander. I know I must be interrupting pack business, but there is no one else I want to talk to but him.

“Wrenley?” Adam asks.

“Can we talk?”

He nods slowly and leaves his seat. Ben and Alexander both smile my way; I smile back and lift my hand up in a partial wave.

Adam’s hand connects with the small of my back as he leads me into the family room. Before he can ask what’s going on, I turn to him and say, “My Dad is here. I met him today.”

“Your father?” He questions. “I thought you didn’t know your father.”

“My mom told me a few days ago that my Dad is her old high school boyfriend. His picture is in her yearbook. We were at the boardwalk and he was there. H-He said he moved back last week. He knew—he knew my name. My mom said he doesn’t know I exist. He asked me if I’m Wrenley, if I’m Rachel’s daughter.”

Adam sits down with me, seeing how unsettled this has made me.

“Do you think my mother lied? Did he actually know I exist all along?”

“This is a lot to process. Why don’t you go lay down? When I’m done here, I can take you over to your grandmother’s. Your mother is the only one that can answer your questions.”

I take Adam’s advice. The silence of the master bedroom should give me plenty of space to splay out my thoughts, but instead of picking them up on by one, instead of organizing them in the little folders of my mind, I fall into them. I try to climb out but they’ve started to devour me like a bed of quicksand. Why is he here? Why does he recognize me? Why does he know my name? Did my mother lie? Have they been in contact?

In an attempt to sedate myself, I walk into the closet and snatch one of Adam’s shirts. I breathe it in like a crazy person then proceed to his side of the bed. His pillow holds his essence, and I rest my head on it with his shirt still pressed against my chest like a baby blanket. Why can’t Ben and Alexander just leave already so I can be alone with Adam? I much rather hold his body against mine then squeeze every last drop of him out of some shirt.

I feel restless. Unable to lay down any longer, I jolt up and pace around the room. My mind has jumped from the issue of John Aymon to the addictive nature of my mate. I-I wish he was here right now. I feel like I can’t wait another minute for him to come find me. Adam is the perfect distraction to this whole mess—if I’m with him, then I don’t have to worry about John Aymon; it’s like nothing else exists.

I hear his footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart is shocked to life and races inside of my chest so fast and so loud that I’m sure he can hear it from the hall. I come to the doorway just as he enters. Before he can say anything, I bring my hands to either side of his face and one strays behind his ear and combs into his hair. “That took forever,” I breathe out.

"Hey, hey, I thought you were relaxing?” He says and gently brings my arms down.

“Right. I decided what I want to do. Let’s not go to see my mother. Let’s stay here together.”

“What about your father?” He asks. “Don’t you want answers?”

I roll my lips together. “I-I don’t need to know right now. It can wait. All I want right now is to be here with you.”

“Where is all of this coming from?”

I take steps backward until the end of the bed brushes against the back of my thighs. “What do you mean? Is it so wrong to want to be alone together? God, after those days apart, I just—I missed you so much.”

Adam nears me. “When you came to find me, you were concerned about meeting your father. We can always have time together, but I think you need to figure this out first before it eats away at you.”

I hate that he knows me. I brush it off and say, “I was a little concerned, I know. It just freaked me out, but I’m fine now. I laid down for a bit and realized that it’s not that big of a deal. My mom will be there tomorrow. I don’t think my Dad is going anywhere, so can’t we just have this moment? I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“You want to avoid your problems,” Adam murmurs as he now stands before me.

“Help me,” I plead. “Help me avoid my problems.”

Adam sighs. He looks past me at the bed. “What happened there?”

I glance back at the sight of jumbled blankets and a balled-up shirt. “You were taking too long. I missed you.”

“I was just downstairs.”

“You can’t criticize me for that,” I say. “And you can’t hold it against me either like you do with the other things I said. Just—distract me, please.” My hands run up his arms, feeling the firmness and curve of muscle. His eyes watch me, my face. I step closer as his hand lifts to my cheek. His palm follows my jaw and I lean against it.

"Wrenley,” he says almost like a warning.

“We can be gentle. Slow. Nothing crazy is going to happen.”

