Dad always preached the importance of patience growing up. It was a virtue he worked tirelessly to instill in Quinn, my older sister, and me from childhood. Patience was what made a person steady, he used to say. Anyone can react in a moment, but it takes strength to hold back, to think, to choose.

I always tried to live by his lessons, but that being said, I found it really fucking difficult to do so recently.

As werewolves, our mates meant practically everything to us. They were our hearts outside our bodies, the ones the moon chose specifically for us. Some wolves spent years searching. Some never found theirs at all. It was why we held our bonds close to our hearts, cradling them like something sacred. Because they were. Sacred. Rare. Irreplaceable.

So when my mate started pulling away, I noticed.

Reo was never the easiest person to read, but he had tells-subtle shifts in his body language, the way his eyes flickered when he was lying, or how he suddenly became too still like he was trying to disappear into himself.

Lately, those tells were constant.

He said he was fine, brushed off the concern Boston and I threw his way. Said he just needed space. Time. But space turned into silence, and time turned into distance. And now I was left wondering when exactly we'd stopped feeling like a pack and started feeling like three people orbiting around each other, never quite touching.

I hated it.

It wasn't like I expected everything to be perfect all the time—moon, no. But I'd hoped that with the bond we shared, with the love we had, we could at least talk through it. However, my mate was a stubborn one. I knew it the moment I met him. It was one of the traits I loved about him no matter how crazy it drove me and lately, it had been doing a lot of that.

"He's hurting," I told Quinn through the phone, blowing a breath. "And I don't know what's wrong. He won't let me help him."

"Maybe he's just homesick," she suggested, "still getting used to the pack."

The thought had crossed my mind. I didn't know a lot about Reo's past-or Boston's for that matter. I figured the topic would come up naturally and they would each tell me when they were ready. What I did know was that they'd both been adopted and Reo lost his adoptive parents young, resulting in him being especially close to his brother, Tatum, though he didn't call him such.

The two had gotten into some type of disagreement that had Reo shutting down at the mere mention of his name. I'd initially assumed this was the cause of his distance and while I couldn't fix his family issues, I tried to be there for him. I tried to introduce him to new faces so he could make friends, but the more my attempts failed and the more Boston and my concerns grew, the more I began thinking it was something else bothering him-not just the family problems.

It had to be something else.

"I thought we were getting somewhere." I sighed, running my hands through my blond hair.

No, I didn't think, I knew we were getting somewhere. It took time like all good things did, but he had started opening up a bit; he had been laughing and joking around with Boston and me; he had let us touch him for longer than a few seconds without acting as if we were poisonous.

So why were we suddenly farther apart now than we were when we initially met?

"I thought we were building something real," I murmured, more to myself than to Quinn.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before she spoke again, quieter this time. "Maybe you still are, Archer. Just...slower than you expected."

I leaned my head against the doorframe of my office, staring out the window at the dark treeline. The moon was high, casting a faint silver glow over the yard, but the usual sense of peace I felt under its gaze was absent.

"I don't mind slow," I said. "But I can't help him if I don't know what's hurting him. And I hate watching him fade like this. It's like he's slipping through my fingers and pretending nothing's happening."

Quinn exhaled. "You're a fixer. You always have been. But some things, Arch...they don't want fixing. They want time. Love. Stability."

She was right, of course. She usually was.

"I just miss him," I admitted. "Even when he's in the room, it feels like he's not really there."

There was a sound at the front of the house-a door opening quietly. My wolf perked up immediately, instinctively recognizing the scent drifting in.

Reo.

I stood up straighter, my heart suddenly thudding in my chest.

"I gotta go," I said, voice low. "He's home."

"Be patient," Quinn reminded gently. "You're good at that, remember?"

I ended the call and moved to the hallway just in time to see Reo toeing off his shoes. He sensed me. I knew he did even though he didn't glance up, so I wasted no time closing the gap between us.

I was a touchy person by nature. I grew up in a family where affection was shown through actions: hugs, forehead kisses, gentle nudges in passing, arms slung over shoulders. So it had been an adjustment at first, learning to hold back with Reo. Learning that even though I wasted to love him with everything I had, I couldn't love him how I wanted to-not right away.

I had to learn his language.

His boundaries were walls built from old wounds, and I couldn't knock them down. I had to wait for him to open the door.

"You're still up?" Reo finally spoke with furrowed brows.

"You weren't home," I reminded.

And there it was, that quizzical stare he gave every time I said something that hinted at worry. Like he didn't understand why I'd bother. Why I cared so much.

Like he didn't realize he was worth worrying about.

