Chapter 69
MOM'S OFFICE AT THE REHABILITATION centre is tidy.
A glass table sits at the centre of a two-piece couch set comprising of a single-seat sofa and another long enough to comfortably seat three people.
The walls are painted baby blue. Bookshelves line one wall, stacked with books on human psychology, trauma, and magazines of a similar nature.
Dotting the shelves are small ornamental flower arrangements no larger than my palm along with a few figurines carved from wood and ceramic.
The lights are dimmed and I flinch when a damp rag plops over my face.
Mom's heels click as she pads across the carpeted floor and settles back into the single-seat couch. The click of her pen follows.
"Tell me what you're feeling."
My lips purse. My thumbs twiddle, hands clasped and resting against my chest. I breathe in slowly, appreciating the cool fresh scent of the damp cloth meant to calm me, mixed in with burning of aromatic sandalwood- and chamomile-scented candles.
I consider her request.
It's been a wild twenty-four hours and that still feels like putting it lightly.
Everything I thought I knew about life in Jasper Falls, about reality, and people, shattered completely. Now I'm lost, like a sleepy little rowboat out in the middle of the ocean at night in pitch darkness, with no hope of making it to safe shores.
"Confused."
"Good," she says. There's some light scratching from her pen on paper. Then, "What else?" she encourages, her voice soothing and motherly, lacking all traces of professionalism though her questions maintain that much.
"Terrified. And betrayed." I stress the last word, lifting the rag to peer over at her. Mom raises an eyebrow, but her lips are tilted in a tiny smile. "How could you and Dad keep such a massive secret from me?"
"It's part of the job, my little miracle."
I make a sound of protest, sucking air in between my teeth. "What? Did they make you and Dad swear secrecy when you became licensed professionals?" I put significant emphasis on the word 'they', so she knows who I'm alluding to.
Mom hums quietly in agreement, touching the tip of her finger to her nose. "On point. Your father treat their kind from time to time. Sometimes, they come to me, particularly the ones without packs."
"Packs?"
Mom sets the clipboard on the glass table, clicking her pen once to send the nib back into the pen's casing. She sinks into the cushions, crossing one leg over the other.
"That's how they live," she explains. "Like us humans who have communities, like towns and cities, a pack is the equivalent of their community."
She holds up two fingers, ticking them off as she goes.
"There are pack Weres. They live within packs and follow a hierarchy. Then there are rogue Weres who were either exiled from packs or voluntarily left their packs. Regardless, they function a lot like us."
Picking the rag off my face, I turn to look at her. "I beg to differ. People – humans –" Gosh that feels and sounds ludicrous – "can't do what that thing – what he did. They don't pop and shift and morph from a beast into a man."
"But they breathe. They eat. They hurt. And they love just as we do."
They love just as we do.
Is that what happened? Back in the woods, when that thing came charging out of the bushes, I saw it. But I was too slow. Fear crippled me and I froze. It would have been me that went down if Sky hadn't pushed me out of the way.
"What are you thinking about?" Mom prods, peering closer at me. She maintains that tiny smile of encouragement as I sit up, planting my feet firmly on the carpeted floor. Folding the damp cloth to halves and then quarters, I put it on the glass table and clasp my hands together across my lap.
I pick at my palms. Shame rips through me as memories Sky and I had created speedrun through my mind. All the gentle touches and soft caresses. Each kiss and sweet whispered word, or those dirty, teasing taunts when we were in bed.
If I count it all, there are seven times he's prioritized me and my safety.
The break-in – both times – and the three fights with Blake and Brent.
That time I was stranded at his house during the storm and got locked outside. He prioritized me even then, making sure I wasn't without the smallest bit of comfort.
And last night in the woods.
If there's ever a time I should feel like an asshole for thinking he's some kind of monstrous thing, it would be that moment when he pushed me out of harm's way.
He knew the danger. He saw it. Yet, he didn't hesitate.
And I'm certain there are a million other moments in between where he's put me first.
"Did you and Dad know about Sky?"
She exhales deeply, her sigh heavy. And then, a small nod. "Yes."
"How long?"
"His whole life." Her response makes me frown and catching my confusion, her smile grows an inch. "His family name is an old one. He's part of one of Jasper Falls' founding families."
"I already know that part."
Mom shakes her head. "Honey, this town...this county," she pauses, testing the words, "it never belonged to us. To humans. They were here first. But there's something else you should know."
I look at her, blinking once, then twice. I'm almost afraid to ask what it is but the worry that lines her face, it's not something I can ignore.
