Prickly Business (29 page)

“
You
don’t make decisions for me. That’s not how this works.” Avery jabbed Dylan on the pec with his index finger. “You think I’m weak like everyone else does. Useless. Just a dumb little hedgehog.” His eyes and nose burned.

Dylan loomed over him, his expression thunderous. “I don’t think that. I want you safe. How many times do I have to say it?”

“You don’t get to run my life because you want to protect me.”

Dylan grabbed for his arm. Once again, Avery moved out of reach. Dylan sighed in frustration. “I know that, Avery. I—”

Avery turned away from him. “You need to go. I don’t want to see you right now.” The words came out on a rasp as he forced them past the tightness lodged in his throat. He was trembling, and he knew he couldn’t hold off the shift for much longer. It was instinct, his animal reaching out to defend him. All he wanted was to curl up and hide.

“Av….”

“
Go.
Please.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Avery saw Dylan extend a hand. Right when he would’ve made contact, he pulled it back and balled it into a fist.

With a vehement “
Fuck
,” Dylan turned and stalked off. Avery heard him pause at the entryway to collect his jacket, and then his front door opened and closed.

Avery barely managed to strip himself before the shift took over. Small prickles of pain erupted as his spines grew. His vision went monochromatic, and the world swirled and tilted as his body shrank. As soon as it was finished, he scurried into the quiet, welcoming darkness beneath the couch and curled in on himself, his snout tucked tight against his belly.

He shivered for a while, too angry to do anything else. When his fury finally faded, all that remained was sadness.

If even his mate found him weak, what chance did Avery have of proving himself to anyone? Yeah, he might not be able to hold his own in a physical fight, but he could be scrappy and crafty in a pinch. It wasn’t as if he’d had a bodyguard at his back his entire childhood.

Maybe sometimes he acted foolishly. Maybe he made the occasional rash decision. Who didn’t?

He wasn’t weak. He didn’t need constant protection. He wished Dylan could see that. Then again, what reason had he ever given Dylan to have faith in him? He’d been accepting Dylan’s help since that night in Forest Park. Now Dylan had even given up one of his beloved motorcycles, which made Avery’s gut roil with guilt and shame. Why would Dylan ever think he could stand on his own two feet?

Still, it hurt not to be given the benefit of the doubt.

D
YLAN
STUDIED
the red tie draped over the arm of the couch. Avery’s tie. He remembered unknotting it and slipping it from Avery’s collar in an attempt to make him more comfortable. He turned away, trying to push back the memory that burned in his chest.
Heartburn. I should probably talk to Dr. Scully about that.
Scooping up his phone, he sat back and drew a knee up on the couch, scooting back into the corner. If Avery was here, he’d fit just perfectly. But he wasn’t here. Dylan sighed and swiped open his phone then thumbed through the contacts until he found the one he was looking for.

Avery’s bright eyes shone back at him, his lips pursed in a kiss and his hair mussed, surrounded by the fluffy white of his pillows and down comforter—a new selfie. Avery seemed to be changing them with every visit. Apparently he’d taken the picture while Dylan got ready for work that last morning. Not that Dylan minded. He rubbed a palm over his chest.

Dylan sighed. He missed Avery, and it wasn’t about the sex—although, he had to admit, the sex was damn good. He missed being with Avery—his smile, his laughter, the way he gravitated toward Dylan like he was true North. In a few short weeks, Avery had burrowed his way into Dylan’s life, and now Dylan had no idea which way was up without him.

The pain in his chest bloomed full force.
Damn.
Maybe he
should
call. Just to check on his mate. Maybe Avery was feeling the same. Maybe….

A knock at his front door distracted him before he could dial Avery. Probably better that way.

With another sigh, he got up from the sofa when the front door swung open and Lucas strutted in like he owned the place.

Lucas shrugged, his glowing smile tinted with a hint of mischief. “What? I knocked.”

Kirk and Sawyer strolled in behind him and shut the door. Dylan’s lips twitched. He could only imagine why Loud Mouth, Brainy, and Broody were there. Already, he felt a little better just having his friends around.

Dylan turned his attention back to Lucas. “You’re supposed to wait for someone to answer the door.”

“It was open.”

“Not open. It was unlocked.”

“Same difference.”

Dylan pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing a losing battle when he saw it. “That’s not an invitation.”

