Page 29 of Traded

When nobody says a word, I know.

The bark is barely a remembered sting compared to the agony that spears through my chest. I tip forward, folding in half as if I might be able to shield myself.

All roads lead to Rosie.

Except this one.

My mouth opens on a silent, keening sob, lines of pain radiating through my neck.

“Yes,” Jonas says finally. The admission drops into our home, a direct strike to the heart of everything I thought we were. “She is.”

“Take as much time as you need.” Liam’s hand hovers somewhere near my shoulder, dropping back. “And then we’ll talk.”

What the fuck is there to talk about?

I stay where I am, pinning my eyes on the floor as tears drip off my cheeks, spattering my carefully chosen carpet.

Will she keep it, or will she want everything new?

What will my home look like when I’m not a part of it anymore?

Carter shifts in the chair.

I can’t look at him. Every promise he ever made me—a home, a pack, a family, toneverbe alone again—is burning into nothing but ash, destroying bridges I thought were indestructible.

“Ro?” His voice cracks, and I shake my head.

Ican’t.

Not with him.

The arm that slips around me is warm, and strong, and so familiar that all I want to do is fold myself beneath it. So I let Jonas pull me into him, let him grip beneath my knees and pull me into his chest until my sobs fill the room and my tears soak his t-shirt, my fingers tangling in the material and tugging on it.

“Give her a minute,” Liam says sharply. To Carter or Miles, I don’t know.

A minute.

I need that minute. To pull myself together, to wipe off my face and do it all again, though they swore I’d never have to.

You can do this, Johnson. You’ve done it before.

Another packed bag. Another closed door. It’s been ten years, but you never forget the lesson. Not when it’s built into the core of who you are. Day after day, year after year, life after life.

You never truly forget.

I am always, always,temporary.

My fingers unfurl from Jonas’s shirt slowly. His hair is messy, I notice absently as I push myself upright. His eyes are shiny as I reach out and carefully push it back into place, stretching out the seconds between now and what happens next.

But I can’t stop this train. “When are they coming?”

The room takes a collective inhale.

“Who?” Jonas asks.

It’s easier to ask him. My easygoing alpha. Charming, and funny, even if he looks broken now. “The NOC.”

I’ve never been through the process, but I know how this works.