Absence Makes the Mate Bond Grow…Feral?
EVREN
Iwatch from my parked car as Kallie hauls a trash bag half her size to the dumpster behind Bloomhaus. Laying eyes on her for the first time in a week dulls the throbbing ache in my chest by a fraction.
I needed to see her. See that she was okay. Even if I’m slowly dying, as long as I can see her and know she’s okay, I can wither away to nothing.
Every day since the day she told me to leave, I’ve looked for her.
The first day, I fought every instinct to drive to her house and demand we talk.
I knew her too well. My sweet, stubborn mate would refuse, under the misguided belief that she’s protecting me from the legal mess her fuckwad ex-husband created.
Her need to rebuild and reclaim herself is driving her to push me away instead of letting me in.
No, going there and making demands would serve me no purpose; it’d only drive her further away.
Instead of caving in to my demonic instinct, I decided to drown myself in a mixture of vodka and bourbon while binge eating every unhealthy food I could get my hands on.
With every passing hour, the ache in my chest that formed the moment she asked me to leave got worse.
The need to be with my mate was riding me hard.
Day two, I drove to Bloomhaus just to make sure she was okay.
But she wasn’t there. So I drove by her house.
Her car was there, and as I drove by, I caught sight of Mel heading inside.
Though I was relieved she wasn’t alone, my demon instinct raged that I wasn’t the one comforting her.
I drove past a few more times that day, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but never did.
Sleep eluded me those first two days. My hope was that going to work would be the distraction I needed.
Oh, how epically fucking wrong I had been.
Every day brought a new wave of hellish problems.
First, I made an acquisitions transfer for the wrong client.
That meant calling several people to get the transaction reversed and two very expensive apology gifts to the affected clients.
I spilled my coffee on my computer, frying it beyond use.
My aggressive tone is keeping everyone in the office as far away from me as possible.
And every chance I get, I excuse myself from the office to go park down the street from Kallie’s house in the hopes of catching a glimpse of my mate. Which has resulted in not one but three meetings that I was late to and had to reschedule.
When I ran into my friend Augustus, a local EMT and vampire with dietary challenges, while grabbing dinner from a local pizzeria, he looked at me with concern etched on his face.
“You look as blue as, well, me,” he said dryly.
My laugh was hollow. As hollow as the gaping hole in my chest.
“Been a bad week. How are you doing? I feel like I haven’t seen you ages.”
Augustus surveys me a moment, clearly wanting to press the issue of my haggard appearance, but respects the change of topic.
“Not bad. Been on a steady rotation at the new arena. Between the hockey team moving here and concerts in the off-season, it’s been constant.”
“That’s great, man,” I said as the to-go counter attendant handed me my order. “When you’re free, gimme a call, figure out when we can catch up.”
“Sounds good,” he says.
I bade him goodbye and headed home to drown my sorrows in an extra-large carnivore pizza, beer, and terrible reality TV, just like I had every night for the past three days.
It’s now day four, and I finally catch a break.
When I drove by her house on my way to work, her house being nowhere near work or on the route to it, her car was gone.
During lunch, I drove by Bloomhaus and saw it parked in her usual spot.
I practically sprinted out of the building when I was done for the day to race here before closing just to see her.
She’s wearing her typical workwear today.
Jeans that hug every curve in just the right places, showcasing two perfectly round globes.
My hands flex around the steering wheel on instinct, remembering the feel of her ass as I gripped it firmly.
Her black t-shirt has risen up just a fraction in the back, exposing the small of her back and a sliver of creamy-smooth skin.
There’s a small cluster of freckles there that I loved to trace when she lay on her stomach.
Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head.
It’s fallen to the side, a clear sign she had a busy day and didn’t have time to readjust it the way she likes.
When she turns, my heart, or the space it used to be in, clenches.
With my demon eyes, I can see her perfectly, even from a distance.
The enhanced eyesight is both a blessing and a curse in this moment.
I see her clear as day, but I also see the dark circles under her eyes, how bloodshot they are, how tired she looks.
