“I know I fucked up,” she says, her voice barely audible, thick with unshed tears. “I know. And what can I do? I’ll do anything. I’ll tell everyone we broke up tomorrow. I’ll go to the tavern, the apothecary, I’ll tell Maggie at the station if I have to. I’ll fix this.”
The thought of her officially going unclaimed in this town causes a tight fist to form in my chest. I rub at it absently, the pressure doing nothing to ease the discomfort. It’s an instinctive reaction, one I didn’t expect, one I certainly don’t welcome.
Why should I care if the town knows she’s unbonded? It’s the truth, after all.
“I don’t know what to do. This is… it’s a mess, Caroline.”
“Tell me what to do,” she pleads, rubbing her temples in small, circular motions. “Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”
Now I can see the exhaustion in her face, the dark circles under her eyes, the way her shoulders slump with a weight I can only imagine. She’s been carrying this lie for three years, and it’s clearly taking its toll.
“Maybe you should get some rest,” I find myself saying, the words softer than I feel. “We can talk tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she says, her voice small. She stands, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand, though I don’t see any tears. Not yet, anyway.
I want to pull her into my arms. I want to tell her that everything will be okay, despite the fact that she’s the one in the wrong. I want to protect her from the consequences of her own actions, just like I always have. When will she stop having this power over me? When will I be able to look at her without feeling this pull, this instinct to fix everything for her?
“I’ll see myself out,” I say, turning toward the door.
“Griffin,” she calls after me. “For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”
“I know,” I tell her, without turning around.
I open the door and step out into the cool night air. The cold bites at my exposed skin, a contrast to the heated tension inside the house. I feel wrong leaving her in this state, wrong walking away when she’s clearly falling apart.
I understand the logic behind why she lied, I really do. The fear of being judged as an unbonded Omega, especially in a town like Willowbrook where such things still matter to so many. But a part of me is still hurt, still angry that she turned down my proposal.
I was ready to start a life with her. I was ready to love her for the rest of my life. I was ready to be hers.
Why wasn’t I enough?
“Fuck,” I say, pushing my fists into my eye sockets. “Fuck.”
I take a few steps away from her house, but I feel pulled back, like there’s an invisible string connecting us, one that refuses to be broken no matter how much distance I put between us. I need to make sure she’s okay. I need to know she’s not completely falling apart.
I turn back, my decision made. I open the door without knocking, stepping back into the warmth of her house.
And there she is, bent over the sofa, her face pressed into the cushion, her body shaking with silent sobs. Thistle is perched on the back of the sofa, looking at me with pissed-off eyes, his tail twitching with agitation.
He’s guarding her. Protecting her from me.
I close the door quietly, the click of the latch causing her to look up. Her face is blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed, and her scent has a sourness to it now, the tang of sadness.
She’s sad. I made her cry. I never want to make her cry.
I know I should leave. I know this will only complicate things further. But I can’t. I can’t walk away from her like this.
I walk to where she’s seated, watching me with those tear-filled eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says again.
“I know.”
I pull her into my arms, and she comes willingly, her body fitting against mine like it’s been waiting for this moment for three years. She buries her face in my chest, her fingers clutching at my shirt, and I hold her tight, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressed against her back. I can feel her heart beating against mine, fast and frantic.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, though it’s not. Nothing about this is okay. “It’s okay.”
She cries harder then, great, wracking sobs that shake her entire body. I hold her through it, my own heart aching with a familiar pain. This is the Caroline I know, the one beneath the carefully constructed façade. The vulnerable, uncertain girl who stole my heart all those years ago and has refused to give it back.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasps, her words muffled against my shirt. “I’m so sorry, Griff.”
