“Good. Sit down.”
“I don't need to...”
“You're swaying. Sit down before you fall down.”
“I'm not swaying.”
“You absolutely are. I can see it. Wolf eyes, remember? I can see your heartbeat in your throat and the way your balance keeps shifting because your blood sugar is probably somewhere in the basement.” I pointed at the couch. “Sit.”
Michael sat. Not because I told him to, I could see that in the stubborn set of his jaw. But because his legs probably wouldn't hold him much longer and he knew it.
“Bossy,” he muttered.
“So I've been told.”
I called Martha's and placed an order that was probably too much food for two people. Soup, sandwiches, pie, and whateverelse Martha decided to throw in because she had a sixth sense for when someone needed feeding.
When I hung up, Michael was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
“You're different,” he said.
“Different how?”
“Than what I expected. When I first met you, you were all...” He waved a hand vaguely. “Alpha. Commanding. Larger than life. The kind of man who walks into a room and everyone shuts up.”
“And now?”
“Now you're standing in my living room ordering me soup and telling me my shampoo situation is concerning.” His mouth curved. “It's very strange.”
“I contain multitudes.”
“Apparently.” Michael leaned back against the couch cushions, some of the tension finally bleeding out of him. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask. I might not answer.”
“Fair enough.” He was quiet for a moment, choosing his words. “When you lost Claire... how long before it stopped feeling like you were drowning?”
The question hit somewhere tender. Somewhere I kept locked up and guarded.
“It's been thirteen years,” I said honestly. “I'll let you know when it happens.”
Michael's expression shifted. Soft and sad and understanding in a way that made my chest ache.
“So it doesn't get better.”
“It gets different. The drowning turns into... swimming, I guess. You're still in the water. It's still dark. But you learn to move through it instead of fighting to keep your head up.” Ipaused. “Some days you still sink. But you learn to find your way back to the surface.”
“That's...” Michael shook his head. “That's either the most depressing or the most hopeful thing anyone's ever told me.”
“It's honest. That's all I've got.”
“Honest is good.” He met my eyes. “I'm tired of people telling me it gets better. Like grief has an expiration date. Like one day I'll wake up and Anna will just be a memory instead of a missing limb.”
“Anyone who says that has never lost someone. Or they've lost someone and they're lying to themselves.”
“Claire was your mate. Your... wolf mate. Is that different? Than human grief?”
“Worse, in some ways.” I sat down in the chair across from him, close enough to talk, far enough to breathe. “The bond doesn't break clean. It tears. For months after she died, I could still feel the place where she was supposed to be. Like phantom limb pain. I'd reach for her through the bond and there was just... nothing. A hole where she used to live.”
