Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Caleb is standing outside my apartment door. He’s wearing a brown sweater I love. It’s a thick knit, and I’ve always appreciated how it stretches across his muscular shoulders.
“I locked the door this time,” I say.
The corner of his lip twitches upward. “I noticed.”
He moves aside, waiting for me to unlock my door. I’m surprised he doesn’t have an extra set of keys, but I don’t question it as we step into my kitchen.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask. I set the paperwork Doctor Greg gave me on the counter.
“I—” Caleb pauses. “You were spotted at the hospital.”
I nod. “Yeah. I got a job there.”
“A job?”
“Yes.” I lean against the counter. “If I’m to live in this pack, I need to find a way to support myself. I only have a year, remember?”
Caleb licks his lips. “I just didn’t think you’d move so quickly.”
“What else am I to do?” I gesture around the apartment. “Sit here and wallow in self-pity? My entire life has been dictated for me. It’s about time I do something for myself.”
“And that something is to become a custodian at the local hospital?”
I cock my head to the side. “I didn’t tell you what my job is.”
Caleb falls silent. I try not to stare at him, but it’s hard. Things between us have flipped so suddenly, but that doesn’t mean my emotions have vanished. I still want him. Mate bond or not, I want to be with Caleb.
Things could have been so good.
“Why are you here, Caleb?” I repeat.
He throws his head back, staring at the ceiling. “We’ve had some recent complications with HPAW.”
“Complications?”
Caleb bobs his head, then begins flipping through my notes. I haven’t made any additional progress since he was last here, but that doesn’t deter him. He reads through everything with startling intensity, his eyes darting over every word. His throat bobs as he reads my list of things he enjoys.
“Caleb?” I ask. “What complications?”
He purses his lips, pinning them shut.
I wait.
“They’ve been pushing at the borders,” he finally says. “It’s been happening for weeks, but it’s picked up these past few days. I can’t continue to ignore it.”
“Then don’t.”
I have no love for HPAW—no loyalty. Let Caleb and the other shifters rip them apart. They deserve it.
Caleb stares at me. “Humans will die.” He groans, planting his hands on the counter.
“I shouldn’t care what you think about me.
I should let my pack rip apart the HPAW soldiers.
I should let them make your precious human men scream.
” His eyes meet mine. “But then I think about you, and I can’t pull the fucking trigger. ”
“Why?”
“It would start a war.”
“And why is that a problem?” After all I’ve seen and read, HPAW deserves it. The people have been lied to, but the government is corrupt. I wouldn’t blame the shifters for finally taking action, and I’m honestly surprised they haven’t done so sooner.
Caleb steps around the counter, closing the distance between us. I ignore the pounding in my chest as I look up at him. I want to hope, but his rejections have been explicit. I won’t beg for a man who doesn’t want me. I can’t let myself stoop to that level.
My eyes flutter shut as Caleb leans in, brushing his nose against my shoulder. He trails it toward my neck, so slowly and so gently. I shiver and tilt my head back, giving him more room.
“What if my children are hybrids?” he whispers. “What will they think when they learn I was the alpha who started a war between the shifters and humans?”
My throat is dry. I swallow. “You would have to have children with a human woman to create hybrids…”
“I’m aware.”
“Am I pregnant?”
He burrows his face in my neck, inhaling. “No.”
I can’t help but feel relieved. Children sound nice someday, but not now. I would hate to bring a child into this mess.
“Do you…?” I pause, hesitant to voice my question. At what point is Caleb going to pull away? His rejection stings, even when I’m expecting it. “Do you still see yourself having children with me?”
His breath warms my throat. “I haven’t completely ruled it out.”
Hope blooms. I shove it down. “I thought our bond was dead?”
“It is, but my wolf still finds himself enamored with you.”
His wolf. Not him. That should be enough to deter me, but I’m a glutton for punishment. I can’t help it. I’m grasping at straws.
I throw caution to the wind. “Do you still love me?”
Caleb stiffens. I’ve pushed too far. He pulls away, removing himself from me entirely.
I could drive forward, throw myself at him in a desperate display for attention.
It would be easy, and a tiny part of me thinks it would work.
