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CHAPTER NINE: FULL PINK MOON - PART TWO
Russ snuck another worried glance at Dawn as she sniffled on his couch. He’d been trying — all but begging — for over an hour to get her to tell him what was wrong, but she either just shook her head or burst into tears. She wouldn’t even let him touch her. Wouldn’t even let him close. He fought the helpless whimpers clogging his choked-up throat as he perched on the other end of the couch, trying like hell to give her as much space and support that he could. It was killing him, not being able to help.
Had she run into Tucker in town? Had he stopped by her school again? A growl ripped through him. If he’d hurt her again…
He looked up when he felt Dawn’s hand rest on his arm soothingly. He groaned and wanted to kick himself. “Please, don’t do that.”
Dawn sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Do what?”
He reached out and grabbed her a tissue. “Comfort me, while you cry.”
She blew her nose. “I’m sorry.”
“And now you’re apologizing.” Russ clutched his chest dramatically. “You’re really trying your best to make me look like the world’s worst partner.”
He smiled when he heard her wetly giggle behind her tissue. “I’m not trying to.”
Shaking his head, he tsked playfully. “So just succeeding then, I see.”
She chuckled again, this time louder. That was more like it. “I love your laugh.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but couldn’t regret it when he was rewarded by another laugh as she snuggled closer to him. He kissed the top of her head. “You want to talk about it now?”
She bit her lip and scrunched her nose as she thought about it, before shaking her head. “I don’t want to cry anymore.”
Even as a part of him ached for her to trust him with her tears, Russ understood that. Now that she’d finally stopped, he could imagine her being afraid to start it all up again. So he nodded. She liked to run, but she looked exhausted. Baking while tired didn’t sound like such a great idea either. He wondered whether reading while emotionally drained was wise. What did that leave her with? He frowned. If he was in her place, what would make him feel better? He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “Want to help me in the garden?” She liked it there and had said that sometimes tending the earth could help ground a person. He peeked down at her hopefully.
He felt her tip her head pensively, one way and then the other, before nodding. She peered up at him, her wet eyes shining a bit brighter. “You know what? I think I would.”
He grinned, wrapping his arms around her.
After two sweaty hours of weeding and pruning and, to be honest, simply playing around in the dirt, Russ was glad to see Dawn’s mood lift. Like it often did for him, having a simple task to complete seemed to steady Dawn, giving her back the control she’d lost.
Russ leaned back and breathed deep, enjoying the warm sun and the earthy scents surrounding him, when Dawn finally spoke. “Do you think I’m selfish?”
Frowning, he turned to her as she dug around in the dirt, picking up tiny twigs and roots to give the plants some more space. “I would never think that about you.” She was the most giving soul he knew, always thinking about the wants and needs of those around her. He narrowed his gaze on the serious look on her face. “You should never think that either.”
She didn’t say anything to that. Didn’t even turn to look at him. Just stared at the dark soil, as if she could find her answers there.
Going to her, he wiped some smudged dirt off her forehead. “You give so much of yourself to help your kids.”
She twisted her face away from him. “But I still feel like I’m failing them.”
“Failing them how?” Where were these thoughts coming from? “Did something happen at the school?”
“One of my werewolf students got into a fight with the brother of one of my human students.” Her face fell, the look of anguish feeling like a knife to the gut to him. “All because the two had become friends.” She shook her head. “I was so stupid. I really thought, if I could get through to these kids, that would solve everything.” Her fists tightened on the garden mess, snapping the tiny sticks. “But they still have to deal with this huge, broken world beyond my classroom that doesn’t work the way I’ve taught them it should.” Her gaze stared out in despair across the pond. “Am I just giving them false hope and flawed expectations? What if all I’m really doing is setting them up for failure? For disappointment?”
Russ hated the pain and disillusionment in her strained voice. Hated how useless and inadequate it made him feel. Dawn was hurting and, no matter how much he wished he did, he didn’t have the words or ways to fix what felt so broken. He wasn’t particularly smart or ambitious. Wasn’t exactly an optimist or some earnest idealist. He was never going to change the world; he wouldn’t even know where to start, much less what advice to give. Shaking his head, he wished he could be what she needed. What she deserved.
