These Cages We Build for Ourselves

Chapter 20

Nash's paws slice through soft earth, kicking dirt up under his belly into a growing mound behind him. Digging, like running, is something his human body can technically do—but it never feels as right as this does, as natural.

The hole is for a fig tree Niko wants planted in the garden. When Niko mentioned hiring a gardener to clean things up, Nash volunteered instead. He'd meant it as just that—volunteering—but Niko insisted on paying him. The extra money is nice, but what Nash really loves is having an excuse to stay active outdoors. Plus, the wolf in him bristles at the thought of strangers in his territory.

His ears prick at the sound of the back door opening. Niko strides toward him, phone in hand. Nash shifts and tugs his pants on while Niko politely averts his gaze, but there's an urgency in how Niko's already holding out the phone as Nash pulls his shirt over his head.

One glance at the message on the screen, and he understands why.

"Oh, shit," Nash says. "I know we have that thing in an hour, but..."

"No, of course," Niko cuts in. "You should go."

"With Aster it could be life or death or he could just want me to buy him lunch. I can be back before we need to leave if it's not important."

"I don't think either of us is qualified to judge what might be important to Aster, even if it is just lunch. I'll reschedule our job."

Nash nods quickly. "This might not be the last time this happens with Aster, but I can't just..."

"When I hired you, I expected you to have your own life outside of the job. I'm not upset that now you do. Go."

Nash is already moving. He grabs his keys and phone from inside, not bothering with shoes. His jaw aches as his wolf strains against his control, desperate to fight whatever's making his heart race, but he forces it down. Wolves can't drive.

The twenty-minute drive to the boarding house gives Nash's mind too much space to conjure every possible disaster that might have befallen Aster. It also gives him time to realise he left his wallet behind—if Aster does just want lunch, Nash won't be able to buy it for him. Somehow, that thought twists his gut almost as much as imagining Aster in danger. At least danger is something Nash knows how to handle.

Relief floods through him when he pulls up to find Aster sitting on the curb, fast food bag in hand. No blood, no visible injuries. Maybe just another argument he needs space to cool off from.

Before Nash can even climb out of the car, Aster's already circling to the passenger side. He scoops up the blanket from the footwell, bundling it in his lap along with his drink and paper bag of food. His gaze remains fixed anywhere but on Nash.

Nash's fingers tap an uncertain rhythm on the steering wheel. Pushing Aster to talk when he's upset never ends well, and he has very specific—if sometimes mysterious—ideas about what he does and doesn't want. There's no perfect solution here, but Nash is starting to understand that Aster's not so much the architect of these situations as the victim of them. Still, maybe Nash can help.

He pulls out his phone, opens maps, and offers it with a gentle, "Hey."

Aster deposits his drink in the cup holder before taking the phone. His fingers drift aimlessly across the screen for a while before he passes it back. The pin he's dropped sits on a secluded stretch of beach—a bit of a drive, but it will be quiet.

The first ten minutes pass in silence. When Nash finally hears paper rustling, he expects Aster to start eating, but instead finds a fry hovering in front of his face. He accepts it without comment. It's stone cold, but that doesn't bother him.