I tilt my head toward the hallway.
“She’s out,” I murmur.
We step into Shepard’s bedroom, and I close the door behind us.
“What the fuck, man?”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Shepard says, running both hands through his hair. “She was begging me not to take her in. She’s scared of something. Or someone.”
I exhale through my nose. “You went against procedure.”
“I know.”
“She could’ve blacked out at any second. She could’ve been bleeding internally.”
“I know,” he says again. “But she was panicking. Boone—she said if Jake finds out, she’ll lose her job. She’s not from here. This contract, it means something to her.”
That quiets me.
Because I remember the look on her face when I handed her that coffee earlier. The one she didn’t want. Like she was too afraid to want anything at all.
Shepard flops down on the edge of the bed. I lean against the dresser, arms crossed.
“You’ve got a soft spot for her,” I say after a beat.
“I don’t know what I’ve got,” he says. “But she ran into that ditch because she was crying.”
That hits like a sucker punch.
“And I can’t stop thinking about that.”
I look at him. My friend. My packmate. The one who never brings anyone around. The one who hasn’t looked at a woman twice since Camilla.
Now he’s standing in his bedroom next to a girl in his sweatshirt.
“She’s your problem now?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “She’s our problem. You have to help her. She has nobody else in this town.”
That, more than anything, makes my chest ache.
Because the girl on the couch looks like she’s spent her whole life being someone’s property.
And now she’s here.
In our town.
In our care.
“Fine,” I mutter to Shepard, pinching the bridge of my nose. He looks like hell warmed over—wet hair curling behind his ears, worry sitting sharp across his face.
I know the feeling. I’ve worn it too many times.
Before I can say anything else, the front door opens.
“You will not believe the day I’ve had—” Gabe’s voice cuts in, boots heavy on the floor.
Then he sees her.
