Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 149

Chapter 149

Skye

Just when I think I’ve seen all sides of the man that is Nicolai Woolf, he’ll show me another part of himself no one but me gets to see. Tonight, for example, he made love to me for hours. Not urgent–not the over-the-desk version, not the I need you right now and the door can take care of itself version. The unhurried kind. The kind that leaves me feeling utterly and thoroughly worshipped.

Afterward, lying in the dark with his arms around me, I feel something warm dripping down my cheek. A drop lands on his chest and I feel the moment he registers it.

“Why are you crying?” He growls, his arms tightening around me and his heart beating faster, like he’s suddenly on high alert, ready to slay whatever evil has dared upset me.

“I didn’t know it could be like this.” I say on a choked sob. Then, “embarrassed I’m actually crying after sex, “Can we just pretend I’m not crying? It must be the post-pregnancy hormones still fluctuating.

He sits up against the headboard, pulling me with him to sit in his lap, and rocks me gently. “Hormones or not, you never have to hide how you’re feeling from me.” He says softly, “And I promise you, it will always be like this, ” he vows.

Which is why, now, I can’t stop thinking about promises.

I’ve been careful with them since Jaxon. Careful about making them, careful about believing them. A promise is a story about the future, and I’ve spent enough time being wrong about the future that I approach those stories with a healthy degree of skepticism.

But Nicolai’s promises are things I can check against evidence. I’ll tell you the truth. He has. I’m not going anywhere. He hasn’t. I’ll put you first. He does. Every. Single. Time.

“Okay,” I reply, choosing there and then to believe him.

And I realize it was true. I believe him the way I believe the earth is round and the sky is blue. Just an incontrovertible fact.

He presses his lips to my hair and didn’t say anything else. But while he drifts off into peaceful sleep, I can’t shut my mind off. Instead, I lie awake pondering on a promise I made, if not in words, in spirit, that I haven’t kept.

I keep telling myself I’m going to call Gianna. About the bond. I’ve been telling myself this for two weeks. I haven’t called.

I have reasons. Real ones. Good ones even. The unpredictable recovery window-severing a mate bond is physically punishing and I have a ten-week-old who needs me to be functional, so I need to understand the timeline before I can plan around it. Jaxon doesn’t know yet, and he should know before it happens, which means I need to tell him, which means I need to be ready to have that conversation.

These are real reasons that hold genuine importance in the scheme of things. I’m a politically sharp person with years of experience reading situations clearly. More importantly, I’ve learned a great deal about what it means to know myself over the past year. So I know when I’m using real reasons or simply avoiding the need to look for a different one.

I don’t look for a different one. Instead I repeat to myself until I believe it: I’ll call Gianna. I’ll tell Jaxon. I’ll do the right thing in the right order, properly, so nobody has something happen to them that they didn’t see coming. That’s what I’m doing. I’m being thorough.

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Cara Anderson Author

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