12
1691 Words
The hum of the jet was soft and steady, a calming contrast to the chaos we had just escaped. The moment the cabin door sealed shut, the world outside disappeared, and my lungs finally found air that did not cut me on the way in. I sank into one of the white leather seats like my bones had turned to sand, trembling in the relief that came from silence.
I was still wearing the sunglasses, even though I did not need them anymore. They felt like a shield, the last barrier between me and the reality of what I had done. My fingers were curled tight in my lap, hands shaking slightly from the rush of panic that still pulsed under my skin.
Chase sat across from me at first, watching me with an expression that was not anger this time, but something harder to read. His brow was lowered in thought, his jaw tense like he was holding back questions.
Then he stood.
My heart jumped like a startled animal. He came closer, slow, as if approaching something fragile. When he stopped beside me, I forced myself to sit straighter even though my body wanted to fold into itself and disappear.
“Drink,” he said quietly.
He held a bottle of cold water toward me. His voice was soft in a way that made me feel exposed. I nodded and took it with shaking fingers. My hands trembled so much that the bottle rattled slightly, and I quickly pressed it against my chest just to steady it.
I raised it to my lips, but the sunglasses fogged with the heat of my breath and tears that had not fully dried. Chase watched for a moment, then reached out very slowly.
“Look up.”
I did.
His hand lifted to my face and he slid the sunglasses off gently, without hurry, like he was afraid sudden movement might shatter me. His fingers brushed the top of my ear. The touch was feather light, yet it sent a ripple down my spine.
He set the glasses aside on the table.
Without them, I felt completely bare.
My eyes were red from crying, and I knew it. My lashes still clung to the moisture of tears, my cheeks were blotched under the mask. Sunglasses had hidden all of that. Now there was nothing to hide behind.
Chase looked at my face for a moment, as if assessing something. Not beauty. Not makeup. But fragility. The way my lips trembled slightly. The stiffness of my posture. The way my fingers clutched the water bottle like it was the only thing keeping me tethered.
“Stop apologizing,” he said quietly.
I had not spoken yet, but he could already see the apology forming in my eyes.
I lowered my gaze. “I embarrassed you.”
“No,” he replied. “You had a panic response. That is not embarrassing. It is human.”
The word human stung. Because I was a wolf among wolves, yet today I had never felt smaller.
“I am not used to living under cameras,” I said, my voice weak.
Chase sat in the seat beside mine this time, not across from me. The closeness changed everything. It made the space feel smaller, the air warmer. He turned slightly in the seat to face me.
“Cassandra loved cameras,” he said.
It was not an insult, just a fact.
“She chased them,” he added after a moment. “She learned how to shine under them. She liked the attention. She fed on it.”
My throat tightened. I looked down at the bottle in my lap, rolling it slightly between my palms.
“I hide from them,” I admitted. “Even before this wedding. Even at family events. Cassandra liked people looking at her. I like when no one looks at me at all.”
Chase listened without interrupting. That alone surprised me. Most people compared us, even when they pretended not to. My parents said I should be more like her. Her friends said I should try to speak louder. Teachers said I should break out of my shell.
Chase just listened.
Behind my words I knew he was thinking about the difference. One sister ran away from her own wedding. The other pretended to be her to save the family.
I swallowed.
“You must hate all of this,” I said. “The scandal. The fake smiles. The pretending.”
Silence settled between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. Chase’s eyes drifted toward the window, looking at the clouds rising outside. For the first time since I met him, his expression looked tired. Not physically, but something beneath that. Like a burden he had been carrying since long before I stepped into his life wearing my sister’s name.
“When you are an Alpha,” he said slowly, “people think leadership is strength. Anger. Command. They do not understand that most of it is endurance.”
I looked up.
“Endurance,” I echoed.
He nodded slightly. “You endure pressure. Expectation. Legacy. If you break beneath it, the pack breaks with you.”
His voice was calm, but there was something in it that sounded like loneliness.
“My bloodline is the last branch of the Silverfang Alpha line,” he continued. “If I fall, it ends. If the marriage collapses, the alliance collapses. If the fated bond breaks, the pack loses faith. They start thinking the curse is real again.”
Curse.
That word lived in rumors. In whispers. In stories told between packs. Cassandra always loved being part of that history. She thought it made her special, chosen. She never thought about the pressure on the other side of that story. The weight he carried.
“What if it is not true,” I asked softly. “What if you are just chasing a story someone else created.”
Something in his expression shifted. Almost like a c***k in steel.
“I do not chase stories,” he said. “But the world does. They look at me and they see destiny. They do not see a man playing hockey because it is the only place he can breathe.”
I blinked.
“You play to breathe,” I repeated.
His gaze returned to mine. “When I am on the ice, everything else goes quiet. Every voice. Every rumor. Every expectation. It is just me and the game.”
A quiet laugh escaped me. “I thought it was just for fame.”
“It is,” he said. “Sometimes. But mostly it is for peace.”
The honesty in his voice settled in my chest like something heavy and warm.
“I understand,” I whispered.
He looked surprised.
I hugged the water bottle closer. “I hide because the world is too loud. Everything feels like a spotlight. People tell me to stand in it, but I only drown there. Alone feels safer.”
He leaned back in the seat, eyes lingering on me. Not judging. Just seeing.
“When you were panicking at the airport,” he said, voice low, “you looked like someone drowning in noise.”
I breathed slowly. “I was.”
His hand moved almost instinctively, reaching out, stopping just inches from my wrist without touching.
“I will not let you drown,” he said.
It was not a promise made to a bride. It was a quiet truth said by someone who understood pressure deeper than anyone else.
Silence filled the cabin again, but it was different now. Softer. The kind of silence that made my heart beat slower instead of faster.
I drank some water. My hands finally steadied.
Minutes passed with the hum of the engines wrapping us in a cocoon of calm. The sunlight filtered through the window, painting everything in pale gold. Chase tilted his head back against the seat, eyes half closing.
I watched him for a moment, studying the lines of exhaustion around his eyes. The way his shoulders carried weight even when he was resting. The way his fingers curled loosely in his lap, like he was never fully relaxed.
“Are you scared,” I asked quietly.
His eyes opened, meeting mine.
“Of what.”
“Of failing them. Of losing their respect.”
He didn’t answer right away. He breathed in, slow and deep.
“Yes,” he said. “I am.”
The honesty hit me like a soft blow. He did not say it with pride or shame. Just truth.
I shifted closer without meaning to, drawn by something I didn’t understand. My fingers brushed his sleeve lightly, a gesture small but real.
“Then we will try not to fail them,” I said. “Even if it is for a lie. Even if it is only for two weeks.”
His eyes held mine.
Something heavy and unspoken passed between us. Not romance. Not comfort. Something stranger. A bridge forming between two people who never chose each other, yet now shared a secret too big to carry alone.
His gaze dropped to my hand near his sleeve. His breath lifted slightly. For a heartbeat, I thought he would take my hand completely.
Then the plane shifted in turbulence and the moment broke.
He pulled his hand back slowly. I withdrew mine.
We did not speak again.
The hum of the engines filled the silence like a lullaby. The clouds outside stretched endlessly. My eyelids grew heavy, weighed down by exhaustion I had been fighting since the ceremony.
When sleep finally reached me, my head leaned against the side of the seat. Without realizing it, my shoulder pressed lightly against Chase’s arm.
He did not move away.
At some point, his head tilted slightly toward mine, and the space between us disappeared.
Two strangers, pretending to be something the world believed in.
Two people with too many secrets.
Two wolves with too much silence between them.
We fell asleep beside each other without even noticing when the distance vanished.
- Writer