I don’t want that, though. I want Caleb to come to me of his own volition.
I push my hair out of my face. “Can I see your marking?”
Caleb silently extends his hand. The color is darker. Always fucking darker.
“Would you consider accepting me back even if our bond dies?” I ask.
Caleb shrugs. The moment is over. “Can’t promise anything,” he says.
He retreats to the other side of the counter, his movements clearly intentional. He wants a physical object between us. It’s probably for the best. I don’t want to do something that either of us would regret. There are already too many regrets between us—most of which are on my end.
Caleb eyes the paperwork Doctor Greg gave me. “You’ll need to open a bank account if you want direct deposit.” What the fuck does that mean? “Have them call me if there are any issues.”
He’s gone before I have the chance to ask what the hell a ‘direct deposit’ is.
This shouldn’t be too hard. Everybody has a bank account.
There’s only one bank in the area, and I drive there the moment it opens.
I’m not sure what to expect as I enter the building, and I hold my hands to my chest as I look around.
The building is rustic, covered in muted browns and old leather furniture.
There’s a small seating area to the left, with two empty cubicles beside it.
Directly across from the door is a short line of people waiting to speak with an employee.
The man is standing behind a tall counter, looking bored as he waves the next person in line over. I join the back, patiently waiting for my turn. It takes almost forty-five minutes to reach the front of the line.
“I’m here to open an account,” I say as I approach the employee.
He huffs. “You need to wait over there.” He points to the empty seating area on the left. “Somebody will come by to help you open a new account.”
What? I just waited in this line for nothing? I bite my tongue, reining in my anger as I head to the seating area. This is bullshit.
The leather chairs are uncomfortable, and it takes almost an hour for somebody to come out to help me. It’s a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and a bored expression. He lazily looks me over before flicking his fingers, rudely ordering me to follow him into one of the cubicles.
“What can I help you with today?” he asks, sighing midway through his sentence.
I suck in a breath, count to three, and release. “I’d like to open a bank account.”
“All right.” He starts up his computer, then proceeds to print out a thousand and one forms. I’m getting really tired of paperwork. If this is what being an independent adult consists of, I’m not sure I’m cut out for it.
He slides the paperwork in my direction. “Fill these out.”
I do my best, but there are several things I don’t have answers for. I also don’t have the required documentation. One call to Caleb clears everything up, though. It’s brief, and the man is red in the face as he hangs up the phone.
By the time I have everything squared away, I’ve been given a thick welcome packet and a whole bunch of bank information I’m not sure I’ll ever use.
All I need are my account numbers and my debit card.
The man said that would be enough to set up direct deposit, which is when my paychecks are deposited directly into my account. What a fun concept.
I toss everything onto my kitchen counter when I finally get back to my apartment. The welcome packet hits my teetering pile of books, sending everything to the ground.
I groan. “Shit.”
I didn’t realize just how frustrating this would be, and I miss how easy things were with Caleb. Life was simple, and I wasn’t given death glares everywhere I went. I wipe my nose with my sleeve. I refuse to cry.
There’s a knock on the door. Caleb? I pick up my books and run my hands over my hair, trying to smooth the messed-up strands. The knocking continues, growing in volume and intensity. What the hell is going on?
I open the door to see a man I don’t know on the other side. He’s tall and muscular, unsurprising for a shifter, and he’s wearing a ratty, black T-shirt with loose sweatpants. His hair is messy too, like he just rolled out of bed.
“Yes?” I ask.
He looks me head to toe, openly judging. “Can you keep it down?” Keep it down? The man isn’t done. “I might as well be living next to a bull, and I’m tired of hearing you sob. Get it together.”
I recoil. “Excuse me? I’m not loud.” I take a moment to collect myself, then continue. “And I don’t sob. My occasional crying is very much average.”
“Well, I live here.” He points to the only other apartment on the floor. 3A. “And I can hear it through the walls. I understand that Knox left you and that’s hard to deal with, but bitching and moaning isn’t going to bring him back.”
My blood boils, and the last bit of patience I had evaporates. “Close your fucking ears, then.”
I slam the door shut before letting out an exaggerated groan, hoping he hears it through the door. Fuck him. Fuck everything.