Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase (Spooky Boys #3)

“You did not answer me,” Mutt accused, gently, an explanation for why he’d barged in, no doubt. “Who hurt you?” he asked so softly I wasn’t sure it wasn’t my imagination. “My sweet, pretty, perfect Jeffrey.”

I shook my head, the words too choked to rise, even if I had wanted to talk. Which I didn’t. I never did. It didn’t help. But Mutt’s arms did. They did. And I fell into them easily, curling tight inside his grip as I took a shuddery sob in, trying my hardest to stop the tremors.

I looked stupid.

In the mirror.

My hair was a goddamn mess and there were hickeys on my neck. The dark circles beneath my eyes were somewhat better, but there was no denying the fact I looked like a fluffy-haired trainwreck.

I could hardly recognize myself.

Pretty and perfect were not words I embodied. Not right then, with my lungs seizing, and Mutt’s giant body curled over mine. His eyes flickered in the mirror, staring at me—not my reflection, like he hadn’t noticed it was there at all—he was so engrossed in making sure I was okay.

“No one hurt me,” I said, but that was a lie. A lie he could easily see through, wolf or not.

“Shhhh,” Mutt rumbled against the top of my spine, his hands hot and gentle as he rubbed over my heart, my arms, across my body. I hadn’t realized how cold I’d gotten till then. Till his heat bled into me and he pulled me tighter against him.

His attention was everything I needed and too much all at once.

“Shhh, it is hard what you are going through.” There was so much compassion in that statement. Too much. I couldn’t help but react, because he was right.

It was hard.

And it fucking sucked.

And all I’d done was brush my goddamn teeth and check my goddamn phone—and look what a mess I’d made.

“It is,” I bit out, telling the truth for once.

“It is,” he agreed. “But you will survive it.”

I laughed, because I wasn’t sure if he was right or not. But hearing those words out loud? Yeah. It helped. It helped so much.

“You will survive,” he said again, pulling me away from the counter, though my fingers didn’t want to let go. He gently removed them, one hand at a time, before he swung me to face him, so I could no longer judge my own reflection. His massive palms scrubbed across my cheeks, fingers tangling in my hair, covering my ears. His hands blocked out the buzzing from the light overhead, and the swoosh of cars out on the street. One of my neighbors was blasting music above us, loud enough the ceiling vibrated, and even that disappeared.

The world was quiet.

And his eyes were blue.

So, so blue.

Like the ocean view off our balcony in Oregon. The apartment Blair and I had shared when we’d become adults. He’d filled it with plants, and I’d often catch him sitting out there staring at the water.

I hadn’t understood until now.

Because blue was calm, steady, and loyal.

I just hadn’t seen that before.

“Today is hard,” Mutt repeated gently, ducking his head till our noses bumped. “But one day, it won’t be. There will be a day when you forget the pain. When it is simply a memory. Wounds heal, Jeffrey.”

I wanted to believe him.

So badly.

I squeezed my eyes shut again, because looking into his gaze made me feel raw. “You are tired,” Mutt stroked over my shoulders, before one heavy palm slid back to squeeze my nape tight. The bruise on my neck that he’d left stung, but it was a welcome pain. This was the same thing I’d always done to soothe Blair, even when we were tiny.

I saw now why it worked.