"You don't have to stay up for me, Arch." He shook his head. "I'm plenty capable of taking care of myself."

"I know you are, but I'll do it every time," I told him anyway. "I sleep better knowing you and Boston are here."

Reo studied me for a moment but didn't say anything in response. Instead, he switched the subject and asked, "Where is Boston?"

As if on cue, the sound of a door upstairs slowly creaking open cut through the silence, followed by the soft thump of footsteps on the landing.

"Upstairs," I said, glancing toward the stairwell as Boston appeared at the top, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His black curls were sticking up in every direction, and the fact he was shirtless told me he'd likely been burrowed beneath layers of covers before this.

"You okay?" he called down, voice rough with sleep.

"Yeah," I answered, then looked back at Reo. "He was out like a light until you came in."

Boston made his way down the stairs. He stopped beside me and instinctively, I reached out to try and tame that wild bedhead of his, but he slapped my hand away and shot me a look.

"It's nighttime. Let me exist in peace."

I rolled my eyes.

"Fine, gremlin. Be feral," I muttered, earning a snort from him as he stepped around us and made his way into the kitchen.

"Shove it, Archer," he said without hesitation and turned his attention to Reo. "You hungry? I can make you something."

Reo stared at the both of us as if we had grown extra limbs. "It's past midnight."

"And?" Boston called over his shoulder, already rummaging in the fridge. "Time is a social construct. Hunger isn't."

Reo shot me a glance and I just shrugged. "Don't look at me. I just live here."

"Semantics," I said, waving him off. "Come on. It's not like you have anything more important to do."

"I'd argue that sleeping is more important than entertaining whatever chaos you two are on about," Reo retorted.

Boston poked his head out of the kitchen, a slice of cheese in his hand like it was sacred cargo. "Sleep is for people who didn't just emotionally ghost their mates for three weeks."

I shot him a look. "Boston."

"I said it with affection."

"Fuck off," Reo told Boston, though there was little malice in his voice.

Boston shrugged at Reo's halfhearted rebuke, unphased. "Yeah, yeah. We're still making you a snack." He tossed the slice of cheese into his mouth and disappeared further into the kitchen.

Reo rolled his eyes but followed Boston deeper into the kitchen, his natural habitat, nevertheless and so did I. The both of us took a seat at the table while Boston moved about the kitchen with ease. I would've offered to help, but I knew better by now. He'd just shoo me off, complaining about how I defiled whatever dish he was making and I didn't want to send the man into an early, stress-induced grave.

"I was thinking the three of us could do something this weekend," I suggested. "Maybe a movie night, a run, or a picnic. I don't know, just something."

Reo didn't answer me right away, but Boston, on the other hand, had no such hesitation. "That actually sounds kind of nice," he said as he set a pan on the stove. "I vote picnic. You've been hoarding those stupid little jam jars from the pack market all month, and they're gonna start mutinying if you don't do something with them soon."

"They're not stupid," I argued. "They're artisan."

Boston snorted. "They're sugar in overpriced glassware."

"Do you see how he talks to me?" I jokingly asked Reo. "This is what happens when you aren't here."

"I talk to you like that," Reo reminded with a raised eyebrow.

That...was true.

I shot him a playful glare. "You don't count. You're special."

"What do you think, Reo? Picnic?" Boston asked, his voice light as he slid a pan onto the stove, the sizzle of butter hitting the heat filling the air. Reo glanced at both of us, his expression mostly unreadable, though I could see the faintest twitch of amusement in his eyes.

"Sure. Why not?" he finally stated, his voice quiet but not dismissive. I caught Boston's grin and returned it with one of my own. Hopefully, this meant progress was coming soon. "You know, I was thinking I might go see Vander again."

Now that caught me by surprise. I was fully expecting to have to drag him with me again in order to get them in the same room, considering neither Reo nor Vander was the social type, but it seemed that wouldn't be necessary.

"Really?"

"Yeah," he said. "Unless there's a reason I shouldn't-"

"No! No, you should," I encouraged. "I think the two of you would get along."

At least I hoped so. I, selfishly, wanted them to become friends because perhaps then he'd have someone else he felt safe with. Someone outside of Boston and me.

"I'll stop by tomorrow-"

"Today," Boston corrected teasingly.

"Shut up." Reo side-eyed him.

I just nodded and smiled to myself, hoping their meeting would go well. Hoping that it would have the kind of positive impact I was expecting because if it did then maybe I could play this game of patience a little longer. Maybe Reo would start letting us in again bit by bit.

Maybe the three of us could truly be mates once again.