Before Ryder and I even got into a legitimate conversation, we had left the dance and he drove me back to his house. Not a word was said between us after he told me Preston's funeral was tomorrow. I didn't understand how or why that was even relevant to us or especially my mom. Did she somehow know through Cassandra that Ryder was a killer and should just atone for his sins by confessing to me? Or was she trying to get him to break up with me for my own good before Preston's funeral? Or was some weird ritual going to happen for Preston's body that required the blood of his enemy's mate? WHAT WAS IT?

I sat on his bed waiting before my brain exploded from possible scenarios. I think it felt more pressed because the house was completely silent in Merida and Zander's absence. Ryder walked in, still in his dress shirt and pants but now he had two water bottles and a plate of pizza rolls for us to share. I scooted over towards the foot of his bed while he set the plate by me and handed me a water before he took a seat at his desk. I felt like he was just padding my comfort level because of some bomb he was about to drop. He gestured towards the pizza rolls and I just ate them silently.

"I'm paying for Preston's funeral," was the first thing he said. I chewed my pizza roll and frowned at that news. I didn't feel doubtful or accepting at that statement at all. I wanted to know what that had to do with his weird mood and with my mom...but then I was struck with the reality that maybe he was compensating for the brutal killing of Preston. Stella was right then. It made sense that way—that Ryder was drowning in guilt and found some financial option to quench it.

His chocolate eyes waited for my response and I realized just how stupid I must have looked just sitting there. "I'm paying for his funeral," he repeated. "I already told his parents."

Even though what he was saying was clear and indisputable, my mind was far from this conversation. Maybe it was better that way then to wrap it around the thought that Ryder had completely mutilated Preston's body after killing him like Stella told me.

"Ash?" he asked. "Say something, please."

"What am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know," he watched me. "That maybe I shouldn't have or that it doesn't mean anything because money doesn't mean anything or—"

"You killed him," I interrupted and his sad expression had looked down to the floor of his room. "Right? You killed him."

"Y-yeah," he whispered.

"So why would I say you shouldn't pay for his funeral?" I inquired more so trying to figure out why he wanted me to even hint at playing devil's advocate for his penance.

"I don't know," he now frowned. "I just thought maybe..."

I watched him struggle with his words like never before. I remembered how he had once said he had never apologized to anyone in his life and I watched him refuse to grieve over his father. This was a combination of the both of those absences and he was aching for someone to tell him his humanity was wrong.

I walked over and sat on his lap. If his hand hadn't found my thigh to make sure I was securely sitting, I wouldn't have guessed he acknowledged me at all. I grabbed his chin and made him look up at me. "Why are you paying for it?" I asked and tried to pinpoint where exactly this was coming from, but he had to do that on your own.

"Because his case was closed. He died from asphyxiation; not a beating or a dagger or anything tangible or honorable for a wolf or for a human," he answered weakly and I saw his eyes quiver. "On a piece of paper, it shows that he was a kid trying to light up a joint and ended up torching a house. His death doesn't matter."

"You're right. It doesn't matter," I lied to egg him on. "And yet you feel bad enough about it—"

"Because he was my best friend!" Ryder finally roared. His eyes glowed red. "It doesn't matter if I happened to kill him or if it was nature or Fate or his own goddamn fault for setting the fire. My best friend is dead and I'm going to feel terrible about it no matter what. Past Aaron and Stella and the mutiny and murdering my father, he was my friend outside all of this werewolf shit and I...I..." love him, I wanted him to finish but I knew his wolf wouldn't allow it. If it wasn't for me, his wolf believed love was weakness along with Preston. Ryder sat back down on his bed with his head in his hands. "So yes. I feel bad that I killed my best friend, and the most I can do is pay for his funeral."

It was more than paying as a penance. He was paying for his best friend's body to be lowered six feet into the ground in peace despite biting Aaron, tracking down my father to be killed, killing Marc, trying to turn the pack on Ryder, biting Stella, attacking me, and trying to burn down the house on Obsidian Pass. If Ryder could honestly see past all of that, Fate was none the wiser to assign him as a True Alpha. It took heart to still see the "friend" buried deep within Preston's ambitious memory after all this time. But maybe that's because I was judging it off of the short time I had known him to disapprove of my relationship and family. I needed to stop my bias and just be there for Ryder who had known Preston as his friend for the majority of his life and got to share a special connection with him.

