Chapter 32 Patrick
The ride to Cade’s house takes an hour — the kind of steady, uneventful drive where the world outside blurs past in muted winter colors. Gray sky. Frost-bitten fields. Bare trees standing like ink sketches against the horizon.
I keep my eyes fixed on the road, on the clean white lines cutting through slush. The windshield wipers move in a steady rhythm, brushing away thin veils of snow before they can settle. The heater hums low and constant, finally pushing warmth into the cold leather seats, carrying the faint scent of dust as it burns off the vents. My hands stay locked at ten and two, knuckles pale, jaw tight.
The concentration helps. It keeps my mind from drifting where it wants to go.
For most of the drive, I don’t think about Lottie.
Not really.
If her name flickers through my head, I push it away. If I catch myself wondering what she’s doing, I turn the radio up a notch. If her laugh tries to surface — bright and soft and dangerous — I focus harder on the road, on the snow collecting at the edges of the highway, on the taillights glowing red ahead of me.
Anything but her.
Cade’s place sits at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac — a wide, two-story home with pale siding and dark shutters, warm light glowing from nearly every window. The yard is blanketed in fresh snow, smooth and undisturbed except for a narrow shoveled path leading to the porch. The porch itself is deep and welcoming, with a wooden swing on one side and a neat row of potted ferns dusted in white. Christmas lights line the railing and windows, twinkling in scattered shades of red, green, and gold, reflecting off the snow like tiny stars.
Smoke curls lazily from the chimney, carrying the faint scent of burning wood that reaches me even through the cracked car window. It’s the kind of house that feels lived-in and loved — the kind where laughter lingers in the walls. A house that’s a little too big for just two people, but somehow still feels full.
But the moment I pull up outside, she floods back into my head like a tide I’ve been trying to hold back with my bare hands.
As soon as I park, the thoughts hit all at once.
What is Lottie doing today?
Who is she spending the holiday with?
Is she laughing? Resting? Happy?
Does she miss me even a fraction as much as I miss her?
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel until the leather creaks under my grip. The ache that spreads through my chest is ridiculous — irrational — but it’s there. Sharp. Persistent. Like a bruise I can’t stop pressing.
The front door swings open before I can sink too far into it, and Cade pokes his head out, bundled in a thick charcoal sweater, sleeves shoved up to his elbows despite the cold. His dark hair sticks up in uneven spikes like he’s been running his hands through it all morning, which he probably has. He spots me immediately and waves, grin wide and familiar, the kind that hasn’t changed in decades.
I shake my head once, trying to clear the fog of thoughts I shouldn’t be having, and step out of the car. The cold hits instantly — sharp and biting — snow swirling around me in soft spirals, clinging to my coat and stinging my cheeks. My breath fogs in front of me as I pop the trunk and lift my suitcase out, the wheels crunching over the thin layer of snow as I drag it toward the porch.
The house looks warm. A place where I can breathe for a while. Or at least pretend to.
Snowflakes drift lazily around me as I walk up the path, like quiet reminders of everything I’m trying not to feel — soft, relentless, impossible to stop once they start.
As soon as I’m in earshot, Cade bellows, “Patrick! It’s good to see you! How the hell have you been?”
His voice carries across the porch like a cannon blast, loud enough to scatter a few birds from the bare trees lining the street. I can’t help smiling — he’s always been like this. A strange mix of golden retriever energy mixed with a grumpy single dad. Somehow it works for him.
I step past him into the house, warmth wrapping around me immediately — thick and comforting. The air inside smells faintly of vanilla and laundry detergent, layered with a savory smell coming from the kitchen. The entryway opens into a wide living room filled with overstuffed couches, mismatched throw blankets, and framed photos covering nearly every inch of wall space.
Pictures of Jordan at every age — gap-toothed grins, awkward middle-school haircuts, proud smiles in graduation robes. Pictures of the two of them on hiking trails, at science fairs, at the beach with sunburned noses. Pictures of Cade looking exhausted but impossibly proud.
Cade’s place is cozy in a way mine isn’t. Mine is tidy. Quiet. Controlled. This house feels alive.
