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CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
I wander around the pack house for a while, looking for something to do, but my thoughts are consumed with Nash. I sense his return a little before lunch. Out the window, I can see him, walking back toward the pack house. Thrilled, I grab some sandwiches and sodas from the fridge in the kitchen and run down to meet up with him. “Hi, Nash,” I say, giving him a gentle hug. He looks exhausted, so I hand him a sandwich and a soda. “I was hoping we could talk about everything that just happened.” “Yeah, that would probably be smart,” Nash mumbles. He opens his soda with a loud fizzing noise, and we sit down on the sand, looking out over the ocean. “I’m really sorry, first off, for taking Regan seriously enough that I would bring that stuff to you first thing in the morning,” I say. “Not
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