"I'll go with you tomorrow," I found myself saying while grabbing his hand. I relied heavily on my mated wolf to say the right thing. I think I was relying on her this whole time because even though I hated Preston, I loved Ryder more. And even though Ryder knew that, he was the one flabbergasted at what I said. "It doesn't matter if he betrayed you. You made him into a werewolf for a reason. You brought him into your family all because you saw the good in him and made him your beta because he was your best friend. You have a right to mourn him—no matter how it happened. And as your girlfriend, I'm gonna be there to support you. So I'll go with you."

He leaned his forehead on mine. Thank you, he thought to me with his eyes closed. He even took me into a hug for a long moment while I tried to move past this moment totally. But I wasn't the only one thinking passively because I felt his hand on my waist starting to rub the fabric of my dress before we put distance between us. Knowing Ryder would want a conversation change, I knew exactly how to do that, but I still had something to ask him.

"Is that what my mom wanted you to tell me...'by tomorrow'?"

His face twisted, but then he composed himself. "She, uh, I guess she talked to Cassandra or Greta about Preston since it's not exactly small news and found out about me paying for the funeral and she thought that I shouldn't hide it from you all because I thought you'd be against it. And originally, I didn't want to ruin our night talking about Preston, but I think we've both had enough of me omitting what's going on."

I guess that made sense. I didn't know how much Cassandra or Greta told her about the true events of the night of the fire, but they said enough to put a line of certainty to the fact that I wasn't a fan of Preston. Maybe she thought Ryder's decisions would seem way deeper than it was and wanted him to be honest with me. As much as I thought this was the literal least of our secrecy issues and seemed undeserving of the aggressive whispers that he and my mother shared, I had to just accept it for what it was. I was glad he was finally being one hundred percent honest with me on what troubled him though. I even thanked him for it and he managed to produce a weak smile for a brief second.

I got up from his lap and returned to the bed to continue eating pizza rolls, but when he reached over for one, I could see his face twisting in confusion while he sat beside me on the bed about a foot from me.

"What?"

"Did you tell your mom about us being mates?" he asked.

"No..." Oh no, was he going to freak out again? A month ago he wasn't sure about being in a relationship and now he was about to what? Address how I didn't immediately tell my mother that he was my mate? Come on—he started chuckling as if I missed a joke somewhere. "What?"

"I think that could be why she was so harsh telling me to be honest with you," he explained and I raised an intrigued eyebrow. He looked over at me with a beautiful glint to his eyes and smile. The bad boy he was thought it was amusing to be the disapproved boyfriend. "Because she could sense what we were," he leaned over to kiss my neck, "and she knew it was Homecoming," he kissed my cheek, "and, well, we're teenagers in love and she can connect the dots. Creating a fight would prevent us from doing this..."

He pressed his lips to mine and I smiled in the kiss for him insinuating a perfectly reasonable assumption that maybe I was over thinking his interaction with Natalie because at the end of the day, maybe every mother didn't want her seventeen year old daughter to have free range when it came to boys, whether she was mated to one or not. But yet, I was still here, making out with Ryder in his bed with as much passion, if not more, than the first time he kissed me in here. I sat with one leg over his while one of his hands clutched onto my waist and I was sure he was about to maneuver us into a horizontal position, but I pulled away because I couldn't just let him get his way so easily.

"I guess you were wrong at the beginning of the year," I told him, causing him to frown in wonder while he slowly stopped unbuttoning his shirt. I remembered how he freaked out about being in a "school relationship thing" he wasn't accustomed to, but once we settled his worries, he kissed me to make up for when I wouldn't want to. Even though I was sure he remembered what he said, he was confused as to what I was getting at. "You said you wouldn't perfectly match my dress," I elaborated and moved his hands so I could undress him myself. I got to the last button and connected gazes with him while his face was studying every movement I made with prestige control over his desire to reach out and touch me. "I think you did okay."

When he picked up on my light heartedness covering up my utter desire for him and his body right now, he pulled me closer to him and his expression fell.

"I said that for prom, not Homecoming," he reminded, but his eyes lapped from my own and down to my lips. I watched the corners of his lips turn up. "I was right about one thing though," he added. What was that? "I only care what your dress looks like when it's on the floor."

I knew exactly what he meant before he even said it or pressed his lips to mine to complete the night by making sure my dress was in its rightful place on the floor of his bedroom where his eyes had been returning to whenever a tough topic had come up. But in a matter of minutes, we both knew the night wasn't ruined.