He must still be upset about what happened at the meeting last night. I assume he’s mainly bothered because it was his pack that so stoutly refused the idea of coming together, but at this point, all I have are assumptions. I wish he would talk to me and get it off his chest before he explodes from an overload of emotions.
I step up fully beside him and reach for a fresh egg, then crack it over the edge of the skillet and let it slither beside the two already cooking. “You know, what happened at the meeting is okay. Merging packs is a big idea. Ambitious. Some people are just going to be really resistant to it at first. We have to keep plugging it until we convince everyone that it’s truly the safest option.”
Trystan shakes his head, his face growing hard as stone. He focuses on the new egg, sliding the runny edges back into place as the hot skillet begins to whiten them. But he doesn’t respond; instead, his jaw clenches so hard I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself.
I lean into him, nuzzling my chin against his shoulder. “Seriously. Don’t let it bother you so much. We can turn them around.”
“No. You don’t understand.” He jabs the spatula beneath the egg with so much force he accidentally breaks the yolk. We both watch the yellow trickle out into the rest of the pan as he continues. “My pack feels that way because of me. Because of the example I set. My mindset poisoned them completely to the idea of coming together. I taught them by example that we didn’t need to help the other packs, as long as we were doing well all on our own. I was so fucking arrogant.” The last sentence came out on a vicious snarl, and he slams the spatula to the counter. “I never considered that insisting on going it alone meant we were maybe more weak. More vulnerable.”
I’m so startled by his outburst that all I can think to do is touch him, to try to make him feel better in any way I can. I rub my hand over his back, pr
essing hard and massaging his tense muscles. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and he stares ceaselessly at the runny yolk slowly turning solid in the bottom of the pan.
“I’m not so sure challenging my father was the right choice,” he goes on in a voice so low that I almost can’t hear him over the sizzling eggs. “When I did it, I thought… I thought I was helping my pack. But am I really any better than my father? It doesn’t feel like it. Not anymore.”
I ache for him. How long has he been harboring these feelings? A guy like Trystan isn’t used to feeling inadequate. I can only imagine how deep it cuts.
And from everything I’ve heard about his dad, the man needed to be ousted. He was a terrible alpha, and all the stories I’ve heard have showed me without a doubt that Trystan is the better man for the job. But that isn’t something you can easily tell a person and have them believe you.
Whatever doubts have settled into Trystan’s head, they won’t be driven away by a half-witch, half-wolf promising him he’s doing a good job.
But maybe there’s another way to make him see it.
As far as I know, he hasn’t spoken to his father directly since he challenged the older man for alpha status and won. But his dad is here now in the East Pack village; he came with the rest of the West Pack before the fight. I know, because Trystan rolled his eyes when he told me he’d arrived.
“I think you should talk to your father,” I say before I can lose my nerve. I have no idea how he’s going to react to the statement. A small part of me worries he’s so filled with doubt and anger that this will tip him over the edge into whatever pit of despair he’s hovering over.
Trystan recoils visibly, whipping around to look at me with an expression of shock on his face. “What? Why?”
I shrug, reaching for the spatula. The eggs are burning. “I just think maybe you have some unfinished business.”
He narrows his eyes, his jaw clenching. “I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
“I know. But maybe it would be good if you did. Just once.” I scrape the eggs off the bottom of the pan, salvaging what I can while Trystan continues to stare at me. I give him a minute to sit with the idea and to process what I’m saying before I add, “I’ll come with you. Honestly, I’ve heard so much about him—I’d like to meet him for myself.”
That’s what finally gets him to agree. He nods, his features contorting in something like a grimace. “Fine. If you really want to meet him, we’ll go see him after breakfast.”
I pass him the plate of semi-burned eggs with a smile. “Thank you.”
He nods again, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of my head, although his eyes are still distracted and troubled. He doesn’t want to do this. I can see the reluctance in every line of his body. But he will, for the simple reason that I asked him to, and I’m not sure Trystan would ever deny me anything.
I just hope I’m right in thinking a meeting between the father and son will be a good thing.
5
Trystan
I try not to let my bad mood overshadow cooking breakfast with Sable, but it’s fucking hard.
First, my pack being dicks last night at the meeting, and now, my father’s shadow hovering over me like an unwelcome specter. I want to be pissed at Sable for even invoking his memory, but I can’t blame her. I brought him up first.
This is the first time I’ve ever questioned whether taking the title of alpha from my father was a good idea or not. It’s never occurred to me that I’m anything less than a stellar leader. Though I guess that’s because my circle was fucking smaller than a dime, and my pack spent so much time lifting me up, I wouldn’t have been able to see through bullshit with a flashlight and a map.
By the time I finish flipping a few more eggs—not burned, this time—the rest of the guys drift into the kitchen, still in the clothes they slept in and looking just as rough as I feel. I doubt any of us are used to this kind of emotional fucking rollercoaster.
The oven timer dings as Ridge helps himself to coffee. He glances over at me while the steaming liquid pours and raises one sardonic eyebrow. “Since when do you cook, Martha Stewart?”
“Since I felt like it,” I shoot back, avoiding his laughing gaze.