Adam’s touch strays so I grab onto his shoulders, lean up, and bring my lips softly to his. I linger for a moment before pulling back. “See? Nothing crazy.”

His eyes stay fixated on my mouth. He guides me back to him and before I know it, our lips are connected once again. The care of his movements makes me melt in his arms, and I feel as if we are savoring the moment instead of fearing its end. This is the most patient we’ve been with one another; for once I can really feel him touch me. Every spark and wave of our bond travels throughout my body.

Adam breaks our kiss but stays painfully close. He studies my face, and I make no effort to hide the longing in my eyes or the color on my cheeks. It’s not enough anymore—to kiss him every now and then. I don’t think it ever was. A part of me—though anxious toward intimacy—has always been unsatisfied, and it is only getting more difficult to keep my innermost desires at bay. We share a bed. I lay in his arms. I would be lying if I said my mind didn’t wander at such times. Adam must see it now as I gaze up at him, the yearning for more.

“We don’t have to stop,” I say just above a whisper.

“This isn’t going to make your problem go away.”

“I don’t care,” I murmur, “it isn’t about that.”

He takes a breath and glances up for a second as if he must ground himself.

I admit, “I want more. We’ve been taking things slow for what feels like forever.”

“This is what you asked for,” Adam reminds me.

“I know, I really do know, but I’ve changed my mind. This is just too slow.”

“Then tell me what you want, Wrenley.”

My eyes dart to the side and my bottom lip runs through my teeth. Something has changed. It’s as if the energy in my body has been amped up a tad, as if fears that once nested in my core have faded. I felt it after I saw John Aymon. I can’t explain why, but I feel different. “I want everything,” I tell him with more confidence than expected. “I want everything.”

He scans me over. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“What did you do?” Adam asks. The concern in his voice shifts the mood.

“Nothing. Why—why are you—stop looking at me like that. I thought you’d respond differently, considering.”

He shakes his head. “Something isn’t right. You’re acting differently. I knew it the second I came up here.”

“I’m acting differently because I feel good. And it isn’t a crime to change my mind about something.”

“You just met your father for the first time—and from the sound of it—it didn’t play out well. The Wrenley I know wouldn’t feel good right now. You lied when you said it wasn’t a big deal, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”

I tilt my head a little, not understanding why Adam must question me. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Everything all at once? No holding back?”

"Wrenley—”

“Fine! I don’t know,” I confess. “I don’t know what’s going on. But can’t we take advantage of the moment? What if this feeling goes away and I’m scared again and I just lay there beside you forever?”

Adam sighs. “I know before I made it seem otherwise, but there’s no rush.”

“I know, I just—I lay there and there’s so much that I want but I’m too scared, too anxious to do anything about it. I don’t feel the anxiety right now. I feel secure. I don’t think you’re going to judge me or hurt me or—”

“But other times you do?”

I’ve upset him. It wasn’t necessarily the right thing to say, but it’s the truth. “It’s not because of you. It’s me. I bring myself to worry about such things even if I know you wouldn’t. That’s why I feel better; I’m not worrying about it. I feel free.”

He turns away so I grab onto him.

“Adam, please.”

“You really think those things?” He asks lowly.

“Not anymore.”

His eyes stare heavily into mine. “And when your normal self comes back? When whatever you’re feeling fades—what then?”

“Please. You can’t be mad at me for things I can’t control. Everyone feels this way. Everyone is scared of getting hurt.” I loosen my grip, yet he stays. “Please, don’t go back to thinking that I’m scared of you because I’m not. I’m scared of the control you have over me. I’m scared of the things I would do for you; the things I dream about because of you.”

I take my hand from him completely. He’s thinking—I can see it on his face. The last thing I want is to bring him to the wrong conclusion, so instead of pushing the situation more, I decide to cool down. My mindset is not compatible with an argument; we’ve had enough of those already, anyway.

“I’ll go talk to my mother. Stay here. When I come back—after we’ve had a breather—we can talk about the worries I have. I want to work through them. We can work through them. Okay?”

Adam—with his brooding eyes and pretty face—nods.