“Whatever.” Lucas shook his head and motioned to the other guys. “We’re here.”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Lucas shrugged again. “Tired of seeing you pout. Kirk thought it would be a good idea to come talk some sense into you.”

Wide-eyed, Kirk gaped up at Lucas. “I did no—”

“I don’t pout,” Dylan groused.

“You do.” Lucas waved off Kirk’s protest. “Ask Sawyer, he’s the king of broody pouts.”

“Fuck you, Luc.” Sawyer’s bass rumbled around his living area.

“See?” Lucas pointed out.

“I’m seriously not in the mood for this today.” Dylan sat back down and eyed his phone where he’d tossed it on the cushion… near the book… by Avery’s tie. Scrubbing his hands over his face, Dylan wished he could get that fucking tie out of his mind.

“I see that.” Lucas plopped down on the other end of the couch, the tie disappearing behind him.
Thank God.
Kirk took the chair near Dylan, and Sawyer dragged one over from the kitchen, flipped it around, and straddled it. “Books and beer. Looks like a regular party around here.”

“Fuck off, dude.”

Dylan had been attempting to read, but when the words had started blurring together, he’d realized he didn’t remember much of the previous chapter he’d read. So he put the book down and opted for a beer.

“Where’s Avery?” God, Lucas could be a persistent asshole sometimes.

“His place.” Dylan assumed. He glimpsed the time on the entertainment center, then changed his answer. “Probably at work.” He didn’t really know and that pissed him off even more.

“Yeah? One of the guys that came in today said he saw him out at Howl with the alpha’s son last night.” Lucas’s words cut deep, though Dylan didn’t show it. Christ, he didn’t think he could handle the thought of Avery out clubbing on top of everything else. Or the fact that Avery was going out at all, having a blast while Dylan suffered.

Fuck.
The invisible band contracted around his lungs, choking off his air.

“He can do whatever he wants,” Dylan mumbled, picking up and drinking the rest of his beer. “I’m not his keeper.” Avery had made that clear enough. The words tasted as bitter in his mouth as the drink felt going down.

He didn’t want to own Avery. Not really. He liked that Avery was independent and outspoken. He even liked it when Avery disagreed with him. Dylan knew he was a possessive bastard. It was ingrained. Avery had to know that. So why couldn’t he understand….

No. Dylan wasn’t going there right now.

“Yeah, he said your boy had that same look on his face.” When Dylan stared at him, Lucas continued. “Like someone kicked his puppy. Or his wolf.”

It shouldn’t have made Dylan feel better—knowing Avery might be hurting the same way he was—but it did.

“Want to talk about it?” Lucas’s tone softened, apparently ready to have a conversation Dylan didn’t want to think about.

“Nope.”

“Maybe you should apologize.” Kirk’s voice was soft, contemplative, and when he spoke Dylan listened.

Kirk was quiet and patient, the old soul of their crew. He never said anything without thinking first. Long and hard. But he was no pushover. Sometimes Dylan wondered what had happened to him. He didn’t talk about his past. And Dylan didn’t know much about his family life except the little he’d seen growing up, but it wasn’t like they had ever hung out at Kirk’s house. That had pretty much been reserved for Lucas’s home and, on the rare occasion, Dylan’s. Dylan shook his head and focused on what Kirk had said. “Avery should be the one apologizing. He’s the one running all over creation playing Superman. Why should I be expected to sit by and watch his self-destruction? It’s not about me being overprotective. It’s about him being fuckin’ reckl—”

Kirk cut him off with a sweep of his hand. “Doesn’t matter. Sometimes saying ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t about who’s right and who’s wrong.”

A familiar sting burned behind his eyes. Nothing he hadn’t felt during the past two days.
Damn.

Blinking away what was definitely not tears, because Dylan didn’t do that shit, he glanced down, his gaze landing again on his phone, the ache in his chest blooming until he had trouble breathing around it.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled.

“Sure it does.” Kirk’s shy grin loosened the constriction around Dylan’s chest. “It’s about compromise. Is whatever you disagreed about important enough to lose this thing you have with your mate?”

“Because I’m telling you right now, you’ve been a nightmare to work with these past two days,” Lucas threw in his two cents, and Dylan glared at him.

