“Now Michael are you going to give me a ride or ask permission from your Alpha?”

Michael nods his head. “Yes Luna. I’ll drive you home, and your Jeep will be there within the hour.”

CHAPTER 13

Michael is quiet the short drive to my house. When we reach the lot in front of my condo, I mutter, “Thank you for bringing me home, Michael. Drive carefully.”

I take my keys from my bag and exit his black truck. After unlocking my door, I lock the deadbolt, then throw my bags on the couch. I head to my master bath. A long, hot soak is just what I need. I start the water, add a little bubble bath, grab my Bluetooth speaker, and set my Sunday morning playlist from my iPad.

My skin is pink, and my face is a little sweaty from the heat. But I’m finally relaxed. My wrinkled fingers tell me it’s time to rinse off and wash my hair. I pull the plug and wait for some of the water to drain before standing and turning on the shower.

I’m singing along with Bruno’s “When I Was Your Man,” when the door crashes open. I screech, loud and long. I’m not proud of the girly wail that leaves my lips. I can just make out a large shape through my white, ruffled shower curtain. I can hear deep breathing, and I instantly know it is Masen.

“What are you doing in here? How the hell did you even get in here?” I yell.

“You wouldn’t answer the door. I knew you were here,” he pants. “I panicked, I’ll... fix your door.” He’s still breathing heavily.

“Fix my door? My door... GET OUT! GET OUT! JUST GET OUT!” I scream.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly before the door clicks closed gently.

I close my eyes and blow out a breath. Tony Bennett croons to “Smile”, while I try to calm myself. I finish my shower, taking my time moisturizing and brushing my hair. I find a pair of yoga capris and my softest thinnest t-shirt. I want to be comfy, I’m exhausted. This day, that started out so wonderful, has quickly sapped my strength and left me hungry and tired.

He’s still here, though. I know he hasn’t left. I don’t know how to deal with him right now. I still feel conflicted. I want to forgive him for talking to her, and I want to punish him. There isn’t any point in punishing him, because unless he knows he’s wrong, none of it matters. He would just do it again.

When I walk out of my room, I see him trying to prop my cracked front door over the broken door frame, good Lord. He turns when he hears my soft footfalls. Remorse clear on his face.