15. Casey

Chapter 15

Casey

" I can't believe you made this for today!" A voice carried through the double doors leading to the dining hall of the pack house.

The sound of bickering followed. Sawyer's hand hovered on the doorknob, ready to open it, but he paused, wincing slightly as the voices continued inside.

He turned to me, his brow furrowed, a mix of hesitation and embarrassment on his face.

"This is starting to feel like a bad idea. Maybe we should just catch a movie instead," he muttered.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Why? You think I'll find out some deep, dark secret about you? And here I thought I was supposed to be the nervous one today."

Chuckling, I rested my hand over his. With a slight squeeze, I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

The dining hall stretched out before us. A long wooden table sat at the far end of the room, surrounded by a few people who had already gathered.

"What took you guys so long?" Miles called out, his voice bright as he walked toward us with a grin.

Before I could answer, he placed a hand on my shoulder, steering me toward the table.

When Sawyer first mentioned the pack house's dining hall, I imagined something simple—maybe like a camp cafeteria.

Instead, it felt like I'd walked into a colonial estate or a mountain hunting lodge, complete with heavy wooden beams and creaking floorboards.

The walls were lined with dark wood paneling, and large windows with a view of the forest beyond. The whole place had a historical feel to it, like it had stood for centuries.

I looked down at my outfit—a dri-fit shirt, weathered hiking jacket, and boots still caked in dirt from a hike months ago.

I'd dressed casually, thinking we'd head out for a hike after lunch, but now I felt completely out of place, like I'd shown up to a wedding in jeans.

I glanced around and noticed that the others were dressed just as casually, which helped me feel less out of place.

"Settle a debate for us. What's worse to bring to a potluck: a store-bought rotisserie chicken or a lovingly handmade frittata?" Miles asked as we reached the table, gesturing between two covered dishes.

Noah crossed his arms. "You forgot to mention the frittata was made by someone who always cracks eggs with half the shell still in them."

Miles flushed. "Hey, at least I made it with my own hands, not grabbed it off a store shelf."

I smiled awkwardly, discreetly shifting the bag I was holding behind my back.

The two of them stared each other down for a moment before both turned to me expectantly. I froze.

Right—I'm supposed to settle this argument.

"Well, uh…" I glanced at the frittata. "I'm sure the extra calcium from the eggshells is… fine." I smiled weakly. "And as for the store-bought chicken, I brought something from the grocery too."

Sheepishly, I raised the bag I'd been hiding and pulled out a platter of mini bagel bites.

Noah and Miles both burst out laughing, and I couldn't help but smile along with them.

Just then, Cooper emerged from what looked like the kitchen, balancing bowls of mashed potatoes and salad in his arms.

"Alright, children. No fighting—I could hear you all the way in the back." He set the bowls down on the table before throwing a stern look toward Griffin and Sawyer. "Aren't you two supposed to be my enforcers?"

Griffin, who had been sitting quietly in the corner with a newspaper, didn't bother looking up. "He's my brother," he said, nodding toward Noah, "and that's your mate," he pointed at Miles, "so I'm staying out of it."

"And we just got here," Sawyer added, chuckling.

Sawyer gently placed down the pet carrier he'd been holding and let Benny out; the little dog immediately sniffed around the room.

Cooper rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Now that everyone's here, let's eat."

Miles grabbed my arm with a grin, guiding me to sit between him and Sawyer at the long table.

The others quickly settled in as well, and soon, plates were being passed around, and conversation flowed naturally.

The pack talked about their recent projects and responsibilities, but they made an effort to include me, asking about my shop and what I liked to do in my free time.

I appreciated the effort, though I still felt a bit nervous. Every now and then, I tugged my jacket sleeve down, not because I was still uneasy around shifters, but because I didn't want to be asked about the scar on my arm.

I wasn't ready to answer any questions about that—not yet.

As we ate, I felt the tightness in my shoulders slowly start to melt away.

Maybe I was more nervous than I thought when we first arrived, but it was turning out exactly how Sawyer said it would.

Just a small, casual gathering with a few people—people close to him.

More importantly, there was no sign of Garth.

I took a slow breath, letting myself relax. It felt different being around shifters now.

A year ago, or even a few weeks ago, sitting at a table full of them would have been unimaginable. But I wasn't that person anymore.

Something had shifted within me. Being here with Sawyer, knowing how much effort he put into making sure I felt comfortable, made me realize how much I'd changed. I didn't feel like I had to constantly watch my back anymore.

Still, there was a small pang of guilt tugging at me. I had the feeling there were supposed to be more people here today.

The amount of food on the table suggested it—way more than the six of us could finish.

And after last night's incident, I couldn't shake the thought that Sawyer had rearranged things for my sake.

Sawyer tried not to show it, but I could tell he was still a little worried. This morning, I overheard him on the phone with Miles, making sure that only a few people were coming for lunch.

Conversation shifted around the table as the meal went on, with casual talk about the pack's upcoming event—a family day at their annual fair.

Griffin brought it up first, describing some of the activities they had planned: games, races, and food booths for the pack and their families.

Everyone seemed excited, and soon they were discussing strategies for one of the events—a three-legged race.

Miles grinned, leaning over to me. "You know, Sawyer's never won that one. He's terrible at it. Every time he brings someone to the fair, they end up losing."

I raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh really?" I said, trying to keep my tone light.

Sawyer glanced at Miles with a small, annoyed look but didn't say anything.

"I'm serious! He's cursed or something," Miles continued, laughing. "One time, he tripped and took his partner down with him. It was a total disaster."

Griffin chuckled. "That's 'cause he thinks he's got better coordination than he really does."

I laughed along with them, but I couldn't help glancing at Sawyer. He wasn't laughing.

