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Warning: Foul language is very frequent in this chapter

Chapter 21

Although I offered Bridgette to come back to my house and spend the night, she refused, saying that she was rather tired and wanted to be alone. I'm trying to sympathize with her, so I hugged her good night. We parted ways and now, hours later I'm still attempting to figure her out.

She has an enormous crush on Carter and he imprinted on her, yet she's as depressed as a child about to get a cavity filled. She's anxious. She's sad. She's absent. It's weird. I don't understand at all, and I also have no idea how to help her or make her feel better.

One this I am certain of though, is when Wyatt finally returns home he is going to have an earful. An extremely angry earful. I've been sitting at my desk staring out my window since I returned home; Sam and Emily have returned home, and my mom and brothers have returned home, but Wyatt still has not.

Hopefully Embry is making him run circles until he can't move anymore...

At quarter past midnight, I hear the door downstairs open and then close quietly. It's my dad, and since the door wasn't slammed I can assume he's in a pretty good mood. To my surprise, shortly after footsteps sound up the stairs, my door slowly opens.

Dad's face appears in the doorway – he's grinning extremely broadly. "Don't give the kid too hard of a time," he orders, chuckling. "Embry's done a pretty good job at punishing him."

"Good."

He raises an eyebrow. "You're not a very nice imprint," he teases, leaning against the door frame.

"He wasn't a very nice person tonight," I reply dryly.

Dad smirks. "All right, good. Now just stay mad at him until you're thirty and we're all set."

Rolling my eyes, I return my gaze back out the window. "Keep dreaming Dad."

He pouts. "A dad can dream, can't he?" he asks, before saying good night and heading over to his bedroom. Moments later, I hear a springy bed and giggling. God damn parents...

I'm up for almost another hour before I finally see Wyatt dragging his feet through his backyard towards the back door of his house. Immediately, I grab my jacket from where I threw it on my bed earlier. When I take one more glance out the window, I notice Wyatt has seated himself on his back steps, his head resting in his hands. Good, now I won't have to barge into his house and wake everyone up in order to yell at him.

I skip down my stairs and step into a pair of old sneakers before rushing out my back door. All of my anger from before returns instantly at the sight of him. I stomp loudly across the lawn towards him. When I'm less than a meter away, his head slowly raises from his hands. There are black circles under his eyes, and he does not appear to be in the mood for anything. Good.

Slowly, he exhales from his nose. "Please don't start, Em," he pleads, sighing, "I'm not in the mood."

"Well too fucking bad for you, then!" I exclaim angrily, crossing my arms over my chest. "Please tell me Wyatt, what the hell does 'don't cause a scene' mean to you?"

Wyatt breaks eye contact with me, glaring at the ground.

"Well?" I demand.

"Millie," he snaps. "Embry has already kicked my ass about it. I don't want to hear it from you too."

I snort. "Well guess what, Wyatt? We clearly don't always get what we want." He remains quiet. "You had no right to be mad at him for something he couldn't even control."

Wyatt's face snaps to mine, his expression one of disbelief. "Something he couldn't control! That's bull shit!"

I look at him dubiously. "You're being an idiot. How the hell could he control who he imprinted on?"

"I meant," Wyatt begins in annoyance, "that look on the fucker's face. Who the hell does he think he is?" His fists clench at his sides; I can hear his teeth grinding in anger.

But I really don't care, so I laugh right in his irrational face. "He's her soul mate."

"And that means he can look at her like that?" Wyatt demands, swiftly rising to his feet.

He's not shaking – and even if he was I doubt I'd be rational enough to think about getting away from him – so I step closer, challenging him. "That's exactly what it means."

Wyatt scoffs, glaring scathingly at everywhere but me. "Oh please, Millie." I cringe slightly, I hate when he calls me that. "Being someone's soul mate isn't all about wanting to bang the fucking hell of them! And it sure as hell doesn't mean to make it so god damn blatant in front of the whole pack!"

Smirking, I roll my eyes at him. "That doesn't mean it's not part of it!"

This time, Wyatt glares at me, but I'm too mad to be hurt. Why the hell can't he just get that this is his fault and not Carter's? "He has no right to look at her like that when they aren't even dating!" he yells. "When he's barely had time to let the imprint sink in! He probably wasn't even thinking about how much he loves her now or how she's his whole world when he imprinted! The bastard probably realized he imprinted and thought, 'Yes, now I have an excuse to fuck her and she can't refuse'!"

"You're being immature," I hiss, trying to keep my voice low. At this rate, our yelling will wake up the whole reservation. "You're just judging him based on rumours."

"Rumours? Have you forgotten that I've been in his head most of this week?" he demands condescendingly. As if I'm the unreasonable one here...

I snarl at him, wrapping my arms tighter around my chest – man, it's cold. "No! How could I?" I scream back at him. "You never stopped complaining about him all god damn week!"

