7. Dean

7

DEAN

D ean woke up alone in their bed, and wasn't surprised.

He'd felt Deirdre's retreat before he went to sleep. It wasn't just an I'm-too-tired-don't-bother-me-for-sex rebuff. His presence made her deeply uncomfortable, her entire body going reluctant against his. Dean feared that rolling away would only bring attention to it and make it worse. She seemed to relax after a few moments, and Dean had fallen asleep.

It was early now, but Dean knew that he wouldn't get back to sleep, his mind racing, his heart aching. He got up and quietly dressed, then crept down the stairs, avoiding the steps that creaked.

Deirdre was asleep on the couch with Bingo, who wagged his tail to see Dean but didn't make a move to get off.

Deirdre's face was full of yearning, even in sleep, and Dean felt his chest squeeze.

He couldn't bear to see Deirdre like this, so clearly conflicted. Dean had caught sight of her face a few times the day before, full of longing and guilt that she couldn't hide. She might not want to want Juan, but she did despite herself, and it caused her grief.

As long as he'd known her, since they were kids together riding bikes through Green Valley, Dean had wanted to protect her, as friends at first, and later going steady . Dean was her first and only love, and she was his.

They'd married young—arguably too young—but adored each other enough to work through every speed bump. She'd forgiven him for agreeing to take over the business instead of going to college the way they'd planned. Aaron had not been expected, exactly, but was not unwelcome, either. They were good with each other, and good for each other…until now, when Dean could clearly see that he was the one holding her back from a joy that most people could never even imagine.

Do we have a mate? he asked his bear wistfully. If destiny was a thing that came with being a shifter, did he know it?

His bear's answer was a wordless shrug. His animal was content to wait and see, living life by the day and not setting expectations.

Dean knew a few shifters, and suspected a few more among the sleepy town's population, but none of them were in relationships, so he didn't have anyone to ask about mates. Would the call ebb away over time and leave Deirdre content with him again? Or would she always wonder what she'd missed out on?

He looked down at her dear (deer!) face and felt like his stomach was full of horseflies, biting him from the inside.

She wouldn't ask. She'd told him about her mate because she didn't want to keep secrets from him, and she'd been adamant that she would put her promise to Dean first. But Dean's promise to her was bigger than marriage. He owed her happiness .

Even if that happiness was with someone else.

He loved her to the bottom of his heart, and he loved her enough to let her go.

Bingo slid bonelessly out of Deirdre's arms and off the couch, then walked over to shove his face in Dean's knees.

Dean knelt to stroke his soft head and scratch behind his ears, sending the dog into a wiggling, softly whining ecstasy.

It was a comfort, having the distraction of a dog, but it didn't fix anything.

Dean would have to do that himself.