Chapter 77
Tristan
Nate is as beautiful as always.
Even like this—standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, his face a carefully blank mask.
That's the worst part. He has no facial expression looking at me. At some point, he used to glare at me, his blue eyes sparking with fury or shining with unshed tears.
He used to show me emotion. Now, there's nothing. A void where I used to be.
My wolf and I are already at odds because of the dumb shit I did.
He wants to push forward, to nuzzle into Nate's neck, to beg for forgiveness with whines and licks. The human part of me, the part that's been a coward, wants to turn around and walk away from the painful silence.
I spoke big in the woods, about making it up to him, proving to him that I could be what he needs. But standing here now, under the weight of his empty gaze, I don't know where to start.
Words feel useless. Apologies feel cheap.