His face twitches, a clear sign that he's pissed – if that wasn't already evident. "Can't be worse than how you complain about math all the time!"

My mouth falls into a frown as I search his face for a sign of regret or guilt. Not one. When I don't say anything though, he continues on with the subject of Carter. Apparently he can't think of anything else about me that bothers him, which I find extremely hard to believe. I'm quite annoying. "The way he was looking at her was fucking disgusting. And disrespectful! And degrading!"

His blazing face turns to me. He's expecting me to disagree, but at the same time waiting for me to agree. Of course, I don't, and maybe, my next words are a little too harsh, "So what does that say about you?"

He blinks at me in surprise; for a millisecond, his glare is gone. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I mutter, not meeting his eyes.

"I know I heard you. What the hell did you mean by it?" He reaches out and grips my chin in his hand, forcing me to make eye contact.

"That hurts," I snap, matching his glare. His grip loosens, but he doesn't let go. "Let go of me Wyatt." To my disgust, my voice is shaking.

This just makes Wyatt even more aghast and angry. "Don't be like that, Millie. You know I'm not going to hurt you. Now tell me what the hell you meant!"

"Wow," I sneer sarcastically, "you're making that really obvious, Uley."

To my satisfaction, his irritation grows as he flinches at the name, his hand dropping from my face. "Are you going to give me an answer or not, Millie?" he counters.

"Answer to what?" I taunt, cocking my head to the side.

"Stop acting like an idiot!"

"Then stop acting like an ass!" I yell back.

He scowls. "Then answer the fucking question!"

"Fine," I snap. "You say how he was looking at Bridge is disgusting and disgraceful, but you look at me that way all the time. Anytime you're a tad bit horny you look at me like all you can think about is banging me repeatedly and that that is all you want out of me."

To my utmost surprise, shock takes over his anger, and even more surprisingly, his lip quivers. "I would never want just that," he hisses. When the shock begins to subside, the anger begins to bloom again; however, I'm no longer sure if it's directed at me or himself.

"I never said you did!"

"Yes you fucking did, Millie!"

"No I didn't!" I exclaim in exasperation. "I'm saying that's what the expression you have when your horny looks like. I never said that I thought that's what you were feeling."

He shoots me a complicated face: bewildered, annoyed, and eager to hear more. "And what do you mean by that?"

"I know that sex isn't all you want from me, and when you have that look on your face, it doesn't make me mad because I know I probably have the same look on my face – and it makes me fucking horny." Although I feel like these words should make me happy and want things to be calm between us again, I can't stop being angry. "You have the exact look Carter had on his face earlier on yours all the time. You can't be mad at him for that! You don't know what was going on in his head at that moment, so stop acting like you know everything!"

His face stiffens. "Do not compare me that sick fucking bastard, Millie!"

"Would you stop calling me that!" I cry, clenching my fists angrily while hugging them tightly under my arms. "It's not my fault that you were an ass for no god damn reason! I wouldn't be so hard on you if you would just admit that you were in the wrong and that it wasn't him!" My breathing increases as hot tears of rage start sliding down my cheeks.

He sighs. "Emi, please."

I glare darkly at him. "Oh so now you'll treat me like you actually fucking care?"

"You're being unreasonable."

"So are you!"

"I'm sorry," he whispers, gently reaching forward and cupping my cheeks between his hand. I remain stone-like and unaffected. "It's been a long night..."

"That's your own fault," I retort, ignoring the warmth that would welcome me if I just took one step forward.

"Maybe," he admits, which makes my eyes narrow. His face saddens; quickly, he relents softly, "Baby, I don't want to fight."

"Then stop being an ass," I whimper, not liking the way his sadness affects me.

"I'm trying," he breathes, exasperated.

"Admit that you were wrong, Wyatt," I beg, pulling away from his touch.

He frowns. "She's my little sister, and he's the man-whore of the reservation. How can you expect me to react Emi?"

I sigh. "I expect you to be upset," I admit, "and I expect you to be pissed off. I expect you to hate his guts and glare at him whenever you're in the same room. I do not, however, expect you to freak out like a monster and attack one of your pack brothers!"

He flinches.

"I've never seen you that angry before." My eyes flutter up to his dark ones. "You scared me."

He flinches once again, frowning. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I never meant to scare you; I wasn't thinking at all."

"Clearly."

"Please forgive me."

I bite my lip. "You can't say you did nothing wrong, Wyatt. You attacked him."

"You act like he took it lying down," he mutters. As the words come out of his mouth, I notice a light pink scar running down the side of his face. I can't stifle my pout – even if he deserves it, I don't like seeing him hurt. "There's more," he informs me bluntly.

It takes all my willpower, but I force out, "Good."