His jaw tightened slightly. I'd never seen him lose his cool, but something in his expression told me this wasn't just about a race.

"I'll be sitting it out this year," Sawyer said suddenly, his voice cutting through the laughter.

Noah raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because of my leg," he muttered, taking a sip from his glass.

I leaned over slightly, lowering my voice. "Does it still hurt?" I asked.

Sawyer's response was quick, almost too quick. "No," he said, his eyes still focused on his plate.

His tone made it clear he didn't want to talk about it.

Cooper, sitting across from him, frowned. "Your leg's fine, Sawyer. You should be healed by now."

Sawyer's head snapped up. "You don't know what you're talking about," he shot back, his tone sharp and cutting.

The atmosphere at the table shifted instantly. The laughter faded, and everyone went quiet.

I noticed a few people avert their gaze, suddenly very interested in their dessert plates. Cooper and Sawyer locked eyes, tension crackling between them.

Finally, Sawyer broke the stare, looking away as he stabbed his fork into a slice of pie, shoving a too-large piece into his mouth aggressively.

Miles cleared his throat, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "Well, either way, with Casey here, I'm sure you guys will do great this year. Maybe he's your good luck charm."

I chuckled weakly, glancing at Sawyer, but he didn't respond. He kept his focus on his plate, chewing in silence.

The conversation eventually drifted back to lighter topics—fair planning, who would run which booths—but the earlier tension still lingered.

Even though people were talking and laughing again, I could feel it, like a crack beneath the surface, ready to break open at any moment.

Every now and then, I'd glance at Sawyer, hoping to catch his eye, but he stayed focused on his food, only speaking when necessary.

After the meal, Sawyer suggested we go on with our hike. I was surprised he still wanted to go.

Maybe this was his way of clearing his head. Either way, I agreed—some fresh air sounded like a good idea.

The trail was quiet, the sound of our footsteps crunching against the dirt and dry leaves the only thing breaking the silence.

I'd expected Sawyer to lead the conversation, but his mind seemed elsewhere.

"So, that was fun," I said, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. "Everyone was really nice."

Sawyer nodded, his gaze still fixed on the path. "Yeah, they're good people."

There was a weight to his words that made me hesitate. After what happened at lunch—Cooper's comment, the way Sawyer snapped—I couldn't shake the feeling there was something deeper going on.

I hesitated, then spoke up. "You okay? I know the leg's been bothering you for a while now, but…"

Sawyer's jaw clenched, and his pace picked up slightly, as if he could outwalk the conversation. "It's fine, Casey. It's nothing."

I furrowed my brow, watching him limp harder, the familiar hitch in his step more pronounced. "You don't seem fine."

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned to face me, frustration clear in his eyes. "Why do you keep pushing this? Just drop it."

I swallowed, taken aback by the sharpness in his tone. "I'm just trying to help. I know something's bothering you, Sawyer."

His expression hardened. "You think you know me so well? You don't understand what it's like—being told you should be fine, that you should be healed, and every day you wake up and it still hurts."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.

"And then everyone acts like it's in my head. Like I'm making excuses," Sawyer spat. "I'm not weak. I'm not making this up."

"I never said you were," I said softly, stepping closer. "But you can't just keep pushing people away because of this."

Sawyer let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You don't get it. It's not that simple."

"Then make me understand." My voice grew firmer, hurt creeping in. "I'm trying, Sawyer, but you keep shutting me out. How am I supposed to help if you won't let me?"

Then he snapped, his voice rising. "I don't need your help, Casey. I don't need you to fix me."

The words hit like a slap. I instinctively stepped back, my chest tightening. I hadn't expected him to lash out like that.

For a moment, I stood there, frozen, my mind racing.

The old fears clawed at the edges of my thoughts—memories of a different time, a different shifter—but I pushed them down. This wasn't the same.

Sawyer wasn't the same.

But that didn't mean I wasn't hurt. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Fine," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "If that's how you feel."

Sawyer's eyes softened slightly, and I saw a flicker of something—regret, guilt—cross his face.

But it was too late. The damage was done, and neither of us knew how to undo it.

Without another word, I turned and started walking back toward the trailhead. Sawyer followed in silence, the distance between us growing with every step.

The ride back to my place was just as quiet. I stared out the window, watching the trees blur by, trying to untangle the knot in my chest.

I glanced at Sawyer out of the corner of my eye.

His hands were tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

He hadn't said a word since we left the trail, and I wasn't sure if I should be the one to break the silence.

Even after he snapped, I wasn't scared of him. I didn't feel that old, familiar fear creeping in—the kind I'd felt with Mason.

That surprised me more than anything. I thought I'd react differently.

Instead, I was just angry. Angry because he refused to listen and wouldn't accept help when he needed it.

It frustrated me. It wasn't just that he lashed out—I could handle that.

It was his stubbornness. I wasn't trying to fix him; I just wanted to be there for him.

Part of me understood it, though. His injury was a sore spot, something that made him feel vulnerable.

But still, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was pushing me away because of it, because letting me in would mean admitting weakness.

As we neared my apartment, I exhaled slowly, the silence between us still thick.

I was worried where this was heading, of how each moment seemed to draw us further apart.

Sawyer pulled up in front of my building, the truck idling as we sat in stillness, neither of us making a move to speak.

I couldn't take it anymore. "Sawyer…"

He didn't look at me, his eyes fixed straight ahead, but I noticed the way his grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said softly.

It wasn't an apology—far from it—but it was something, a small crack in the wall between us.

I nodded, reaching for the handle. "Okay."

As I stepped out of the car, the weight of all the unsaid words hung in the air between us.

Yet there was also something that gave me hope: the fact that I wasn't scared or even thinking of running after what happened earlier.

All I wanted was for him to let me in, and I wasn't sure if he ever would.