Chapter 88

Agnes

The comedy show ended sooner than I wanted it to, the overhead lights coming on like a sudden burst of sunlight. I jolted upright, blinking rapidly and suddenly realizing that I had spent the better part of the show leaning against Elijah’s shoulder.

“We should probably head out,” he said, clearing his throat as he gently pulled away.

I nodded. My cheeks were flushed red from the realization, and I hoped it came across like it was just the wine getting to me. Thankfully, if Elijah noticed, he didn’t mention it.

But as we headed out into the cool night air, it became clear that neither of us was quite ready to end the night. Before I knew it, we were wandering the city streets without direction, our shoulders bumping every few steps.

Then Elijah’s steps slowed, his eyes catching on a nearby shop window—no, not a shop, but an arcade. The vintage machines glowed in the dim light, the neon signs indicating that the place was still open despite the late hour.

“Hm. I haven’t seen one of these places in years,” he muttered, almost seemingly more to himself than me. There was a wistfulness in his voice, and I cocked my head as I glanced up at him.

“You don’t strike me as the arcade type,” I pointed out.

“I’m not. Not anymore.” His jaw tightened, but his gaze lingered on a pair of teenagers inside, shrieking with glee as they hammered at the buttons on one of the consoles. He was trying to hide it, but he wanted to go inside. I could tell.

Without thinking, I grabbed his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

He blinked. “Agnes, we don’t have to—”

“Come on. Live a little, Elijah,” I said, tugging him toward the entrance.

He snorted, but let me drag him inside.

The arcade was a sensory assault—blaring techno music, the clang of tokens spilling into metal trays, the sharp tang of burnt popcorn in the air. Elijah hovered awkwardly near the entrance, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. I grabbed a plastic cup of tokens from the attendant and held it out to him.

“Pick a game,” I said, gesturing around. “We can play together.”

He eyed the rows of machines until his gaze landed on an old fighting game in the corner. “That one,” he said.

I raised a brow. “Fighting games? Really?”

“What, are you scared I’ll beat you?”

The challenge in his voice sent an unexpected thrill through me, and I followed him over to the console. We squeezed onto the narrow bench, our thighs pressing deliciously up against one another as the screen flickered to life. Elijah’s elbow jabbed mine as he began mashing the joystick, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Two rounds in, his sleeve brushed my bare wrist, and I froze, glancing over at him. He didn’t notice the contact, too focused on the game to even remember that the outside world existed.

My chest tightened as I watched him stick his tongue out ever so slightly, fully invested.

This version of him was something I didn’t even know existed, let alone one that I had somehow been starving to see.

By the time we stumbled out of the arcade an hour later, my ribs ached from laughing. Elijah’s tie was loosened, his hair mussed from running a hand through it after I’d finally beaten him, and the sight of him like this made something warm and reckless curl in my stomach.

We walked a little slower on the way back to the car, the night quieting around us. Elijah’s shoulder bumped mine deliberately this time, and I didn’t pull away.

“I used to skip my Alpha training as a kid to play at the arcade near my pack’s territory,” he suddenly admitted, taking me by surprise. “It drove my father mad. Said it was ‘unbecoming of a future Alpha.’”

I glanced at him. “What did you do?”

“I stopped going to the arcade, and started acting like a good little Alpha.” He shrugged as if it were nothing, but the muscle in his jaw ticked, indicating his true feelings.

“You were just a kid.”

Elijah paused and shot me a sidelong glance. “Alphas don’t get to be boys, Agnes. Not even for an afternoon.”

The ache in his voice was too familiar. I wasn’t an Alpha, but I understood the feeling of having to be a perfect child all too well. My stepmother had always expected me to be utterly, completely angelic at all times. If I wasn’t, then she would treat me like a bug squished beneath her shoe.

And my father had just… let her.

“I get it,” I said softly. “You know how my parents threw me out when I couldn’t play the perfect daughter anymore. Too broken, too… messy after losing my baby.”

Elijah stopped walking as we reached the car and looked at me. “Well, they were fools.”

The intensity in his gaze made my breath hitch, but I kept my voice neutral as I replied, “Yeah, well. Fools run in my family. And apparently yours, too.”

He huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. For a moment, we just stood there, the weight of every expectation we had both failed to meet hanging between us. Then his hand reached past me, his chest nearly brushing against my own.

My eyes widened, and I didn’t know how to react, what to say. His scent flooded my senses, and for one reckless second, I thought about tugging him down by his stupid, perfectly knotted tie so I could kiss him. I wanted to. Badly.

But I didn’t have a chance to do that, because he was just opening the car door for me.

Thea was asleep on the couch by the time we got home, her stuffed bear clutched to her chest and a cartoon still playing quietly on the TV. James was passed out in the armchair beside the fireplace, his mouth hanging open in sleep.

Elijah crouched beside Thea, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The tenderness in the gesture struck me more than I expected, even though I had seen him act like this with her countless times by now.

“I’ll carry her upstairs,” he murmured.

“She’ll wake up on the way.”

“She won’t.”

And she didn’t—not even when he lifted her gently, her head lolling against his shoulder. I trailed behind them, watching the way his broad frame seemed to soften around her, the careful way he tucked her into bed like she was made of porcelain.

Once Thea was tucked in, Elijah turned and walked toward me. He paused in her doorway, moonlight slicing across his face as he looked down at me. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For going out with me tonight. It was nice to do something fun.”

I hesitated, my fingers brushing across the pendant at my throat. Maybe it was the wine, or the laughter, or the secrets we’d shared. But suddenly I was feeling bold, and I asked, “Why’d you ask me to go out with you tonight, Elijah?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Yes.”

Elijah said nothing at first. For a moment, his mask slipped—the Alpha, the protector, the man who carried the weight of a thousand lives on his shoulders—and I saw the boy who had snuck off to arcades. The boy who still wanted to play.

But then he straightened, and the moment was gone. I didn’t get my answer. I just got: “Goodnight, Agnes.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and left. I watched him walk down the hall, his shadow stretching long and lonely across the floorboards, until he disappeared into the darkness.