Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 143

Chapter 143

Jaxon

I give myself exactly twenty minutes to completely lose my shit, internally. Then I get up. I wash my face in the bathroom-more luxurious than any bathroom I’ve ever been in, I notice distantly–and go back to the main house to find my son.

Benji is awake, as it happens, and is vehemently and loudly protesting his current circumstances. Skye is with him, normally the exact person who can settle him but having no luck this time. She looks up when I come in, reads something in my face, and hands him to me without asking.

I take him. Hold him close enough to feel his warmth, his weight, the way he settles against my chest with the ease of someone who has decided this is acceptable. I feel Skye’s gaze burning a hole in me but I don’t acknowledge it. I’m not strong enough for that yet.

Instead, I focus on our son. He grabs my collar and investigates.

“I know,” I tell him. “It’s a lot.”

He doesn’t confirm or deny. Just continues investigating. Skye is quiet across the room but I still feel her eyes on me like a brand on my skin.

It’s fine. We’re fine. Everything is fine.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

After that night, things start to happen quickly. Noah arrives from Ironwood mid-week with his laptop and a folder and the energy of an overly enthusiastic puppy. He has organized everything in advance and jumps right in, gesturing wildly as he talks about his plan for running the pack while I’m gone.

If I didn’t know better, I might think he’s happy to be rid of me.

“Here’s the weekly structure. Here’s what I handle without you, here’s what needs your direct input. Anything pack-level above this threshold, I bring to you. Below it, I manage.” He slides papers across the table in the estate’s meeting room. “This is what you’re responsible for remotely. It’s manageable.”

“You’re sure you can run the pack?” It’s not the first time I’ve asked since Skye and Nicolai agreed to let me move in. It’s probably not even the tenth.

He rolls his eyes at me. “I’ve been running the pack. You’ve been managing feelings.”

Fair.

By Friday I’m in the west wing with my clothes in the closet and my laptop on the desk and a framed photo of Benji on the corner of it that Skye gave me the morning of the move-she’d printed it herself, she said, because she thought I might want something to uplifting to look at when I’m working.

I look at it now. It’s a picture of Benji at six weeks old, in the wrap Nicolai had bought, his little face scrunched with the effort of existing. I’d had complicated feelings about the wrap. I look at the photo and have them again, briefly, and then set them aside.

He’s warm in it. He’s held. I remind myself that’s what matters.

You’re doing the right thing. It will get easier. I’m here if you need me.

I read it twice, trying to convince myself he’s right about the getting easier part. Then I put the phone down and make myself sleep.

I’m here. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And it’s the right thing. Those two facts are going to have to coexist for the foreseeable future, and I’m going to have to be a man who can hold them both.

I can do that. I’ve done harder things this year.

Not many. But some.

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Cara Anderson Author

Thank you for reading!

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