Chapter 82 A BUILDING RESENTMENT
DEREK’S POV
I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, listening to Amber’s breathing beside me. She’s turned away, her back to my chest, shoulders stiff like she’s bracing for something even though I had no idea what that was. She’s been like this all day… too quiet and distant and too careful with her words.
I hate this silence more than arguments even as I shift slightly, resting my arm across my chest.
“You’ve barely said a word today.”
She doesn’t respond and I couldn’t blame her because I had even done worse to her than this. I like to call it payback but this was selfish because no matter how much I tried to pacify her and even talk to her, she never told me what was wrong with her.
I glance at her, the way her fingers curl into the blanket like she’s holding on to it for dear life. Something is wrong. I know it. I’ve known it for days now, maybe longer, but she keeps pretending everything is fine, and I’m running out of patience.
“Amber,” I say again, firmer this time. “Talk to me.”
“I’m tired,” she replies, her voice flat.
“That’s not an answer.”
She exhales sharply, finally turning her head just enough to look at me. “It is an answer. I don’t want to talk.”
I clench my jaw. “You’ve been saying that every time I ask.”
“Because you keep asking,” she snaps.
I sit up slightly, resting on one elbow. “You think I don’t notice when something’s wrong?”
Her eyes flash. “You notice, but you don’t listen.”
“That’s not fair.”
She lets out a humorless laugh. “Neither is you cornering me every time I try to breathe.”
I run a hand down my face, irritation crawling up my spine. “I’m not cornering you, I’m trying to understand what the hell is going on with you.”
“Well, stop trying,” she says. “I don’t need this right now.”
“That’s the problem,” I say, my voice colder than I intended. “You never need anything from me. You shut me out like I don’t matter.”
She pushes herself up into a sitting position, turning fully toward me now. “That’s not true.”
“Then explain it,” I demand. “Explain why every time I ask you something real, you shut down.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “Because not everything is for you to fix, Derek.”
That hits a nerve and even as I try as much as possible not to think about it, I couldn’t help but realize that she had said that on purpose, maybe to spite me.
“I’m your Alpha,” I remind her. “If something concerns you, it concerns me.”
Her eyes darken. “That’s exactly the problem.”
I stiffen. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” she says slowly, choosing her words, “that sometimes I don’t want an Alpha. I just want you to leave things alone.”
I scoff. “You came into my pack. My life. You don’t get to pick and choose when I’m involved.”
She shakes her head. “You see? This is why I don’t talk.”
My temper flares. “So what, you’d rather keep secrets?”
“I’d rather keep my sanity,” she snaps back.
There’s a long pause between us, heavy and uncomfortable. I can feel something slipping, something fragile, but pride keeps me from backing down.
“You know,” I say slowly, “for someone who depends on this pack for protection, you’re awfully secretive.”
Her shoulders tense. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Use that tone,” she says. “Like you own me.”
“I don’t own you,” I say sharply. “But don’t pretend you’d survive out there without us.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s low.”
“Is it?” I counter. “Because from where I stand, you’re acting like you’re just passing through here anyway.”
Her voice drops. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Then tell me,” I say. “Or stop acting like I’m the enemy.”
She stares at me, hurt flickering across her face. “I never said you were.”
“You don’t have to,” I reply. “You treat me like I’m something you need to endure.”
That’s when she goes quiet again, and for a second, I think maybe I’ve pushed too far.
But instead of stopping, I let the words spill.
“Maybe you’re just like the rest of your pack,” I say coldly. “Always hiding, always playing victim.”
The room goes still and even from where I lay, I can see the anger coming off her in waves, so much anger that made my heart ache.
Amber’s face drains of color. Her lips part slightly, like she wants to say something, but no sound comes out.
I know instantly I’ve crossed a line, a line I shouldn’t have crossed in the first place and this was all my fault.
“Amber…”
She looks away from me, blinking rapidly. “Don’t.”
I am sitting up fully now. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Yes, it is,” she says, her voice shaking. “You think I’m weak. You’ve always thought that.”
“That’s not true,” I say, but even to my ears, it sounds hollow.
A tear slips down her cheek, then another. She wipes at her face angrily, like she’s ashamed of crying in front of me.
“I try so hard here,” she says quietly. “I try not to give you a reason to hate me.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t hate you.”
She lets out a broken laugh. “You don’t even hear yourself.”
She pulls the blanket around her shoulders and turns away from me again, her back shaking slightly. The sight of it twists something in my chest, something I don’t know how to name.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say, lower now.
“You always say that,” she replies. “And then you do it again.”
I reach out, hesitating before my hand touches her arm. She flinches, and that hurts more than her words ever could.
“Just leave it, Derek,” she whispers. “Please.”
I pull my hand back slowly, anger and regret tangling inside me. I lie back down beside her, staring at the ceiling again, the silence heavier than before.
Her quiet sobs fill the space between us, and for the first time in a long while, I realize something I don’t want to admit.
I don’t know how to reach her an
d I might be the reason she’s slipping away.
WORDS THAT BREAK