It’s harder than it should be. Every instinct screams at me to go to her, to bang on the door until she answers, to make her understand that what happened between us wasn’t a mistake. The mate bond pulls at me like a physical force, demanding that I close the distance between us.
I don’t move.
She asked me to leave, and I left. If she wants me back, she’ll have to be the one to say so. I won’t force myself on her. I won’t show up uninvited again and expect her to welcome me with open arms.
Even if staying away feels like slowly ripping out my own heart.
Chapter 19 - Fern
It’s been two weeks, and I still can’t stop looking for him.
Every time the medical center door opens, my head snaps up. Every time I catch a glimpse of dark hair across the town square, my heart stutters in my chest. Every time my phone goes off, I grab it like a lifeline and feel the disappointment sink through me when it’s not his name on the screen.
Connor hasn’t called. Hasn’t texted. Hasn’t shown up on my porch or lurked outside my window or done any of the overprotective werewolf things that drove me crazy before I pushed him away.
I told him to leave. He left.
Apparently, he actually listened this time.
I should be relieved. This is what I wanted. Distance. Space. Time to figure out my own feelings without his presence clouding my judgment. But relief is the last thing I feel as I sit in my office between appointments and stare at my phone like it might spontaneously produce a message from him.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter to myself. “You’re a grown woman. If you want to talk to him, just call him.”
My thumb hovers over his contact for a full minute before I finally press it.
He picks up on the third ring. “Fern?”
The sound of his voice makes something warm unfurl in my chest. I shove the feeling down and focus on sounding normal. “Hey. I was wondering if we could talk.”
“About?”
“About… us. About everything that happened.” I twist a pen between my fingers and watch it spin. “I think we should clear the air.”
A pause. Then: “When?”
“Tonight? You could come by the cottage after I get off work.”
“What time?”
“Six?”
“I’ll be there.”
The line goes dead before I can say anything else. Not exactly a warm reception, but I suppose I deserve that after the way I treated him.
The rest of my workday drags by in a haze of distraction. I see three patients and take detailed notes and offer therapeutic insights, but part of my brain is stuck on repeat, rehearsing what I’m going to say to Connor tonight. I’m sorry. I was scared. I shouldn’t have called you a mistake. I don’t know what I want, but I know I don’t want you to disappear from my life.
By the time five-thirty rolls around, my stomach is in knots.
The walk home takes fifteen minutes, and I spend every one of them looking over my shoulder. That prickling sensation at the back of my neck has returned, the one that tells me I’m being watched. I pick up my pace and clutch my bag closer to my body as I watch the tree line for movement.
Nothing. Just shadows and swaying branches and the distant call of birds settling in for the evening.
I’m being paranoid. Robbie hasn’t shown his face since that night at the bar, and the pack has been watching his campsite around the clock. If he were close, they would know.
Still, I don’t breathe easy until I reach my front porch and fish my keys from my purse.
The cottage looks undisturbed. The sheet I pinned over the broken kitchen window has been replaced by actual glass, courtesy of someone from the pack whose name I never caught. The lock turns smoothly, and I push inside and drop my bag on the entry table.
