Chapter 5 #2
Because the alternative—telling her the truth, that the Bond had been a gilded cage, that Sharra had resented every damn thing about our life together—would mean admitting how relieved I’d been after getting over the shock of losing her in that car accident.
And that was a kind of betrayal I wasn’t ready to name.
Kesha exhaled and turned back to the surf. She was watching our sons, but I wondered if she was seeing them. “Love can be brutal, huh?”
Love.
Had I loved Sharra? Sure, at first. When I knew what the Mate Bond meant, before I knew how poorly we were matched.
I’d been so damn certain at first. That was the thing about the Mate Bond—it didn’t ask permission.
It just was. One look, one scent, and my entire future had narrowed to a single point: Sharra.
But…love?
I thought of the fights. The way she’d pout when I came home too tired to take her out.
The way she’d roll her eyes when I talked about Jay’s first steps, his first words.
How much she resented the changes in her body after the pregnancy.
The way she’d leave for days at a time, staying with friends in the city, and come back expecting me to be grateful when she deigned to return.
I thought of the way Kesha had looked at me when I’d first suggested this marriage—not with excitement, not with greed, but with skepticism. Like she was keeping score. Like she was making sure I knew what I was getting into.
I thought of the way she’d held my hand in the dark at our wedding reception, not because she wanted something from me, but because she’d sensed I needed it.
It had taken years to come to the realization I hadn’t loved Sharra the way Mates were supposed to…and I apparently still hadn’t come to terms with the fact I resented that Mating Bond, even if it had brought me Jay.
Because I’d wasted my chance at happiness.
I needed to change the subject, or I needed another six beers stat.
Luckily, Kesha was thinking along the same lines.
“So,” she announced with a sudden exhale, lifting her can to salute the surf. “Colorado. Do you miss it? Or are you more about the beach now?”
Grateful for the lifeline, I latched onto it. “Sometimes I miss it. The winters, mostly. There’s something about snow that makes the world feel…” I searched for the word. “Quiet. Even when it’s chaotic.”
“Hushed,” Kesha hummed in agreement, tilting her face toward the sun, as if her vocabulary suggestion didn’t even matter. “Not just the absence of noise. I get that. Texas doesn’t really do quiet.”
“No,” I agreed, trying not to notice the way she stretched those long legs in the sun.
All that delicious dark skin on display, and I had to curl my hand into a fist to keep from touching her without permission.
“But the beach has its own kind of peace. The sound of the waves. The way the air smells.” I took another pull of my beer. “It’s different. But not bad.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Was it hard? Deciding to leave?”
I thought of the mine closing. Of Abydos’s offer—a fresh start, a real future. Of Kardok, shaking his head, telling me I was crazy to walk away from the Terrors’ connections. Of Jay, almost as tall as me, his hockey stick slung over his shoulder, his eyes wide with the possibility of a new life.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Jay had a future there with the hockey complex. Kardok is hot shit, playing for the Teal Terrors. We had roots there.” I rubbed my thumb along the condensation on my can.
“But Abydos offered me a good job here. Steady work. Good pay.” I shrugged.
“Couldn’t find that back in Bramblewood after the mine closed. ”
Kesha nodded, her gaze distant. “Sometimes the practical choice is the right one.”
There was something in her voice—a tightness, a weight. I turned to study her. “What did you leave behind?” I asked, keeping my tone light. “When you moved here, I mean.”
She snorted, but it lacked her usual humor. “Debt, mostly. And the gnawing sense that I was always one bad month away from failing Milo, no matter how hard I tried.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
I knew that feeling. The way it sat in your chest like a stone, heavy and unmovable. The way it made you second-guess every decision, every breath.
Before I could stop myself, my hand twitched toward hers.
I caught myself at the last second, my fingers brushing the back of her hand instead of taking it. The contact was electric, a spark that made my Kteer snarl in approval.
Kesha startled, her breath hitching. Then, slowly, without looking at me, she turned her hand palm-up and laced her fingers through mine.
My chest went tight.
“You’re not failing him,” I said, my voice rough. “Not here. Not anymore.”
She swallowed, her thumb tracing a slow circle over my knuckles. “I know.”
I squeezed her hand, just once. “I’m glad you’re here, Kesha. That we can…” I searched for the words. “Help each other.”
Her lips curved, soft and real. “Me too.”
For a moment, we just sat there, our hands tangled together, the sound of the ocean filling the space between us.
And for the first time in years, the weight in my chest felt lighter.
Like maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t just about survival.
Like maybe it could be about living.
We sat like that for a while longer, my hand still tangled with hers.
The conversation drifted—easy, comfortable.
She told me about the disastrous road trip here, the way Milo had insisted on narrating every historical marker they passed.
I told her about the time Jay had convinced me to let him “help” frame a house and nearly nailed his own shoe to the subfloor.
Her laugh was bright and unguarded, and I found myself memorizing the sound.
I pointed out people from the wedding. Sylvik and his Mate, Brooke, setting up what looked like a full buffet under a canopy. Nikki and Sakkara and their daughter Emmy building a sand fortress with military precision while little Tova from Aswan’s family directed operations.
“Is there anyone on this island you don’t know?” Kesha asked, amused.
“Plenty—we’ve only been here since last autumn. But give it time. Small community.” I squeezed her hand once before letting go, reaching for the cooler. “Want another?”
“Please.”
Our fingers brushed again as I handed her the can, and this time neither of us pretended it was accidental.
Then the boys crashed back into our orbit like a pair of class-three hurricanes.
They were hot, sticky, covered in a fine layer of salt and sand that seemed to have worked its way into every crevice. Jay flopped onto the blanket with zero regard for the destruction he was causing. Milo followed, slightly more careful but just as sweaty, sand in his tight curls.
“I’m starving,” Jay announced to the sky.
“Juice,” Milo added, breathless. “Please.”
Kesha laughed, already reaching into the cooler. “Alright, alright. Let me get organized here.”
I pulled out the sandwiches I’d made that morning, wrapped in wax paper and labeled in my blocky handwriting. Ham and cheese—simple, reliable. I’d made ten, figuring growing boys could put away two each if they wanted, one for Kesha, and the other five for me.
“Here,” I said, handing one to Jay, then Milo.
Jay immediately tore into his, taking a huge bite. “Thanks, Dad.”
Milo took his eagerly, unwrapping the wax paper with careful fingers. He stared down at it…and went very, very still.
The kind of still that made my Kteer go quiet, a warning prickling at the base of my skull.
Milo’s hands started to shake. Just a tremor at first, then more pronounced. His breathing picked up, short and sharp.