Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“You know what,” I said, finding my perfect excuse. “I think I’m going to go home and call it a night before the storm comes. It’s been a long day.”
Macie appeared disappointed at that with how she pouted her lips. “You don’t want to stay and celebrate the win? I’ll buy you a drink. You can get me the round after?”
I shook my head. I’d already made up my mind. I was going to try and fix this one way or another.
“I really should get going.”
“Call me if you need me, Miles.” Emmy reached a closed fist across the table. I bumped it with mine. Reminded me of when we’d have our secret handshakes back in high school.
“Thanks. I will.”
Macie leaned in and wrapped me in a tight hug. “It’s all going to be okay,” she said directly into my ear. I felt a little awkward by how close she was. I smiled, hugged her back, and excused myself once again. She exited the booth so I could hop out. I made my way through the crowd made up of mostly hockey guys and some fans, all of them wearing the black, light blue, and white of the Bobcats. I avoided getting sucked into further conversation and went outside, my car not parked far at all.
Inside, I pulled out my phone. I opened my text chain with Dylan. We had just been talking about making s’mores together after I found out it was one of his favorite snacks. Such a light, fun conversation and plan that was now up in the air, along with everything else.
Fuck. I have to fix this.
The pressure was on as I typed out a message to him.
MILES: Dyl, I understand how you’re feeling and why you feel like that. But please give me a chance to explain myself further. I’m heading over to your place, I hope we can talk.
There. Sent. If he really didn’t want me to come over then I was sure he’d read the text and tell me exactly that, and I would respect that. Which meant that every passing second a new text didn’t ding into my phone was an equal mix of dread and relief. I didn’t want him to turn me away. I also wanted him to read it and text me saying that it was going to be okay, that he wanted to talk about it.
Neither of those things happened. I drove the entire fifteen minutes to his house with my phone in my lap, constantly checking it every chance I got even though I knew I hadn’t felt any vibrations or heard any dings.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Was he ignoring me? Was he even home?
That second question was answered when I pulled into his driveway, next to his car. There was a light on in the living room. I checked my phone again. No text.
I decided to call him. Maybe he’d pick up. I felt bad just walking up to his door and knocking, but I was desperate to speak to him at this point.
It went directly to his voicemail. Like he’d turned it off or something. Rain started to patter down on my windshield. Splat, splat, splat. Fuck. I put my phone back in my pocket and wondered if I had lost my mind or if this was actually a good decision before getting out of the car and hurrying to his front door.
My heart pounded. My white Bobcats shirt had gotten wet in the run. I braced myself for how this night could end—either Dylan would hear me out and trust me or he would let doubts and anxiety reign while his heart took a backseat.
I rang his doorbell. The cheery chime sounded through the door. My bracelet glinted under the porch light. I twirled it. Examined it a little closer. It was a nice gift, I had really appreciated it, rarely ever took it off. In fact, the only time I removed it was during full moon shifts.
And the first time I felt that fated mate feeling—the one written about in books and talked about in shifter lore—was that night, into the morning. When the two of us were still completely naked, sent to nirvana on a river of pure pleasure. That’s why I hadn’t thought too deeply into it. I thought maybe things were fogged by carnal desires.
But what if they hadn’t been? What if…
I rang the doorbell again. Started to knock. He wasn’t answering. Was he even home? I decided to lean over and peek into the living room. Nike sat lounging on the back of the couch, tail swishing, the television playing an old hockey game for some background noise. I could see into his backyard through another window. The door to his fence was swinging open in the stormy winds. Rain fell in a thick curtain, making it difficult to see out into the woods behind his yard.