Even so, she’s the most breathtaking vision I’ve ever seen.
I watch her head back into the shop as tears stream down my face.
The lights go off, and a moment later she emerges through the front door, locking up before climbing into her car.
Now that I’ve seen her, I should go home.
Cling to that glimmer of light in my world of darkness and savor it until I can do it again.
But I don’t.
I count to ten, then pull out behind her and follow her home.
I keep my distance, though I’d rather do anything but.
I park in my normal spot down the street and watch her park her car.
She sits there for a few minutes, and I wonder if she’s spotted me.
When her door opens, I see she’s on the phone.
Jealousy roars to life like flames from the pit.
Who is she talking to? What are they talking about? Why will she talk to them and not me?
She stands at the edge of her driveway looking up and down the street. She’s not looking at me, for me. She hasn’t seen me. She’s looking for someone else. Jealousy morphs to rage as the car stops and a man steps out.
Kallie hangs up her phone and reaches for the man. It’s then that I notice the delivery box he hands her. She turns and heads inside as the man climbs back into his car and takes off.
I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and relax my grip on the steering wheel.
“Motherfucker” I exclaim, scrubbing a hand down my face as I survey the indented imprints on my steering wheel.
I bang my head on the headrest before exhaling deeply and putting the car in drive.
I fight every instinct to pull into the driveway and ring her doorbell. Instead, I forced myself to drive home.
But it’s not home anymore. Not without Kallie in it.
I go through the motions. Park the car, ride the elevator, unlock the door, and step inside.
Setting my keys down, I pull out my phone.
I should call my mom. After I left Kallie’s, I called her and told her what happened.
She’s been worried sick ever since, texting me every day.
I keep saying I’ll call, but I’m just not ready to talk again. I’m still wallowing.
As I walk towards the kitchen, a familiar smell hits me. Dolmas. My pace quickens as I march down the hallway. When I reach the kitchen, I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or be mad.
“There’s my sweet boy,” My mother says, standing in front of the stove.
“Mom?” I ask, perplexed.
“I’m here too, son,” my Dad says, walking in from the guest room hallway.
My mom pauses her stirring to come wrap me in what is arguably the best mom hug of my life.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper, on the verge of tears.
“My baby is hurting. There was no way I was staying away.”
I hug my mom tight and just soak in the safety that only a mom can give. “Thanks, Mom,” I say softly.
Mom releases me and heads back to the kitchen, while Dad slings an arm around my shoulders, guiding me to the kitchen table.
Once I’m seated, he goes to the bar in the sunken living room and pours two healthy glasses of bourbon.
Returning to the table, he hands one to me, then takes a seat.
I take a much-needed sip of my drink, letting the smooth alcohol burn its way down my throat, the familiar sensation grounding my rioting emotions.
Dad takes a sip of his as well, his watchful eyes taking in every expression and microexpression that passes over my face.
I’ve always been exceptionally close with my parents. They were my first true best friends. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. But in this particular instance, the fact that my Dad can read me like an open book makes me feel exposed. Like a diary left open for anyone passing by to read.
Mom eventually joins us, a glass of her own bourbon in hand.
Dad leans forward, hands clasped on the table. “Tell us everything, son. I know you said you and your mate had a disagreement, but son, you look like absolute hell. What’s going on?”
“Demmir,” my mom huffs.
“What? He looks awful, my flame. I’m not gonna lie to the boy.”
Mom shoots daggers at Dad with her eyes. “I know he looks terrible, just like I know he feels terrible. Which is how we ended up here in the first place. Because a mother knows. Now be gentle, or I’ll scorch your ass to ashes.”
I can’t help but laugh. They’ve bantered like this my whole life. Always playful, always loving. It’s what I’ve always wanted for myself. It’s what I have with Kallie.
Had. What I had with Kallie.
The ache in my chest redoubles as I gasp for air from the sudden pain.
Mom immediately reaches for me, holding my forearm.
