12. Holden

CHAPTER TWELVE

HOLDEN

I stared at the spreadsheets on my laptop, but I could honestly say I had no idea what I was looking at. For the last few days, I hadn't been able to focus to save my life. My brain was stuck on one thing: Mylo.

It was like, from the moment I'd carried him back to his room, his scent—that soft mix of sugar and citrus—had taken up permanent residence on my clothes...

Nice try. You're not wearing any of the same things.

But I couldn't shake his scent, no matter how hard I tried, or how he'd felt in my arms.

Showing up late to the bourbon event wasn't part of the plan. Okay, so it had mostly been part of the plan. But not that late. I could tell, when I appeared, that Mylo hadn't expected to see me, and I'd caught the flicker of hurt in his eyes. I'd planned to apologize that day at his cabin, but when I missed him, I convinced myself the goddess was trying to keep us apart. So, I'd stayed away—even though every inch of me hated it.

And, of course, my family made sure to let me know how they felt.

So, I'd avoided all of them. Hell, I was avoiding everyone. Most of all, I was avoiding Mylo.

Three days. It had been three damn days since I last saw him, and I was losing it. West kept giving me shit whenever we crossed paths—smug bastard. Indigo didn't hold back either; she'd skipped teasing and gone straight to calling me a coward, as if I needed the reminder. Even Hope threw in her two cents, which was surprising since she usually stayed out of my emotional damage. And Noah? He gave me that look—you know the one. Like, I get it, but you're still being an idiot.

Now, it was four days later, and I still hadn't worked up the nerve.

I tapped anxiously against the desk, the rhythm matching the restless energy buzzing through me. I'd spent years mastering discipline, locking things down tight, and yet Mylo waltzed into my life, and everything unraveled with one smile. It didn't make sense.

I could practically hear West's voice: Duh, he's your mate... what did you expect?

For one, I never expected him to be human... although, after meeting Mylo, I wouldn't change one perfect hair on that beautiful blonde head. It felt like a test—like maybe I was meant to figure out how to do it right this time. But what if I failed again? I couldn't take that risk.

But I wasn't sure how much longer I could stay away.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbed my hands over my face, and exhaled hard. The office felt too quiet. Too still. And my thoughts—well, those seemed to be getting louder.

A knock at the door startled me, mostly because I'd been such a bear to be around that my family, staff, and den had all been avoiding me. And when they weren't, I was catching shit for not appreciating the fact that I'd found my mate. Everyone kept reminding me how lucky I was.

I fucking knew how lucky I was... How could anyone think I wanted to stay away from him, or that it was easy for me to do it? I wanted him in my home, in my bed. I wanted to tell him that he was wanted, that he was welcome, and that I never wanted to imagine life without him.

So yeah, I wasn't ready to deal with anyone's shit right now. I ignored the knocking, hoping they'd take the hint and go away.

No such luck.

It came again, and I had a feeling the person wasn't going anywhere.

With a sigh, I dragged myself out of the chair and crossed the room.

When I opened the door, there he was, like I'd conjured him just by thinking about him—Mylo. And he had a plate of cookies. The scent hit me first—warm vanilla and chocolate, sweet and comforting, just like everything about him.

Our eyes met for the briefest second before he looked away, clutching the plate a little tighter, like it was the only thing holding him together. He looked like he was five seconds away from bolting.

"Hey." He bit his bottom lip, his eyes flickering up to meet mine before darting away just as fast.

There it was again—that damn flutter in my chest, the one I hated for how out of control it made me feel. But I also kind of loved it, because it reminded me he was here, and it was real.

"I, uh..." Mylo shifted his weight awkwardly, holding the plate out in front of him. "I brought these... Thought I'd come by and... you know, apologize. For... everything."

I could tell he'd practiced those words many times before finally working up the nerve to come over here. And why did that make me feel so damn small?

He looked so vulnerable. Too vulnerable.

Something in me cracked at the sight of it. He had no idea how close I was to dragging him inside and doing something we'd both regret—or not regret at all.

"Come in," I said, stepping aside.

I decided to listen to the side of me that was saying everything would be fine... not the panicked one. I figured the panic had gotten its way for too long, and neither Mylo nor I seemed happier because of it.

He hesitated for half a second, then shuffled past me, being careful not to brush against any part of me. I shut the door behind him, the click of the latch somehow sounding louder in the now silent office.

Mylo placed the plate of cookies on the edge of my desk, still not looking at me. "I've been meaning to say I'm sorry... for putting you in an awkward position. It's my problem. My feelings. You don't need to worry—I won't make an ass of myself. And you shouldn't feel pressured or anything."

