14. Holden

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HOLDEN

I kept my hands on the wheel, trying to focus on the road. But my mind? My mind was back in my office with Mylo. Goddess, it was good. Too good. The kind of sex that got under your skin and stayed there, making it impossible to think straight.

And there it was again—guilt, sharp and constant. I still hadn't told him. Not about me, not about what I was. And yet, we'd crossed that line. He deserved more than I was giving him. Hell, maybe more than I knew how to give.

But damn, the sex. I hadn't even known it could feel like that—like my whole body exhaled for the first time in years. It wasn't just physical; it was grounding, like my soul had found the thing it was missing all along. The kind of thing I didn't believe in until it hit me like a freight train.

Because it had been waiting. For him.

Bishop shifted next to me, long legs kicking against the dash like we weren't in my damn truck. "You're real quiet."

I grunted, tightening my grip on the wheel. "Just thinking."

"About Mylo," Bishop said, not even pretending to ask.

I shot him a quick glance, but he was already smirking—that knowing, smug little smile that said, You're an idiot, but I love you anyway.

"You know," he said, tapping his fingers on the armrest, "for someone who's got their shit together, you're a disaster at this."

"Yeah, well," I muttered, "it's complicated."

"It doesn't have to be." Bishop leaned back against the window, settling in like we had all the time in the world. "He's your mate."

That word—it hit hard, settling deep and so fucking right.

I swallowed. "I haven't told him. Not... about any of it."

Bishop stayed quiet, letting the confession hang between us for a second. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, like it was just a fact. "If Cairo had been my mate, I would've told him."

That knocked the air right out of my lungs. Bishop never talked about Cairo. Not like this.

I glanced over, but he kept his gaze on the road ahead. "He wasn't my mate, though," Bishop added, like he was explaining something simple. "That's why I didn't say anything. But if I thought—if I knew—he was? I'd have told him everything. No hesitation."

That hit hard, the way truth always does when you've been avoiding it.

"You gotta tell him, Holden." Bishop's voice softened, but the weight of what he was saying didn't. "You can't keep him in the dark. Not if you want him to stay."

I let out a slow breath, my chest tight with guilt and fear tangling together until I couldn't tell which was worse. The thought of telling Mylo the truth felt like jumping off a cliff—and the thought of not telling him? That was a free fall I wouldn't survive.

Bishop didn't push. He'd said his piece, and that was enough for him.

The GPS pinged, breaking the silence, and I made a right turn down the gravel drive that led to the shifter event. Cars and bikes were lined up along the road, marked with symbols from packs across the region. The air buzzed with energy—old rivalries, new alliances, and everything in between.

"Looks like the Wrights are already here," Bishop said, nodding toward a black SUV parked by the entrance.

I groaned, pulling in beside it. "Of course they are."

Bishop chuckled. "Maverick likes to be early for everything. Probably hasn't been late to a damn thing since birth."

We stepped out of the truck, the cool mountain air biting against my skin. Eyes tracked us from every direction—the way they always do at these things. The lodge sat nestled among the trees, quiet and tucked away, but inside it would be anything but. Shifter events were a controlled kind of chaos—half business, half territorial pissing contest.

Sure enough, Maverick and Tristan Wright were standing near the entrance, locked in conversation. Maverick, sharp-eyed and serious as ever, looked like he was picking apart some poor alpha's business strategy. Tristan, cool and calculating, stood back, like he was already three moves ahead of everyone else.

Maverick's gaze locked on us, his face breaking into a slight smirk. "Holden."

"Wright." I gave him a nod, keeping my voice casual.

Tristan's half-smile tilted just enough to be annoying. "Didn't expect to see you here."

I crossed my arms, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself. "What, the Rockies not keeping you busy enough?"

Maverick's smirk widened. "Just broadening our horizons."

Bishop snorted beside me. "More like scouting competition."

Maverick caught that without missing a beat. "Wouldn't want your resort getting too comfortable."

Bishop rolled his eyes. "Please. We've been running circles around you since day one."

It was always like this with the Wrights—banter, but no real malice. Just the kind of rivalry that kept you sharp.

"You still tapping away on that computer of yours?" I asked Tristan, shifting the topic.

He shrugged, smooth as ever. "Someone has to make sure we don't end up as front-page news."

Maverick looked between Bishop and me. "What about you two? Finally taking some time off?"

I tensed before I could stop myself. "Something like that."

Bishop, the traitor, leaned in with a grin. "More like running from something."

I shot him a glare, but he just grinned wider. Maverick didn't press, though. He gave us both a nod, his smirk lingering. "Well, try not to cause too much trouble."

With that, the Wrights slipped back into the crowd, leaving us standing by the entrance.

Bishop nudged me with his shoulder. "You know you'd win this little pissing match you have with Maverick if you showed up with Mylo, right?"

I huffed out a breath, the thought settling heavier than I wanted it to.

"Yeah," Bishop said, softer now. "But that's not why you need to tell him."

I knew he was right. Hell, I'd known it all along. But the idea of telling Mylo the truth—of watching his face shift into something I couldn't take back—scared the shit out of me.