22. Carter
Carter
I t’s been a full damn day since I got back from Blue Valley, and still no word from MJ.
Not a text back.
Not a return call.
Not even one of those sassy little eye-roll emojis she’d send when she was pretending she wasn’t into me.
And I hate it.
I hate standing here like some lovesick idiot in front of her pizza palace with a pathetic bouquet of daisies clutched in my fist.
Daisies, for fuck’s sake.
What am I even doing? They’re not sexy. They’re not dramatic.
They’re cheerful. Innocent .
Everything I’m not, but everything she deserves.
Only problem? MJ isn’t here. She might not even be inside.
Figures.
I’ve already called. Emailed. Left voicemails until my outbox looks like a stalker’s shrine.
Even tried her sisters, and believe me, that went over like a lead balloon.
And I’m still nowhere.
How can I explain if she won’t let me close enough to speak?
How can I beg her forgiveness when she won’t even look at me?
So here I am.
Big bad Lion Shifter, camping out on the curb outside Pizza Girls like a lost dog with a bouquet.
Zero pride left.
Pun intended.
Maybe I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. I’m too far gone for that.
My heart’s pounding, my hands are sweating, and my Lion is pacing, snarling, shredding me from the inside out.
MJ isn’t just some woman I hooked up with.
She isn’t just a fling or a mistake.
She’s my mate.
My everything.
And I fucked it up so royally I can’t even blame her for running.
I can still smell her here—faint but lingering, like laughter, sugar, and the memory of her thighs squeezing tight around me while I bit down and marked her.
Yeah. Marked.
She’s wearing my mating bite, and being away from her is killing me. Literally.
That wasn’t sex. That was forever.
And she bolted like I’d branded her with a damn cattle iron instead of giving her my soul.
And to make matters worse? Tricia— my now ex-HR specialist —decided to fill her head with some bullshit about me servicing Pride females.
For the record?
No.
Not now. Not ever.
I walked away from that life for a reason.
I don’t need anything muddying up my loyalty to MJ.
She is it.
She is the beginning and end of every damn thing for me.
And yet my mother— Gods help me .
I should’ve known better than to expect her to understand. She left me half a dozen voicemails, her voice cracking, wailing about how disappointed she was that I wasn’t fulfilling my duty to the Pride.
That I wasn’t the Lion stud she always imagined I’d be.
A fucking stud.
Yeah, that’s what every son wants to hear from his mother.
When I was younger, I ignored it. Pretended it was just her way of being old-fashioned.
But now? Now that I’ve found my mate?
It stings like hell.
Because what I wanted from her wasn’t advice, or Pride gossip, or another reminder to spread my seed .
I wanted her to be happy for me. To be proud. To see me.
But no. She still cares more about her social standing than the fact her son is on his knees— figuratively and literally —for the one woman who makes him whole.
So yeah.
Processing my disappointment in my mother? Not happening right now.
She doesn’t deserve another second of my time .
Not when MJ’s out there thinking I’m just some faithless prick who can’t keep his pants zipped.
No, right now all I care about is proving to my Pretty Pizza Girl that she’s mine.
Not because my Lion says so.
Not because of some stupid tradition.
But because I love her.
And I will fight for her.
Even if it means sitting out here with my stupid daisies until she finally looks me in the eye.