I didn't respond right away, because honestly, I didn't trust my voice. The way he stood there—shoulders hunched, head down, voice small—it knocked the air right out of my lungs. How didn't he see what he was doing to me?

For a moment, there was silence—an awkward, tension-filled kind of silence. He wouldn't look at me, his gaze fixed on his lap. "I just wanted to make sure you knew I was sorry about... what I said. About wanting... you know."

"I should apologize too," I said. "For the way I acted the other day. I was late to the tasting, and... I probably wasn't the nicest."

Mylo glanced up, his cheeks flushing briefly. "And... uh, you don't have to apologize for the bourbon thing either. I mean, you already have. I think. Although maybe next time, try doing something that doesn't need an apology?" His eyes widened. "I'm not saying there would be a next time or that there should be, or that I expect it—" He groaned. "Sorry."

The corner of my mouth twitched before I could stop it. "Fair point."

He huffed a small laugh, clearly surprised by his own words—clearly, that wasn't part of the practiced speech. And something about that sound, about how brave he was being... and kind of calling me out—it undid me.

The tension between us buzzed, sharp and electric, and I couldn't help it... or maybe I didn't want to this time. I took a step closer; it felt like some invisible force had yanked me forward. Mylo noticed—of course he noticed—and his breath hitched.

"What's with the hot-and-cold thing?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "One minute you're distant, and now... now you're—" He gestured vaguely with his hand.

He didn't finish the sentence, and he didn't back away. His lips parted, and he licked them—and that was all the permission I needed.

I grabbed him by the waist and pulled him into me, my lips crashing into his. He gasped against my mouth, his hands flying up—like he didn't know whether to push me away or pull me closer.

He chose the latter. Thank the good goddess.

The kiss was messy and desperate, all teeth and hunger, like we'd been starving for this moment but didn't know how to do it right. Mylo whimpered, the sound so raw it punched me in the gut—and broke what was left of my restraint.

I backed him up until his hips hit the desk, and in one quick motion, I lifted him onto it. Papers scattered everywhere, but I didn't give a fuck.

Mylo pulled back, breathless, eyes wide with disbelief, his lips swollen from our kisses. "What the hell, Holden?"

I kissed him again instead of answering, because words felt useless. There wasn't a single way to explain how I'd fought this—how I'd tried to stay away—and failed so spectacularly.

I'd never taken so much pleasure in failing.

His hands found their way to my shoulders, gripping tight like he was trying to anchor himself. "I had no idea..." he whispered against my lips. "You... you wanted this?"

I groaned, the sound rumbling deep in my chest. "You have no idea."

His laugh was shaky. "I thought you hated me."

"Far from it." My fingers slid under the hem of his shirt, tracing the warm skin there. He shivered under my touch, and it sent a jolt of heat straight through me.

"This whole time..." Mylo shook his head, still trying to process. "You acted like I didn't exist."

I pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, my thumb brushing over his cheek. "I thought if I stayed away... I could protect you, and maybe it would go away."

Liar!

He blinked up at me, confused. "Protect me from what? And did it?"

"Not even close." I decided to ignore the first part.

I must've said the right thing because his eyes shifted—something changed in him, something I felt more than saw. His grip tightened on my shoulders, and for a moment, all that vulnerability melted away, replaced by something braver, something more determined.

"I'm not a charity case," Mylo whispered, leaning in close, his breath warm against my skin. "And I'm not going to wait around for you to figure out what you want."

His words hit me like a challenge. And damn if I didn't rise to meet it.

It was a mix of seeing him so brave, standing up for himself, and the idea that I might lose him—to someone who definitely didn't deserve him. Even though I wasn't sure I deserved him, I knew I would do everything to make sure I did.

I kissed him harder this time, pouring every ounce of frustration and longing into it. Mylo kissed me back just as fiercely, his hands sliding into my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan.

We were a mess—a beautiful, chaotic mess—but I couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop. Not until I'd had all of him.

He tugged at my shirt, his fingers clumsy but determined. "Holden..." His voice was a broken plea, and I swore right then and there that I'd never let him feel unsure about this—about us—again.

This wasn't going to end on an apology. Not this time.

I lifted him further onto the desk, papers forgotten beneath us, the rest of the world falling away. This wasn't just desire—it was everything. Hope, possibility—all tangled together in the space between us.

He looked up at me, breathless, and for the first time, I saw it. Not just the vulnerability. The want. The same ache that had been gnawing at me from the second I scented him.

And I'd be damned if I didn't give him exactly what he needed.

I was his mate—it was my duty and my pleasure.