Chapter 40
RODERICK
“Can I talk to you? In private?” Monica stares up at me with blue-gray eyes I used to get lost in.
Before responding, I glance toward the backyard.
I’ve been sipping my beer on the porch, watching Juliet and Courtney play against Warner and Isaac in a game of cornhole.
The cool evening has everyone bundling up.
Juliet took her heels off and borrowed a pair of Tanya’s sneakers.
I also found one of my old high-school sweatshirts in the closet of my childhood bedroom.
The thing swallows my woman and has me feeling all kinds of possessive.
My plan is to have her keep it and wear it without anything on underneath.
Seeing that Juliet is still having a fun time with my family, I nod to Monica and follow her back in the house.
My family’s farmhouse is a decent size, but with multiple werewolves on the property, true privacy is basically impossible. Not that I mind. I’m not particularly interested in talking alone to Monica.
And it’s not because I still have feelings for her and seeing her hurts. The second she walked into the dining room earlier, I realized that whatever love I’d had for her is a memory now. Nothing more.
My lack of interest stems from wanting to be back outside with Juliet and my family, hearing their laughter, watching her fit seamlessly into the smaller pack of my loved ones.
She is ours, my wolf announces.
Agreed.
When Monica stops in the front sitting room, the one room in the house Mom always kept looking neat and orderly, I realize how the discomfort of this conversation will likely match the lack of comfort I’ve had in this space.
It’s a show kind of room. The place where Mom would have visitors she didn’t like come to sit down.
We don’t sit.
Monica faces me, a small, hopeful curve to the corner of her mouth. “I’ve always liked this room. The wallpaper is pretty.”
The wallpaper is roses with prominent thorns.
“Hmm,” is my only response.
“I remember sitting in here with your mom sometimes. Is she all right? I haven’t seen her today.”
Yet another reason I wanted to spend this holiday with people close enough to me to know pack business. People who wouldn’t bring up this achingly sore topic.
“She’s just out of town. Visiting other relatives.”
At least, I like to think that’s what she’s doing. Rebecca Jameson hasn’t contacted either of her older sons since her exile. Warner and I only know what’s going on when Tanya or Isaac gets a call and relates the news to us.
Mom has aunts and cousins in Texas, and my hope is that she’s gone there. That she’s spending today with some kind of family.
“Oh. That’s too bad. It would’ve been nice to see her,” Monica says.
Probably better that they didn’t cross paths, especially with how my mother’s exile came about.
“I’ll tell her you said hello.”
Monica doesn’t immediately start talking, instead fiddling with a book on the shelf. The Art of War by Sun Tzu.
Mom had her subtleties.
I sip my beer, trying not to grind my teeth at the silence. This must be the frustration people often deal with around me when I opt for stoic nods rather than speaking.
“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” I prompt when the quiet stretches.
Monica starts, then blushes up at me, the red tinge spreading in an even wave over her smooth skin. When Juliet blushes, the flush is borderline splotchy and pairs with her hair to make it look like she’s reached peak boiling temperature.
Normally, it happens when she’s growling at me. The thought has me smiling.
Monica grins wide, and I realize my misstep.
“I wanted to talk about us,” she says, voice breathy.
“Us?” The word sounds weird, coming from her mouth.
We haven’t been a pair since I was eighteen. There is no us.
“Yes.” She nods and squares her shoulders. “I think when we were younger, it was harder to talk about our feelings. But I’m hoping we can finally be honest with each other.” The words are too formal, like she rehearsed them.
And also like she expects that I’ve been planning things to say to her. But I’ve got nothing.
When Monica and I ended, I counted us as over. Forever. Over the years, she’s visited Pine Falls, and we’ve been cordial to each other. Holding surface-level conversations when we ran into each other.
But there’s nothing left to say about our relationship. It’s history. Practically ancient.
“I was honest,” is my reply. More honest than she knows.
Monica frowns, and I wonder if she thought I’d be more excited about this topic. About the possibility of rekindling a long-dead romance.
“I just … I don’t understand.” She gazes up at me, a sheen in her eyes. “We were talking about our futures and marriage and living our lives together. Then you ended things. What happened?”
You freaked out when I showed you what I really was and begged to have the memory erased, I want to answer.
Monica might remember the conclusion of our relationship being my doing, but really, she ended things first.
And who knows? Maybe I was too hasty. Maybe if I had waited a few more years, let Monica grow more mature and confident, she might have reacted differently to learning that werewolves existed. Looking back, we both made mistakes. It’s just that I’m the only one who knows about them.
But the other thing I see clearly now is that this woman in front of me is not for me.
I was happy to hear she was doing well in Denver, but there’s not one part of me that cares if our lives intersect again or not.
All I want is to be back beside the argumentative librarian currently wearing my clothes and kicking my brothers’ asses with accurately aimed beanbags.
“I realized that we weren’t right together,” I tell Monica. It’s the truth.
“But why?”
Hell, it’s like she’s asking me to list off faults, which I would never do. So, I pick something that’s not a failing.
“I’ve always felt the need to stay here. In Pine Falls. You wanted to travel. And that’s fine.”
“We could’ve done long distance.” She steps toward me. “I never forgot about us.”
You did, I want to point out. You forgot on purpose. I had to pay a witch to take memories you thought were too horrible to live with.
I could never be with someone so disgusted by me. So fearful of my other half.
“I’m not the kid you used to know. We’re both different people.”
“Exactly.” She smiles up at me as if I just agreed with some point she made.
“We’re different. We’ve grown. I’ve gotten over my travel itch.
This time, we could make it work.” Without my permission, she sets her hands on my chest. “I could get a teaching job at the school. We could fix up that old house just off Main Street. Start a family. I want you to be the father of my children.”
Damn all the gods.
My urge is to usher Monica outside, point at Juliet, and say, Look at her! Look at that funny, gorgeous, spirited woman! She knows all the parts of me, and she is here at my side. What in this universe led you to believe she was some placeholder? Someone I’d set aside for a childhood romance?
The idea disgusts me, and something of my feelings must show on my face because Monica ducks her head and steps back. Like she still harbors some instinctual fear toward me.
Juliet would’ve rolled her eyes in response to my glare or given my chest a shove, even knowing she couldn’t budge me. Just one more reason I know the librarian is the perfect woman for me.
Go to our mate, my wolf growls.
The animal inside of me has long been done with my first girlfriend and is just as annoyed as I am that we have to deal with this. But as a leader, I’ve learned to speak in a calm, rational manner, no matter what my emotions are.
“We had a good relationship, Monica. I’m grateful for it. But I don’t regret ending it. I never have.”
She flinches as if I struck her, blinking rapidly to clear the glimmer of memory from her eyes.
Still, I push. “I want you to be happy. And I’m not the one who can do that for you.”
“You don’t know that.” She jerks her chin up, hope rising once again in her face.
A growl of frustration almost breaks free. It’s like she thinks I’ve martyred myself because I didn’t believe I was good enough for her. Like I’m living my life with a low opinion of myself and she needs to swoop in and convince me I’m worthy of the love of a good woman.
This isn’t some young adult paranormal romance with an angsty teen and hundred-year-old monster learning to love themselves.
I’m content with the man I am, and I know exactly whose love will make my life whole.
To end this pointless back-and-forth, I meet Monica’s eyes squarely.
“You can’t make me happy. Not like Juliet does. My future is hers.”