Once he shuts the door against the cold, I turn and wrap my arms around his shoulders. We’re roughly the same height — give or take half an inch — and he hugs me back with the same rib-crushing enthusiasm he greets everything with. He thumps my back twice for good measure, like he’s checking to make sure I’m solid.
When I step back, I really look at him.
Time has been good to him. His hair is a little longer, a little messier, and there are faint lines at the corners of his eyes that weren’t there before — but they look earned, laughed into existence. Aside from that, we look the same age, even though he’s older. He’d probably say happiness keeps him young.
He claps a hand on my shoulder and steers me deeper into the house.
“Jordan will be back later,” he says as we walk into the living room. “He’s hanging out with his friend Charlie until he leaves. If Jordan were an omega, I’d almost believe he and Charlie are fated mates with how attached they are.”
The words fated mates drift through my mind like a feather caught in a breeze.
They brush against something inside me — something raw that tightens before I can stop it. Fated. The thought of bonds that can’t be broken. Of rules written into blood and bone. Of someone who inherently belongs to you the way you belong to them.
It slips away before I can fully grab it, like trying to remember a dream seconds after waking.
I blink, shake my head lightly, and follow Cade further inside, pretending those words didn’t echo in my chest longer than they should have.
“Come on, I’ll show you to your room, even though you’ve been here enough times to know where it is.”
I huff a quiet laugh and follow him up the stairs. The staircase creaks in the same familiar places, the sound oddly comforting. The walls are lined with more framed photos of Jordan — school projects, holiday mornings, goofy selfies with Cade looking reluctantly amused. Soft golden light spills from the sconces along the hallway, casting everything in a home-for-the-holidays glow.
He leads me to the last door on the right — my usual room — and pushes it open with a dramatic flourish.
The room is exactly as it always is: cozy, simple, warm, waiting for me. A queen-sized bed with a thick navy comforter sits against the far wall, pillows neatly stacked. A small wooden dresser rests beneath the window, blinds half-open to let in the pale winter light. A desk in the corner holds a lighthouse-shaped lamp — a gift from Jordan years ago — its ceramic base painted in slightly uneven stripes. A woven rug muffles our footsteps, soft under my boots.
Not fancy. But comfortable. Familiar. A home away from home.
Cade steps in behind me as I wheel my suitcase inside.
“I’m glad you came,” he says, voice softer now. Quieter. “I missed you, bro.”
Something in my chest loosens at that.
I set my suitcase at the foot of the bed and give him a small smile. “I’m glad I came too. I could definitely use a break from my thoughts.”
He tilts his head, studying me with that older-brother intuition he pretends he doesn’t have. His arms cross over his chest as he leans against the doorframe. “Anything you want to talk about?”
Lottie’s face flashes through my mind — the curve of her smile, the pink on her cheeks when she blushes. Not to mention her comforting and all-encompassing scent.
I shake my head, even as the ache surges again. “No. It’s nothing I can’t handle. It just… feels like a bit much sometimes.” I swallow, searching for words that won’t give too much away. “Have you ever wanted something so badly, but you know it wouldn’t be a good idea to have it? Like… so many things could go wrong if you did?”
Cade considers that, brow furrowing slightly. “I know the feeling of wanting something so bad, but knowing it wouldn’t be good for me. Is that what you’re talking about?”
I exhale slowly and shake my head. “Not quite. It’s similar, but instead of knowing it wouldn’t be good for me…” My voice drops, quieter now. “I know nothing good could come from me having it.”
He straightens a little at that. “What makes you think nothing good could come from it? Would it make you happy? Would it make your life better?”
The answer rises instantly. I nod before I can stop myself. “Yeah. Having it would make me very happy.” My throat tightens. “And I definitely feel like my life could be better.”
Better with her. Brighter. Fuller. Right.
“I guess I’m just not supposed to have it,” I finish softly. “Because it goes against the rules.”
Cade’s brows knit together. “Rules? What rules?”
I look away, focusing on the lighthouse lamp instead of his face. I’m not ready — not ready to say her name out loud, not ready to admit how badly I want something I absolutely cannot have. Not ready to confess that the thing I want most is the one thing I’m forbidden from touching.
My jaw tightens.
I shake my head. “It’s… complicated.”
And that’s all I can manage before the weight of it presses down too hard — before the truth threatens to crack me open and spill everywhere.