Finally, Wyatt sighs. "Okay, Emi. Just tell me why it was so bad, and I'll get down on my hands and knees begging for forgiveness." His large eyes are begging me pleadingly.

"All right," I give in, smacking my lips before continuing into my explanation, "Carter was acting pretty close to how you would react, and you tried to kill him. But you've actually had sex with me and my dad hasn't tried to kill you. Especially since Bridgette isn't even interested in having any type of sexual interactions. I mean, that makes you a much bigger threat to me than he is to her."

Wyatt's eyes bulge. "I would never hurt you!" he exclaims frantically which makes me chuckle.

I can't even help it; I can't stay mad at him for long. Softly, I smile at him. "I know, Wy. Calm down. I'm just saying. If you expect my dad to leave you alone, you should at least try not to be a hypocrite and leave Carter alone."

He exhales, clearly not pleased that I actually have a point. "Fine. Are you happy? You were right; I was an ass."

I grin widely at him. "I know."

"Am I off the hook?" he grins back at me, hopeful.

I shake my head, still smiling. "You have to apologize to him."

The grin instantly vanishes. "Emi," he whines. "I am not apologizing to him!"

"Fine," I shrug, looking at him knowingly, "just remember, I control when the next time you have sex is."

Wyatt groans dramatically. "All right, all right. I'll apologize. You don't need to go to extremes." Now, he holds his arms open wide before him, smiling sweetly at me. "Am I forgiven?"

Chuckling, I fall forward into his embrace. "Yes. I'll be the bigger person and forgive you."

He rolls his eyes dramatically, but thankfully. Wyatt buries his face into my hair. "I'm sorry I said anything about the math thing. That was uncalled for and I was being a complete douche. I didn't mean it, baby; I was just mad."

I nod against his chest. "I'm sorry about the complaining thing, too. It doesn't bother me."

He smiles, kissing the top of my head. "And I'm extremely sorry about calling you Millie."

I giggle. "You should be."

Wyatt laughs, sliding his hands down my shoulders to my waste. "Come on, you have to go inside; you're probably freezing."

Nodding, I let him lead me towards my back door. "That I am. You know, you could sneak up into my room. I'm sure we might get an hour or so before my dad comes to kick you out."

Wyatt snorts, escorting me up the steps. "I don't think that's a good idea, babe."

I pout. "I'll still be mad at you if you don't."

Rolling his eyes, he smirks. "On one condition."

"And what's that?"

"When Carter turns out to be an asshole, I get to say I told you so."

I scrunch up my nose, considering my options. Finally, I sigh in defeat. "Okay, that's fair."

We suppress our laughs as we sneak up into my bedroom. A few hours of cuddling and sleeping pass before my raging father enters the room threatening to throw Wyatt out the window if he doesn't leave the house immediately.

Wyatt, feeling brave for some reason, jokes, "If he throws me out the window, then do I get to throw Carter out a window?"

Although it's difficult, I do manage to conceal my laughter as my father glares and curses at Wyatt the entire time he chases him through the hall, down the stairs, and out the back door. After a few moments, Dad comes back up the stairs and peers into my room to find me laughing.

He glares at me. "I don't want to find him in your room at night again, Emilia."

"We were just making up after a fight," I tease, smirking at him.

His face twists in disgust, and he shudders. He falls for these types of jokes way too easily.

"I'm joking, Dad. Obviously we weren't doing anything."

"Shouldn't you be mad at him?"

I shake my head. "We made up."

Slowly, he closes his eyes before saying in a very serious tone, "Millie, I want you to remember one thing: just because he's your imprint doesn't mean you have to forgive him. If you want to be mad at him, be mad. Don't forgive him just because you know eventually you will have to. Forgive him when you actually want to, not because you feel you need to."

I sigh, wanting to show my dad that I appreciate his advice but already know that. "Dad," I tell him earnestly, "I forgave him because I wanted to, not because of the imprint. He admitted he was wrong, and obviously I was mad, but that doesn't mean I wanted to be mad at him. And if I don't want to be mad at him, there's no reason to make myself mad at him or make him think I'm mad at him."

To my surprise, my dad looks utterly relieved. He smiles softly at me. "That's good. That's what I want to hear. Just, always remember that, okay?"

I laugh. "Since when are you so sentimental?"

He laughs too. "Since you started to grow up."

I roll my eyes, amused. "Not this again. Don't start this."

"Then stop doing things that bring it up."

I yawn. "All right, Dad. I'll try. Good night."

"Night, Millie. I love you."

"Love you too," I mumble back, already half asleep on my pillow.

As I'm drifting off into a deep slumber, his words replay in my head. I wonder if I should repeat them to Bridgette?

Thanks for reading :) Please tell me what you think! I'm going away for 4 days on Wednesday so if I don't update by Wednesday then the next update should be on Monday or Tuesday... If I'm really bad and I don't, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everybody!