Page 126 of Traded

“Been looking for you everywhere.” Another bag appears under my nose. This one is pink and square and tiny, branded with a local bakery you can never get into because they sell out with a giant queue every morning. “Happy birthday, Ragdoll.”

When I don’t say anything, Boone ducks down to see my face. He’s thrown on a baseball cap to hide his face from the people flowing around us and an Aces sweatshirt they sell at the stands, his dark hair still damp with sweat. “Ro?”

“Don’t call me that.” My hands fly up and into his chest. “I told you not to call me that!”

“Whoa.” He catches my flailing hit easily. “Steady with those hands. I know what your right hook feels like. Are you hurt?”

Am Ihurt?

My voice cracks. “I—”

I am hurt.

I am broken.

They arebreakingme, and this feels like a very small straw that might have broken a back I always thought was broad enough to carry anything.

I look up at Boone with a thousand words on my tongue, and I can’t say any of them.

“Hey, now,” he says gently. So gently that it makes the tears worse. He reaches for me in one, swift movement. And I step with him, into him, burying my face in his chest as his hands come up to rest against my back. “I’ve got you.”

He holds me as I sag against him and let the tears go in the middle of a crowd.

I’m so tired. I need a minute.

And that’s what he gives me. He doesn’t ask me any questions, doesn’t push. Boone stands there, holding me upright until I finally pull back. He wipes the tears off my face, and I let him.

“I hate to say it,” he says finally. “But this is not how a birthday is supposed to feel, Ro.”

When he hands me the bag, I grip it tightly and wait for him to demand an explanation. “Thank you.”

“I thought you might throw it at me.” He looks thoughtful. “I made it a light one to be safe.”

I swallow and step away. “I have to go now.”

Our arms brush as I pass him, and Boone’s low whisper reaches my ears. “I meant what I said at Sponsor Day, Rosie.”

I pause, not turning around. “I have an alpha, Boone.”

I wait for him to comment something cutting about my pack. To ask why I’m crying. To ask why I’m not with them.

But he doesn’t say any of that. “You owe me dinner, you know.”

My shoulders curve in. “Let me guess. You’re calling it in?”

“Not tonight. I’m saving it.”

“What for?”

His fingers brush mine. “You’ll know when I do.”

He doesn’t say anything else. But a faint breeze tickles the side of my face. When I turn to look, he’s vanished into the crowd.

I drive home with shaking hands and two gift bags on the front seat. My phone has a message from Carter when I pull into the garage.

Where are you?

The apartment,I type back.Took Liam’s truck.