"Mom?"
"It's about Sky. Your father and I had a hunch the first time you mentioned going to his house to tutor him. But the morning when he dropped you off after you spent the night on the beach, that's when we knew for certain. It explained why he seemed to suddenly show such interest in you."
Now I'm ten times more confused than I've been all day after waking up in the hospital, remaining silent, my mind buzzing with one hundred questions including if any of what happened was real, while Dad carried on with his checks and tests to make sure I'm ready for discharge.
"What? What're you trying to say?"
"Well, he's a Werewolf. They have mates. It happens naturally for them. In a way, it's like magic because every Were has a soul mate, a bond to one person they're meant to find and spend their life with." She waves a hand at me. "For Sky, you're his mate."
I sit up straight, back pressed into the couch. My eyebrows scrunch, dipping so tightly I'm shocked I don't give myself a migraine.
I blink and look at Mom.
"Are you saying that he didn't approach me because his interest was authentic?"
"Of course it was," she assures. "He approached you because you're his mate."
"He used to hate my guts."
I think back on all the times we've crossed each other's paths before. All it took was one look from him to sum up how much he couldn't stand me.
To be fair, we both couldn't stand each other until I agreed to tutor him.
He used to look at me as though my existence offended his bloodline. Then he started pursuing me so relentlessly, it was almost frightening.
"Now that I think of it, it's like he did a complete one-eighty." My shoulders slump, head lowering as the truth begins sinking in.
And I don't know what hurts more.
That he was only interested in the first place because of some mate bond when he blatantly hated my guts.
Or that I was stupid enough to believe it was genuine.
"He was never actually interested in me."
"You know that's not true –"
"Why? Because you've counselled his kind before, so you know how they think? He hated me, Mom. He didn't approach me because he wanted to get to know me."
"It's not so black and white –"
"He didn't do it because of me! Never for me. It was all for some bond."
My mother frowns, growing quiet at my raised voice and the uncontrollable tremble that accompanies the confession.
Worry creases her eyebrows and her lips pull into a thin, straight line.
Her gaze lowers, troubled. Because she understands what I'm trying to say even if I'm having a difficult time getting the right words out.
I don't have much time left. I'll be lucky if I see next year and still, there is no guarantee that I will. The last thing I want to live with is the knowledge that the person I love most isn't with me because of who I am, but because of some preordained connection he has no control over.
Like I'm some sort of duty. A box on his checklist.
A predetermined destiny he has to indulge.
Mom's voice is softer when she speaks. No longer functioning as a professional therapist with a client.
This is her – my mother.
"Do you believe that's the case? Do you think he doesn't truly love you?"
Leaning forward, I run my fingers through my hair. "I don't know. I don't know anything, anymore," I admit. Shaking my head, I clear my throat, fighting back the prickling burn of tears threatening to fall.
I'm not sure what to think or feel anymore. Between the chaos of last night, the truth about Sky and his connection to me, guilt sweeps in.
"I just..."
I can't even bring myself to say it as shame, too, fills me.
"You what?" Mom prods. The cushion beside me dips with her weight and her hands find my shoulders, rubbing soothing circles. "You can tell me," she encourages. Mom's fingers swipe through my hair. "This won't go on record. This is just between you and Mom."
"I don't want to feel worse than I already do. I left Sasha, someone who genuinely loved me, to be with him. You said this...bond...it happens naturally for them. For all of them?"
Mom nods.
"So, it's not something they can ignore?" I ask, not sure what answer I'm looking for.
"In their culture," she begins, "refusing it is taboo."
"Is it...is it like an obligation they must follow through with?"
Mom is quiet for a long time, her lips twisted as she ponders the question. "From what I understand, to an extent. Mates aren't something they take lightly." Her fingers comb my hair again, forcing me to look her in the eyes. "You're not an obligation to him, sweetie."
"How can you know for sure? He used to be unable to tolerate me. The day before he asked me to tutor him, he said some pretty messed up shit to me. He didn't hold back and was particularly nasty."
"People do change," she comments.
"Overnight?" I scoff and shake my head.
"No. But I've seen how he is with you. Maybe it started out as him honoring an obligation, but I believe that's no longer the case. He loves you for you."
She leans in and kisses the side of my head, then gets up and grabs her voice recorder and notepad.
"If you don't believe it, talk to him." Mom crosses her arms over her chest. "I know what I'm talking about. Go to him. Ask him yourself."