Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 174

Chapter 174

Skye

^༩༽

+15 Bgm

It’s been several days since the mating ceremony and I’m making breakfast in a house that contains both my mate and the man I’m apparently also bonded to, and I have absolutely no idea what the etiquette is for this

There is no etiquette for this.

I may be the first wolf in living memory who has to develop it from scratch, which is either fascinating or horrifying depending on the hour. Right now, at 7 AM with the coffee still brewing, it’s mostly the second one.

Before, there were things everyone was feeling but not acknowledging. The knowing looks. The careful distances. The way the three of us navigated rooms without saying what we were all aware of.

Now everything is acknowledged. Named. Agreed to, in the loose, provisional, we’re-all-trying way we agreed to it on the terrace. It should be better. Somehow it’s both better and more complicated.

Nicolai is careful with me. Not the cold type of careful-not the distance I used to read as rejection. This is different. This is the carefulness of someone who meant what he said and is still finding out what it costs him to mean it. He’s being thoughtful. Deliberate. Making sure his responses are chosen rather than reflexive.

What this means in practice is that sometimes he’s slightly too present and sometimes slightly too absent and neither of us has figured out the calibration yet.

Jaxon is careful with me in a completely different way. The carefulness of someone who’s terrified of making a wrong move-who has made wrong moves before and is cataloging every potential wrong move in the current situation and trying to avoid all of them simultaneously.

What this means in practice is that he asks permission for things that don’t require permission. Is it okay if I sit here? Is this a good time? Things he never used to ask, which is actually progress from when he never asked anything, but which have now overcorrected into something that makes me feel like a museum exhibit.

But then again, I’m careful with both of them. Managing the management. Keeping track of who needs what from me in this specific moment and providing it while trying not to deplete the other one’s account.

I am exhausted. I didn’t anticipate the exhaustion.

And just when I’m taking a breath of free air, enjoying the time alone in the early morning hours, Jaxon enters the kitchen. He has Benji with him-it was his turn on morning wake-up and bottle duty- and he brings him to the kitchen where I’m currently hiding over a frying pan full of bacon.

This is fine. Normal even. We’ve done this dozens of times. He transfers Benji to my arms and our hands touch in the transfer. Unavoidable.

The contact lasts maybe three seconds but the bond does something when we touch. That very inconvenient spark of pleasure thing that makes me want to lean into his touch, to ask him for more, instead of moving away. And it’s worse because Jaxon’s hands don’t move away immediately, and his eyes meet mine for a half second that is completely ordinary and also, because of the bond, not ordinary at all.

Then Nicolai walks in.

He sees it—whatever there is to see, which is two people handing baby to each other, which is the most benign possible scenario. He sees it anyway. His jaw does the thing. The tension thing that I’ve learned means he’s feeling something he’s choosing not to express.

He takes a breath. And leaves the kitchen without speaking.

1/3

+15 Bonus

I stand there with Benji, who is thoroughly uninterested in the adult situation and is reaching for the counter. I feel the pull of two bonds simultaneously-Nicolai going one direction, Jaxon still close-and I don’t know what to do with my hands and I don’t know what to do with any of this.

“I should-“Jaxon starts.

“It’s okay,” I say softly.

“Is it?” I’m sure he’s asking because my face is saying the opposite right now.

“It was a handoff,” I rationalize. “It was completely innocent.”

“Okay,” he says. But he leaves too. Quickly.

And I’m alone in the kitchen with my son, who’s demanding my attention, and two men who just both departed from the same room without speaking but are still occupying my every thought.

The etiquette, I think. There is no etiquette.

I call Diana from my room that afternoon while Benji naps. She answers on the second ring, the way she always does now-immediately, like she’s been expecting me. And it’s so weird to think that only months ago, I barely tolerated her. But now, aside from Nicolai, she’s my closest confidante.

“Tell me,” she demands. No preamble. Just the earnest desire to know everything I want or need to share. The good, the bad, and the statistically impossible that I;ve seemed to manage anyway.

I tell her all of it–the bond snap, the arrangement, the awkward daily reality, the touching incident this morning.

I tell her about Nicolai’s jaw and Jaxon’s permission-asking and the fact that I’m exhausted from managing the management.

Diana listens without interrupting.

When I finish, she asks, “Are you happy?”

I open my mouth to give the immediate answer and close it again.

Am I happy?

“I don’t know yet,” I say honestly. “I’m scared and guilty and confused and tired.” I pause. “And also-yes. Parts of this yes. Which makes me feel guilty about the yes.”

“The yes is what matters in all of this, Skye.” Diana says. “The rest is logistics.”

“These are very complicated logistics.”

“The best things usually are.” I can hear the smile in her voice-not dismissive, just the warmth of someone who has earned the right to say that. “How are both men treating you?”

“Like I’m made of glass,” I snort. “Both of them. For completely different reasons, but the effect is the same. I feel like I’m walking through a museum of myself.”

“Ah,” Diana says. “That’s the one you can fix.”

“What do you mean?” Hope builds in my chest.

“Men who are trying to do the right thing for a woman sometimes forget to ask the woman what right looks like,” she explains. “They decide what right looks like usually it involves some form of careful management-and then they provide it. Whether you want it or not. Tell them.”

2/3

We know you’… Your bonus doesn’t care about your excuses. You know yo…

“Tell them what?” I’m genuinely at a loss.

+15 8gn

That you’re not made of glass. That you hate being handled carefully. That they’re making it worse, not better.” Her voice is practical. Affectionate. “You’ve been learning to say the hard things, sweetheart. Say this one too.”

Sure. My inner voice snarks. I’ll just go find both men, sit them down, and read them the riot act for trying to spare my feelings. That should go over well.

No problem at all.

།

Cara Anderson Author

Thank you for reading!

19

Comments

Support

Share

3/3