Page 135 of Burning Embers
And this time, I don’t know who he’s trying to convince—me or himself.
Forty-Six
EMERY
“It smells like Mom’s making pot roast today,” Ethan says, shifting awkwardly on the chair across from me.
I don’t even bother to glance up from my phone as I grunt something noncommittally in reply.
The dining room has been completely transformed, courtesy of my mother. A white tablecloth covers the mahogany table, and six place settings have been stationed. I see a basket of rolls, a glass bowl full of salad, a container of fresh corn, and a tray of Jell-O.
Mom and Dad only go all out when they have guests over. Usually, we all take our meals to go and eat in front of the television or in our bedrooms. Mom tries to make us have family dinners every week, but it’s hard with our schedules. I have football every day after school, Ethan has his clubs, and our older sister works night shifts and doesn’t even live at home anymore. Our weekly dinners have turned into monthly dinners.
Mom hums merrily under her breath as she emerges from the kitchen, carrying a pot full of beef, carrots, and potatoes. I inhale deeply and feel my stomach rumble in response.
“Am I not feeding you enough?” Mom teases as she lowers the final dish onto the table. She then stands back to survey her work.
“I’m a growing boy,” I tease, placing a hand on my taut, muscular stomach. “I need calories.”
“Have too much calories and you’ll end up like your father,” Mom says.
Dad chooses that exact moment to enter the room and gives his wife a playful glare. “Are you calling me chubby, darling?”
“I’m saying you can afford to cut back.” Mom pecks Dad on the cheek, and he melts under her touch.
“Fat is just muscle for old men,” he insists, brushing his fingers along the back of her cheek.
“You keep telling yourself that.”
Even after all of this time, my parents are still so stupidly in love with each other. It makes me want to find something similar for myself.
With Izzy.
Warmth blossoms in my chest, and I glance back down at my phone, searching to see if I have any new texts from her. I try not to let my disappointment show when I realize I have no notifications.
She’s probably at work,I tell myself. And I know she’s not allowed to have her phone with her while on the clock.
Still, I wish she were here with me. My sister is bringing her boyfriend to dinner, so why can’t I bring Izzy?
Not that she’s my girlfriend.
Or anything to me besides a close friend.
It’s been immensely difficult, but I’ve been trying to take it slow with her. She deserves to be romanced and wooed. Yet I can’t help but feel as if I shoved myself firmly into a little area one calls the “friend zone.”
Does she even think of me in a romantic way?
Fuck, when have I turned into such a sap? I’m not the type of guy to wax poetic or become obsessed with a girl. I’m not a player, but I’m certainly not the ideal candidate for a boyfriend either.
But with Izzy, everything’s different. She’s my first thought in the morning and my last one before I fall asleep at night. I’m actuallyexcitedto go to school because I know I’ll get to see her beautiful face. I revel in her laughter—in the way her eyes crinkle and seem to shine with their own inner radiance. In the way her lips curl upwards. In the way her body shakes.
I could listen to her laugh forever.
Not that you’ll be able to have a future with her if you don’t solve the Desiree problem first.
A boulder settles in my gut.
Not every pack is fortunate enough to find their fated mate. Look at my father’s pack, for example. My dad is mated to my mom, but the other two members of his pack aren’t. It’s immensely rare for a same-sex pack to not share a mate but not entirely unheard of. Most packs know almost immediately if they have the same mate. When their marks appear, they also get a secondary brand directly below it, so miniscule that it often goes unnoticed.