“I’m not. Lev said she worked at the High Roller, her cat’s pregnant.”
Elena looks back up at me and begins crying again as she leans into my shoulder.
“Lucy? Glade’s cat is having babies?” she says in a choked voice.
“I hope those are happy tears.”
“They are, I love Lucy.”
“You’ll have your own in a few weeks. We need to get out of the shower, eat, and drink. Are you tired?”
She nods into my neck.
“It honestly feels like I’ve been hit by a car.”
“Let’s get you taken care of.”
“But getting out of the shower means facing reality.”
I kiss the side of her hair and squeeze her.
“If anyone can work through this, it’s you.”
She pulls back, stroking my face. “You’re a good man, Cillian O’Brien.”
As if she didn’t own my heart already, it’s now in the palm of her hand.
38
ELENA
Cillian helpsme get dressed and blow dry my hair before we walk back into the nest.
“I’ve got your back. We all do. We’re a pack,” he tells me.
We are a pack.
After my heat, I realize the complete sincerity of those words. I remember bits and pieces. Surprisingly, my bonding with Finn is the clearest memory.
I take a deep breath and open the door.
When I look into the room, three sets of eyes are looking back at me, and I’m so relieved that Finn didn’t leave. I don’t think I’d recover if he bonded me and then decided to give me the silent treatment.
“Can we talk?” Finn asks. I can feel his worry flow down through the bond, or maybe it’s my own? I’m sure with time, this feeling will be easier to gauge.
“Go ahead. I’ll have Maeve make breakfast,” Cillian encourages.
Finn unlocks the nest, and we head down the hall to his room.
My heart is racing. I’m guessing he can sense my stress through the bond, he places his hand on my lower back for assurance.
“Take a seat, you’re probably exhausted,” he suggests, and I swallow.
I lick my lips. I’m in desperate need of copious amounts of water and chapstick. Finn paces in front of me. He keeps opening his mouth to speak and then shakes his head. It’s then I realize our emotions are the same. We’re both afraid of the other’s regret. Yet, neither of us are feeling regret, only panic over the other’s emotions.
“You don’t regret it?” I blurt out, needing to make sure everything I’m feeling is right.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I feel guilty and out of control, but I don’t regret it.”
