Again.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
LEXIE
Istare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, scrutinizing every detail of my appearance for the third time in fifteen minutes. The woman looking back at me seems like a stranger. She has the same reddish-brown waves, same freckles scattered across her nose, same warm brown eyes, but there's something different about her tonight. A nervous energy that makes her fingers fidget with the hem of her emerald sweater, a vulnerability in the way she keeps biting her lower lip.
"It's just an apology dinner," I tell my reflection. "Not a firing squad."
My reflection doesn't look convinced.
The doorbell rings, sending a jolt through my system. Darren is punctual, as always since that first date. I take one last look at myself, smooth down my jeans, and grab my purse from the counter.
You can still back out, a small voice whispers in my head.Text him. Say you're sick. Say your apartment flooded and you're up to your ears in soaked wool. Say anything.
But I won't. Because despite everything, despite the disaster at The Terrace, despite my history with packs, despite all thewarning bells clanging in my head, I want to see Darren again. And if that means enduring another awkward dinner with his packmates, so be it.
I just hope there's a window.
I open the door to find Darren leaning against the doorframe, looking unfairly good in dark jeans and a navy henley that stretches across his broad shoulders. His brown hair is slightly damp and dark, like he's just showered, and the scent of woodsmoke wraps around me like a warm, cozy blanket.
"Hey, gorgeous," he says, eyes lighting up as they take me in.
"Hey yourself," I reply, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest. It's ridiculous how he affects me, how just the sight of him makes my pulse quicken.
"You look beautiful," he says, voice dropping to that low register that does things to my insides.
"It's just jeans and a sweater," I deflect, though I can't help the pleased warmth that spreads through me.
"And you make them look incredible." His eyes linger on me for a moment longer before he straightens up. "Ready to go?"
I hesitate, one hand still on the doorknob. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Darren's expression softens. "They want to apologize, Lex. Properly. And they should. They were assholes."
"What if it's awkward?"
"It probably will be," he admits with a small smile. "For them. But I'll be right there with you. And if at any point you want to leave, just say the word and we're gone. I'll boost you out a window if need be."
I can't help but snicker. "My knight in shining armor."
The sincerity in his voice steadies me, though. This is Darren, the man who connected with my niece and nephew over rock collections, who understands what it's like to have your identityupended, who looks at me like I'm something precious. I want to trust him, even if I'm not sure about his pack yet.
"Okay," I say, stepping out and locking the door behind me. "Let's do this."
The drive to the pack house takes about twenty minutes, during which Darren keeps the conversation light, telling me about a prank war between Aidan and Zayn that involved an alarming amount of shaving cream. His obvious affection for his packmates, despite recent tensions, is endearing. It's clear that beneath the frustration and anger, there's a deep bond there.
"So they're not always jerks?" I tease as we turn onto a tree-lined street of large, well-maintained homes.
Darren laughs, the sound warm and rich. "Oh, they absolutely are. But they're my jerks." He pauses, expression growing more serious. "They're good guys, Lex. They just... they handled things badly. Really badly."
"Why, though?" I can't help asking. "What happened at the restaurant? One minute everything seemed fine, and the next they were practically running for the exits."
A shadow crosses Darren's face, there and gone so quickly I almost think I imagined it. "It's complicated," he says after a moment. "Pack dynamics stuff. But they'll explain tonight, that's part of why they wanted to do this."
Oh, that's not mysterious at all.
