Chapter 96
Jackson's POV
The truth sat heavy in my chest, undeniable and terrifying: Ellie wasn't just someone I liked. She was my fated mate. My mate.
Most wolves went their entire lives without ever finding their fated mate. Most settled for chosen mates, for compatibility and affection, building good lives on foundations of respect rather than destiny. And that was fine—that was normal.
But I wasn't most wolves. I'd found mine. She was real, she was here, she was close enough to touch. And what was I doing about it? Hiding behind excuses. Pretending pack politics and family complications mattered more than the fundamental truth singing in my blood every time she was near.
What kind of coward let his fated mate slip through his fingers because he was too afraid to risk rejection? What would I tell myself in ten years when she'd moved on, found someone else, built a life that didn't include me—that at least I'd played it safe? That I'd protected myself from potential heartbreak?
The thought of Ellie with someone else—someone braver, someone who didn't overthink every interaction—made my wolf snarl with possessive rage. But wasn't that exactly what I was inviting by refusing to act?
"Let me ask you something," I said finally. "How did you know Lily liked you back?"
Ryan's expression softened. "I didn't. Not for sure. I mean, I hoped, but I didn't know until I actually asked her."
"So you just... took a chance?"
"Yeah." Ryan shrugged. "I figured the worst that could happen was she'd say no, and then at least I'd know. I could move on instead of driving myself crazy wondering."
"And if she'd said no?"
"Then I'd have been sad for a while," Ryan admitted. "But at least I wouldn't spend the rest of my life wondering 'what if.'" He paused, studying me closely. "Is that what you're afraid of? That Ellie will say no?"
I thought about it. Was I afraid of rejection? Or was it something deeper—fear of disrupting the careful balance we'd established, fear of losing even the friendship we had now?
"Ellie's situation is... complicated," I said carefully. "She just got out of something messy with Lucas. She needs time."
"Convenient excuse." Ryan raised an eyebrow. "How much time? Until she meets someone else who's braver than you?"
That hit harder than I wanted to admit.
"Look," Ryan continued, his voice gentler now. "I'm not trying to be harsh. But from where I'm sitting, you're letting fear make your decisions for you. And that's not the Jackson I know. The Jackson I know faces things head-on."
"I just need to be sure she's ready," I argued. "That she's interested in something more than friendship."
"Dude." Ryan actually laughed. "She remembers your coffee order. She lets you into her space when she's clearly not feeling well. She thanks you for always being there—those were your words, by the way, not mine. What more do you need? A written invitation?"
I picked up my Apple Pencil, turning it over in my fingers. "Maybe she's just naturally thoughtful. Some people are like that."
Ryan made a frustrated sound. "Your medical student brain is great for anatomy, but it's terrible at reading emotional cues. Trust me—girls don't remember random preferences for guys they're not interested in. They don't let guys they barely know get close during vulnerable moments. They definitely don't look at them the way Ellie looks at you."
"How does she look at me?" I asked quietly.
Ryan's expression softened into something almost sympathetic. "Like you matter. Like what you think and feel actually affects her. That's not nothing, Jackson."
I wanted to believe him. God, did I want to believe him. But the logical part of my brain—the part that had kept me out of trouble all these years—kept throwing up counter-arguments.
"She hasn't tried to spend time with me outside of Dance Society stuff," I pointed out.
"Have you asked her to?"
"...No."
"And there it is." Ryan stood up, clapping me on the shoulder. "You can't win if you don't play, man. At some point, you're going to have to take a risk."
He headed back to his bed, pulling out his phone to presumably text Lily again. I sat there, staring at my ruined diagram without really seeing it.
Was Ryan right? Was I overthinking everything, creating obstacles that didn't really exist? Or was I being appropriately cautious, considering all the factors at play?
"Hey Ryan?" I called out.
"Yeah?"
"How did you... I mean, when you were pursuing Lily, how did you show her you were interested in more than friendship?"
Ryan looked up from his phone, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "Finally asking the right questions, huh?"
"Just... humor me."
"Well," Ryan set his phone aside, giving me his full attention. "I made it clear through my actions. I didn't just help her when she asked—I anticipated what she might need. I made excuses to spend time with her even when there wasn't a specific reason. I complimented her, but not in a creepy way—just genuine observations about things I liked about her. And I respected her boundaries while also making it clear I wanted to be closer."
I absorbed this, comparing it to my own behavior with Ellie. I did try to anticipate her needs. But did I make my romantic interest clear? Or did I just seem like an overly helpful friend?
"The key thing," Ryan continued, "is being authentic. Don't try to be someone you're not just to impress her. Lily didn't fall for some fake version of me—she fell for the actual, slightly awkward, medical-student me who makes bad puns and gets too excited about anatomy."
"You don't make bad puns," I said automatically.
"See? Even you're lying to spare my feelings." Ryan grinned. "My point is, be yourself, but be honest about what you want. Drop the mystery-man act and just tell her: 'Hey, I like you. I want to be more than friends. What do you think?'"
It sounded so simple when he put it like that. But the gulf between theory and practice felt enormous.
"Ugh. This is harder than memorizing every bone in the human body."
"That's because feelings are messy," Ryan said wisely. "Medicine is logical. Romance is chaos. But that's what makes it exciting, right?"
Before I could respond, Ryan suddenly sat up straighter, looking around our room with a confused expression. "Hey, where's Jake?"
I glanced at Jake's bed, which was empty and neatly made. His backpack sat against his desk, his MacBook's screensaver casting a soft glow across his workspace. But Jake himself was nowhere to be seen.
"Huh." I checked the time on my laptop: 11:05 PM. "That's weird. He's usually back by now."