When I catch my breath, I spill everything, the words pouring out of me like a waterfall. My parents sit quietly and let me unload everything from our meeting on the cruise, to meeting again here in town, all the way to the moment she told me about her legal problems and asked me to leave.
When I finish, tears stream down my face, the wound exposed.
“I miss her,” I practically sob, “So much. It’s like I’m slowly dying, like my heart has been ripped out of my chest.”
Mom dabs her eyes as Dad nods. “It’s the mate bond. Even though you aren’t fully mated, the bond has already taken root. Her absence has made the bond grow stronger somehow.”
We sit in silence as I try to calm my racing heart and stop the steady flow of tears.
Mom does her best to soothe me, her hold on my armsure and reassuring, while Dad seems to be in deep contemplation.
It takes some time, but I finally calm, feeling the slightest bit better having unloaded my pain and grief to my parents.
“You need to eat, sweet boy,” my mom says softly.
“I’m not hungry,” I say weakly.
Mom releases my arms and stands. “Nonsense, you need to eat. And not that leftover stuff in the takeout containers that seems to have taken over your fridge,” she scolds gently. “I made dolmas. They always made you feel better when you were little.”
My stomach gives an involuntary rumble, drawing a laugh from my mom. “See, your stomach knows what’s good for you. I’ll grab plates and the food.” She pats my shoulder, then heads into the kitchen.
Midway through dinner, Dad, who has been particularly quiet, finally speaks.
“She needs a forensic accountant,” he says.
”What?”
“You said her ex is trying to get more money from her. Thinks Kallie is hiding money from profits she made off the contracts she has with the local grocery stores. Is that right?”
“Basically, yes. From what I remember of the documents she showed me, there was mention of disputing the divorce settlement because money was hidden and potentially placing a lien on the flower shop.”
Dad gives a curt nod, leaning his forearms on the table. “Forensic accountant. The Sherlock Holmes of accounting. Looks for fraud, misconduct, and audits accounts to make sure everything is on the legal up and up.”
That sounds like it's exactly what Kallie could use, I think, perking up, then immediately deflating.
“But I assume they’re expensive.”
“Can be,” Dad confirms.
I slump back in my chair. “I don’t know the ins and outs of her finances, but from what I do know, she’s just crawling out from under a mountain of legal debt from the divorce.
These contracts with the grocery stores are what’s helping her finally get back on her feet.
And she’d never accept financial help to pay for it.
She made that clear when she asked me to leave. ”
“What if she didn’t have to pay?” Dad asks as casually as he’d ask me to pass the baba ghanoush.
“Oh,” Mom says cheerily beside me, giving Dad a knowing smile. “Demmir, you’re brilliant.”
“Explain?” I ask, looking between them.
“I could do it. That’s what I did for a few years before opening my CPA business. I’m a bit rusty, but I’m confident I could do it.”
“Of course you can do it, love,” Mom says.
The spark of hope flares but quickly extinguishes.
“If she won’t let me help, I doubt she’ll let you. She’s determined to do this on her own. Convinced she has to prove she doesn’t need anyone.”
The ache in my chest redoubles, stealing my breath.
Dad lays a steady hand on my arm. “You don’t think she’ll listen at all? Even if you present her with an opportunity to be done with this nasty business?”
I shake my head sullenly.
Mom looks nervously to Dad, then me, seeming to weigh her words carefully. “There’s no way you could gain access to her accounts? Using your banking connections?”
I visibly recoil.
“NO,” I say more harshly than I intend, mom flinching at my tone. “No,” I say softer, taking her hand. “As much as I want to help Kallie, I won’t violate my ethics or the law to do so. Even though it’s killing me.” I whisper in pain.
We sit in silence for a long moment. There’s nothing more I want than to do whatever I can to help Kallie. If only there were a way I could get her to listen. But she won’t listen. Not to me. But…
I look to my parents, hope blossoming in my chest.
“I doubt she’ll accept help from anyone. But I might have a way to get you the account information. She won’t listen to me, but I might know someone who can help.”