Page 100 of Wild Thorns

The gravel crunched under my shoes as I walked toward the main house, suitcase in hand. Rowena didn't look surprised when I approached. She just gestured to the empty rocker beside her.

"Coffee's fresh," she said. "Cups are just inside the door."

"I can't stay." The words came out rougher than I intended. "I'm — I have to go. I'm going to visit a friend for a couple of weeks."

Rowena nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving my face. "The boys told me what happened last night. What you saw."

I didn't know what to say to that. Your sons are werewolves, and I watched them commit attempted murder didn't seem like appropriate porch conversation.

"They're worried about you," she continued. "All three of them. Jasper's been pacing since midnight. Eli's reorganized the library twice. And Callum..." She paused, something soft crossing her weathered face. "Callum sat on your porch steps for hours. Just sat there. Didn't say a word. Just wanted to be close, I think. In case you needed him."

The image hit me like a punch to the sternum. Callum, golden-eyed and silent, sitting vigil outside my door while I slept. Not pushing. Not demanding. Just... there.

"I can't do this right now," I said, and my voice cracked on the last word. "I can't — I need to think. I need space. I need—"

"You need to run." Rowena's voice was gentle, not accusatory. "That's alright, sweetheart. Running's a valid response to having your world turned upside down."

"I'm not running. I'm just—"

"Taking a strategic retreat?" The corner of her mouth twitched. "That's what I told myself the first time I tried to leave. Packed a bag, drove three states over, told myself I just needed space to think."

I stared at her. "You left?"

"Twice." She took another sip of coffee, gaze drifting to the magnolia tree. "First time, I was gone for a month. Second time, three weeks. Both times I came back. Not because he made me. Not because I had nowhere else to go. Because I'd done my thinking, and I knew what I wanted."

"What did you want?"

"Him. The life we could build together. The family." She turned to look at me, and her eyes were ancient, knowing. "It wasn't an easy choice. Loving someone who's different — someone who carries violence in their blood and moonlight in their bones — it's not a fairy tale. It's a negotiation. A constant choosing."

Something moved behind her eyes—a shadow, old and heavy. “My family didn’t understand my choice. They said I’d thrown away everything they’d built.” She paused, her gaze drifting to the magnolia tree. “Some doors, once you walk through them, close behind you for good.”

I didn't know how to respond to that. Didn't know if I was ready to hear it.

Rowena seemed to understand. She rose from her chair, coffee in hand, and crossed to stand in front of me. For a moment, I thought she might hug me. Instead, she just looked at me, really looked, the way only mothers and grandmothers can.

"Go to your friend," she said. "Take your two weeks. Think your thoughts. But know this, Serena: there's a place for you here. Not because my sons want you — though Lord knows they do, all three of them, stubborn fools — but because I've seen who you are. And you belong here. Whether you believe that yet or not."

She patted my cheek once, soft and quick, then turned and walked back into the house.

I stood there for a long moment, the morning light warm on my face, my chest full of something I couldn't name.

Not because my sons want you — though Lord knows they do, all three of them, stubborn fools…

What the hell was she trying to say? What about Jasper? More confused than ever, I turned and walked to my car.

The gravel crunched under my feet as I crossed the yard. The magnolia tree loomed overhead, heavy with white blooms, beautiful and ancient and bearing witness to everything that had happened in its shadow. I didn't let myself look back at the main house. Didn't let myself wonder if someone was watching from one of those old windows, tracking my departure with golden eyes.

I was three steps from my car when I saw it.

A piece of paper, folded once, tucked under my windshield wiper.

My heart stuttered. I knew that handwriting before I even unfolded it. Had seen it on notes left on my kitchen counter, on the margin of a book he'd thought I might like, on a birthday card that had made me cry.

Jasper.

If this is the route you choose, please be safe and know that I miss you already.

That was it. One sentence. No pressure, no guilt, no please don't go. Just... acknowledgment. And longing.