“Nightmare’s the wrong word, Luc,” Kirk scolded. “Quit being an ass.”

Lucas huffed behind his devilish grin.

Kirk went on. “Not a nightmare, but we can tell… well… is it about finding that guy?”

Dylan shrugged.

“You’re right. None of my business,” Kirk said earnestly. “But maybe you should think of sucking it up and taking one for the team.”

With a snort, Dylan arched an eyebrow at Kirk who lifted a shoulder.

“It sounded good. You and Avery…. You’re supposed to be a team, you know.”

Dylan did know that, but the thought of apologizing for protecting his mate—it wasn’t something he wanted to do. But maybe it was something he
needed
to do.

“You have to mean it.” Kirk cut though his thoughts again. “The compromise. You have to mean it, because I’ve met Avery, and he’ll smell your bullshit a mile away. Don’t apologize to him if you’re not going to attempt to see his perspective.”

Dylan bent forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at his phone. He got why Avery felt the way he did. Hell, if it had gone the other way—Avery sneaking around behind his back—Dylan would have probably taken it as a sign that their bond was faulty. He was lucky Avery didn’t think that way. That he knew of.

Then a thought occurred to him. What if Avery was using this to get away from him? Find a way back into his old life? The air in Dylan’s lungs was suddenly gone. And fuck if he could catch his breath at the thought of losing Avery. Especially over something so stupid.

“He’s at home,” Sawyer’s voice roused him from his panic. He hadn’t noticed his friends get up, but they all stood by the entryway. Empathy colored Sawyer’s sad smile.

“What?”

“Your hedgehog. He’s at home. My sister had to pick up the rest of his route. Apparently he made a few deliveries this morning but left sick.” Sawyer shrugged.

Another wave of panic swept through him. This one focused solely on his mate. What good was it doing him or Avery, sitting here moping? He might as well call a spade a spade—if only to himself. He was moping.

He looked to his friends who seemed to know what he needed before he could ask. Kirk smiled. “We’re gonna go.” He gestured over his shoulder to the doorway. “Good luck.”

Lucas looked like he was insulted, having to miss the action. “But—”

“Come on, Luc.” Sawyer nodded and led the way outside, a sulking Lucas the caboose of the well-intentioned train.

“Thanks, man,” Dylan said as Lucas reached out to pull the door closed behind him.

Lucas turned his head and winked. “Any time, D.” Then he left.

Dylan knew how lucky he was to have his friends, his brothers. He also knew that luck extended to his mate.

Now it was time to fix what he’d broken.

T
HE
BUZZ
from his intercom forced Avery from the couch, where he sat mindlessly listening to “The Only One” by The Black Keys. He’d had the song on repeat for about half an hour because it made him think of Dylan, which in turn made him feel both better… and worse. Talk about a futile endeavor.

No doubt it was Jaden swinging by to check up on him. He’d texted Avery earlier, to which Avery had replied that he’d called off from the rest of his deliveries. He’d been nursing a low-grade headache all day, but the real issue? He was goddamned miserable.

Last night Jaden had invited him to Howl hoping to cheer him up. Instead Avery sat at the bar moping and playing the “Let’s Compare Every Other Man to Dylan” game. Of course no one passed the test. Then it occurred to him to keep an eye out for Frat Boy—Troy—but to no avail. So, he tossed back six whiskey sours and ended up sloppy drunk. He even spilled part of his final drink on his favorite pair of pewter suede John Lobb Derby shoes. In his inebriated state, combined with his Dylan angst, that had nearly brought about an emotional breakdown.

Afterward he had to be delivered to his front door by Jaden and whatever random dude Jaden was taking home.

Ugh. Disgraceful.
Jaden was probably here to give him shit about it right now. Although he kind of wished it was Sven instead. He could use a good workout, but the bastard still hadn’t returned any of his calls. Avery would’ve worried he was dead if he hadn’t seen the occasional update from Sven on social media. Though there’d been no mention of the supposed “emergency” he’d wanted to discuss. Avery had no clue what was up with the guy. Damn flighty reindeer shifters. Avery should flood his Facebook wall with
Frozen
references and links to “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” and “Let It Go.” Sven would definitely want to see him then, if only to strangle him. Other shifters had mocked Sven mercilessly after that movie came out, even going as far as to send him a crateful of plush Sven toys from the Disney store.