No.I force the thoughts away. She needs me to be calm. Steady.
When I pull up to her cabin, Maya meets me at the door. Her face is tight with worry.
“She’s on the couch,” she says quietly. “Been asking for you.”
I push past her, following Carla’s scent, that’s mixed with the sharp tang of panic and distress. The living room is dim, just one lamp casting shadows on the walls.
I find her curled on the couch, knees to her chest, and trembling. She looks smaller than I remember. Fragile.
“Hey,” I say softly, dropping to my knees beside her. “I’m here.”
Her eyes snap open, revealing those beautiful green eyes that haunted my dreams all week. They’re wide with leftover fear, pupils dilated.
“Billy?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m here.”
She reaches for me, and I gather her against my chest without hesitation. The moment we touch, my bear settles for the first time in seven days. This. This is what we needed. Our mate, safe in our arms.
She burrows into me, fisting her hands in my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against my chest. “I thought I could do this. Thought I was strong enough.”
“You are strong. The strongest person I know.”
I stroke her hair, marveling at how right this feels. How perfectly she fits against me.
“But we’re not meant to do this alone.”
Maya clears her throat from the doorway. “I’m going to go. But Carla? Next time, just call him instead of trying to prove something to yourself.”
After she leaves, I help Carla sit up, keeping one arm around her. She won’t meet my eyes, fingers still twisted in my shirt.
“Want to tell me what happened?”
She’s quiet for a moment, organizing her thoughts. When she speaks, her voice is small.
“I was going stir-crazy in the cabin. Maya’s been bringing groceries, checking on me every day, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to feel normal.”
Her voice drops to almost a whisper.
“I made it two blocks before the panic hit. Couldn’t breathe. Kept seeing Leon everywhere.”
My bear growls at his name, but I keep my voice gentle. “PTSD. It’s normal after what you went through.”
“I hate feeling weak.”
“You’re not weak, you’re healing. There’s a difference.”
She looks up at me then, and the vulnerability in her eyes breaks my heart. “I missed you. The nightmares are worse when you’re not here.”
“I missed you, too.” The admission comes out rougher than intended. “My bear’s been going crazy. Not being able to check on you, to protect you... it’s been hell.”
“I’m sorry I sent you away.”
“Don’t apologize. You needed space. I understand.”
“I thought I did.” She shifts closer, and I try not to notice how perfectly she fits against my side. “But I think what I really need is...”
