Chapter 122 122

Chapter 122 122
The first thing I saw wasn't pain. It wasn't a grimace or a look of agony. It was a smirk. A wide, devastatingly handsome, incredibly annoying smirk that stretched from ear to ear. There was a spark of pure mischief in his eyes that told me he hadn't been hurt at all. He had been playing me.
The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. He’d faked the whole thing. He’d used my own guilt and my feelings for him to get me right where he wanted me—close, worried, and vulnerable.

"You—" I started, my hand coming up to slap that smug look right off his face.
I never got the chance. Before my palm could connect, Adrian moved with a speed that reminded me exactly why he was who he was. In one swift, powerful motion, he went from kneeling to standing, and he didn't go alone. He caught me around the waist, scooping me up as if I weighed nothing at all.

I let out a startled noise—a chaotic sound that was half a scream of surprise and half a genuine laugh that I couldn't suppress. The world blurred as he began to spin us around in circles. I instinctively threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly just to keep my balance, my chest pressed against his.
"Stop it! Adrian, put me down!" I screamed, kicking my legs feebly, but I was smiling. I was smiling so hard it hurt.

The anger was still there, somewhere, buried under the rush of the movement and the warmth of his arms, but for that moment, it didn't stand a chance. He held me like he was never going to let go, and despite myself, I held him back just as hard.

When he finally let my feet touch the solid ground again, the world was still spinning just a little bit. My head was light, and my lungs were burning from the combined effort of the workout and the sudden burst of laughter he’d squeezed out of me. I didn't let go of him right away. I couldn't.

My fingers stayed hooked into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself until the dizziness passed and my breathing slowed down to something resembling a normal rhythm.
For a few seconds, it was just us, standing there in that quiet space between a joke and something much heavier. I could feel the heat radiating off him, that familiar warmth that always seemed to pull me in no matter how hard I tried to push away.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, trying to gather the pieces of my pride that had scattered the moment he’d tricked me into worrying about him. I needed to find my toughness again. I needed to remember why I was supposed to be keeping my distance.
I finally lifted my head to look at him, trying to set my face into a mask of cool indifference. It was harder than it should have been.

"This isn't fair," I said, my voice sounding a little thinner than I wanted it to. I pulled my hands back and stepped away, folding my arms tightly across my chest as if I could physically shield myself from the way he was looking at me. I turned my gaze toward the treeline, unable to keep meeting his eyes without softening. "You can't just do that. You can't scare me like that just to get a reaction."
"I'm sorry," he whispered.

I looked back at him just in time to see him raising a hand to rub his forehead. He looked tired—not the kind of tired that comes from a lack of sleep, but the kind that comes from carrying a burden for far too long. He didn't even try to defend himself. It was like he already knew exactly what I was going to say before the words even left my mouth.

"Sorry about what, Adrian?" I asked, my voice flat. "For the fake injury? Or for showing up here when you know I’m trying to move on?"

"Everything," he responded. He dropped his hand and looked straight into my eyes, his expression shifting into something so serious it made my breath hitch. The mischief from moments ago was completely gone, replaced by a raw sincerity that felt almost uncomfortable to witness. "I never wanted to get you mad. That was never the goal. I’ve just been... I’ve been trying to put the pack back together. I’ve been working to make sure everything is ready for your return."

I opened my mouth to tell him that I hadn't promised to return, but he kept going, his words coming out in a rush as if he was afraid I’d stop him before he could finish.
"I don't know when that will be," he admitted, his voice trailing off slightly. "But whenever you decide to come back, I want everything to feel welcoming. I want you to walk in and feel like you belong there again. You can rearrange everything to your taste if you want, change whatever you hate, throw out the old furniture—I don't care.

I'm just making sure that the foundation is there. I'm making sure it’s ready for you."
He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the ground between us. He looked smaller in that moment, less like the powerful Alpha everyone feared and more like a man who was desperately trying to fix a broken glass with nothing but his bare hands.

The wall I’d built around my heart didn't just crack; it crumbled. Seeing him like this—vulnerable, hopeful, and clearly exhausted by the effort of holding everything together without me—was more than I could take. I didn't say anything at first. I just walked the few steps back to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face against his chest.

He stiffened for a fraction of a second, surprised by the sudden change, before his arms came around me and held me so tight I could feel his heartbeat thumping against my own. We stayed like that for a long time. There was no need for words. The silence between us was filled with the things we’d both been too afraid to say out loud over the last few months.
When we finally pulled apart, I didn't move away.