He shrugged, looking down at the mint he’d been harvesting. “Maybe you are,” he admitted, thinking about his own life. When she turned to gape at him, clearly letting him know that those were not the words of encouragement she was expecting. But it was the truth and, much as he might want to, he found he couldn’t lie to her. “The world is disappointing and it can be deeply unfair to people for all kinds of messed-up reasons. And it’ll always fall short of what we wished it would be.”
“I really hope you’ve got one hell of a but coming up soon,” she mumbled, disgruntled. “Or I think I might start crying again.”
He gave her a small smile. “Those kids, like everyone else, are going to face hardships. They’re going to meet people and situations that challenge them, maybe even try to tear them down.” That was just facts. Life, for all its good days, could be damned unforgiving. “But they’ll also have something not everyone is lucky enough to get.”
Dawn bit her lip and quietly asked, “What’s that?”
“Hope,” he said, looking at her. “Something to believe in that’s worth fighting for. Because someone in their life cared enough to plant that seed.” He fingered the herb that he’d tended now for three years, seeing it grow and flourish and wither and begin anew, over and over.
Dawn had been right when she’d said that a plant like this didn’t really need all that much care but, what it did need, he’d done his best to give. And here it was, three years later. In that time, he’d dried it into tea and used it for garnish. He’d even given some to Garrett to share with the rest of the pack. “You can never know for sure how a seed will grow. Sometimes they die or get sick before ever sprouting. Sometimes they require extra care just to survive, while others thrive all on their own.” He reached over with a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat from Dawn’s dirty brow, marveling at how someone like her had found her way into his life. “But one thing I know for certain: nothing can ever grow, if that seed never gets planted.”
Dawn’s smile, no matter how often he saw it, would always feel like a miracle; he was sure of it. It was like the first ray of sunshine after a storm. But, just as quickly as it appeared, it fell again. “But not all seeds are good, are they?”
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
She huffed. “I think I might have led Tucker on.”
Russ stiffened, his lip curling in disgust. “What?”
He hadn’t meant to yell and hated himself when she flinched. “I didn’t mean to,” she rushed to say, guilt dripping from every word. “It’s just I hate confrontation and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. So, when he first started talking to me, I just…” She shrugged. “I would dodge his advances and put him off.” She groaned and hung her head. “And, by the time I did — straight-up, no sugar — tell him no…” She pursed her lips and let out an exasperated huff. “I think he’d been listening so intently for my anticipated yes that he just couldn’t hear my no.”
Russ bit back a growl. “Then he should get his damned hearing checked.” When Dawn looked taken aback by his responses, he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what he expected you to say or what he really, really wanted you to say; only what you said.”
When he still saw doubt in her eyes, he wanted to howl. “I heard you tell him no. No matter what you might have said or done before that, you said no. Clearly and unmistakably. And that asshole still violated your consent.” His fists clenched at the memory. “I know it almost cost me my freedom. It could have doomed the entire pack — hell, maybe even every werewolf or predator in the country.” He looked deep into Dawn’s eyes, letting her see the truth he felt burning in his soul. “But I don’t regret what I did. No one gets to treat you like that. No one should ever treat anyone like that.” He carefully unclenched his fists to gently brush her soft curls behind her ear. “But, as long as I’m here, no one will treat you that way. Not ever.”
Panic flickered through him as he saw her face scrunch and her eyes begin to water. His hand, still cupping her head gently, tensed as he wondered what he’d done wrong and tried to desperately think of how to make it right.
But then she turned into his palm, trusting as a kitten, and beamed up at him. “You know, for someone who swears he’s not good with words, you always manage to find the exact right ones with me.”
And, right then, he felt something inside him crack, as love for this woman — his mate — crashed through him like a tidal wave. He felt helpless beneath its weight. Too choked to reply, he simply pulled her close for a kiss, letting that torrential force pour through him and into her, and hoped she could somehow feel it too.
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