Two Streets Away
970 Words
Aaron
I shouldn’t still be here.
The engine has been off long enough for the night air to cool the hood, but I haven’t moved. From where I’m parked, I can see the bar’s patio through the gap between two buildings. Just enough to confirm what my wolf already knows.
She’s here.
Shay coils tight beneath my skin, awareness sharp and restless. Not frantic. Focused.
-She is out. Surrounded by men. Unprotected.
“I know,” I mutter out loud, fingers tightening around the steering wheel.
Laughter drifts across the street, light and careless. The sound grates against my nerves, not because it’s loud, but because she’s part of it. I catch flashes of movement through the railing: a tilt of her head, the swing of her hair, the subtle tension she holds in her shoulders even when she smiles.
She looks fine.
That almost makes it worse.
I tell myself I’m only staying long enough to confirm she’s safe. That once I’ve seen her laugh, once I’ve seen no one pressing too close, I’ll leave.
The lie doesn’t even convince me.
The bond hums faintly, constant as a pulse. Not tugging. Not demanding. Just there, reminding me that distance is an illusion now.
The door on the passenger side opens.
I don’t need to look to know who it is.
“Are you planning to sleep in your car,” Nancy asks lightly, “or is this a new meditation technique I don’t know about?”
I exhale and lean back in the seat. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”
“Only when they’re doing something they shouldn’t be doing,” she replies, while sliding in to the passenger seat and closing the door, peering in at me with that maddeningly calm expression.
I glance toward the bar despite myself.
Nancy follows my gaze.
“Oh,” she says softly.
I stiffen.
She doesn’t look back at me right away. Her attention stays on the patio, on the table where Reza sits with the others. Nancy’s eyes narrow, not in suspicion, but in assessment.
“You’re watching her,” she says.
I shrug. “I’m watching the street.”
She hums. “Funny. Because your eyes haven’t left her once.”
Shay stirs, low and possessive.
-Mine.
“Relax,” I murmur under my breath.
Nancy straightens slightly, catching the tone if not the words. “You weren’t like this earlier.”
“I had a long day.”
She snorts. “Try again.”
I don’t.
The music swells, a burst of laughter following it. Reza leans back in her chair, glass in hand, her smile easy but not entirely relaxed. There’s a guardedness there that wasn’t present before.
My chest tightens.
Nancy notices that too.
“That’s her,” she says quietly. Not a question.
“Yes.”
Nancy finally looks at me again. Really looks. Her gaze sharpens, something thoughtful flickering beneath the surface.
“You don’t know her,” she says slowly.
“No.”
“But something happened today,” she continues. “Something that didn’t sit right.”
I don’t answer.
Nancy lets the silence stretch, then sighs. “You know, most men who park two streets away from a bar and stare at one woman all night usually have a reason, besides being a creep.”
“I’m not staring.”
She arches a brow. “You’re practically vibrating.”
Shay bristles at the description.
“She’s safe,” Nancy adds. “Stephany hasn’t let her out of her sight.”
Relief hits harder than I expect. I nod once, grateful despite myself.
Nancy watches that reaction closely.
“There it is,” she murmurs.
“There what is?” I ask.
“That look,” she says. “Like you were bracing for something bad and just… didn’t get hit.”
I grind my teeth. “You’re reading too much into this.”
“Maybe,” she agrees easily. “But you’re terrible at hiding concern.”
She glances back at Reza. “She’s been quiet.”
My head snaps toward her. “She has?”
Nancy shrugs. “Not withdrawn. Just… distant. Like her feet are here and her head is somewhere else.”
The bond pulses in response, aching.
Shay presses closer. -She feels it.
“She’ll go home soon,” I say, more to myself than to Nancy.
“How do you know?” Nancy asks, narrowing her eyes.
“I don’t,” I admit. “But she’s tired. Today hit her harder than she expected.”
Nancy studies me again, expression unreadable.
“You care,” she says simply.
I don’t deny it.
I can’t.
Nancy exhales, then steps out of the car. “I’m not going to ask questions you can’t answer,” she says, while leaning in the open door. “But I am going to say this.”
She leans down slightly, meeting my eyes. “Whatever this is, and make no mistake, I have my idea about what this is, don’t let it fester. People get hurt that way.”
With that, she turns and heads back toward the bar. Across the street, she pauses for a beat, throwing me a thoughtful look, like she’s fitting pieces together she didn’t expect to find. Then she shakes her head, as if dismissing a newly formed idea, and resumes walking toward the bar.
I stay where I am.
Across the street, Reza laughs again, softer this time, but her shoulders relax just a fraction. The bond steadies, no longer frayed, just stretched.
Shay rumbles, not satisfied but patient. -Soon.
-Yes, I respond. Soon.
Because walking away once was necessary.
Walking away again would be a mistake.
And somewhere between instinct and intention, I know,
this story doesn’t end with distance.
- Writer
