Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 231

Ch. 4

Cassandra

The next morning I wake up to an all too familiar ache in my chest. Unconsciously, I rub at the spot before I realize what I’m doing and my hand drops away. It’s the echo of my bond with him–I don’t allow myself to say his name and I deserve the pain.

At first, I was surprised to find the bond was still there. Not the way bonds are supposed to be, of course. The overwhelming pull I felt the entire time I was in Ironwood left when I did, right after he rejected me. But I still feel the tug in my chest, like someone yanking a thread that leads back to him.

It’s faint. Dormant. A scar where something used to be.

When he rejected me formally, I thought: fine. Done. Clean. It isn’t clean.

The thread persists and I feel it every day, but worse on the bad ones. The knowledge that somewhere there is a person who is connected to me even through rejection, even through everything. Someone who was meant for me Someone I didn’t deserve.

I tell myself it’s not him I miss so much as I miss the idea of him. The potential. The version of the future that existed in that half-second before I decided not to give up my plan to take what wasn’t mine.

I’m a bad liar.

I’ve always been a bad liar. That’s the problem with being very good at reading situations: you can see your own lies as clearly as everyone else’s.

I don’t miss the idea. I miss him. The person who looked at me at that gate with wonder, and then with hurt, and then with the coldness of someone who doesn’t hate me exactly, but only because he’s decided he doesn’t care enough to bother.

Shaking off the melancholy those thoughts bring, I force myself to get up and get on with my day. It’s Sunday and that means my weekly call with Liam. I need to look my best so he doesn’t worry about me.

Vera, his paternal grandmother, answers first. She is polite in the careful way of a woman doing something difficult and choosing not to complain about it, which I can appreciate. But it still irks me that Jarrett never answers. If he’s going to keep my son from me, the least he could do is show his face when I call. Not that I’d want Liam exposed to this life, but it doesn’t change the fact I’m salty about him avoiding me.

“He’s right here,” Vera says, every week. “He’s been waiting for your call.”

“Mama.” Liam’s sweet face pops into view, his little voice tugging at my heartstrings and, just like every week, I have to hold back my tears so he won’t see me cry.

“Hi, baby,” I coo. “What did you do this week?”

He tells me all about his week. About playing outside with his friends, a nature walk he took with his dad, and a bird he saw-which he describes at length. I listen to every word. I ask questions. The bird was red. It sat on the fence for a long time. Vera says it might come back.

“Maybe it’ll come back,” he says excitedly.

“Maybe,” I agree. “Are you being good for Gran Vera?”

“Yes.” He pauses and I know what’s coming. I braće myself for the sting of it. “Mama, when are you coming?”

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This question. Every week, this question, and every week I have a version of the same answer: soon, I’m working it, I’m finding us a better place. The answers used to be true and maybe they still are, but I’m not as confident as used to be. I know that’s not good enough but he’s only four years old and he accepts it with a trust I don’t deserve.

“Soon,” I tell him and hope it’s not a lie. “I’m working on finding us somewhere good to live.”

“Okay,” he nods happily. “Gran Vera made soup.”

“Ooh! Was it good?” My stomach growls embarrassingly at the mention of food.

“It was okay. She puts too many carrots.” HIs little nose wrinkles at the offending vegetable.

“Did you tell her that?” I chuckle.

“I did,” he confirms, then his face falls into a pout. “She said I was wrong.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “She might be right.”

“She might be wrong,” he insists, with four-year-old certainty.

We talk for another few minutes. He tells me about something he built, something he found, something Vera said. Small things. The details of a daily life I’m not part of.

“I love you,” I tell him, at the end. The part I dread.

“Love you, Mama,” he beams at me. “Bye.”

The call ends and I sit in my small tent and stare at the wall for twenty minutes, willing the tears away. Crying won’t solve anything. It won’t change what I did to end up here.

That night I lie awake like I do most nights. But tonight is different-tonight the thoughts won’t go away and I’m too tired to force them.

I think about what my life could have looked like. Not the Jaxon version. I’m done with Jaxon-clear-eyed enough now to call it what it was: a misdirected impulse built on old resentment, a grab for something that was never what I actually wanted. Skye had what I thought I wanted. I wanted to take it. The psychology of it isn’t flattering and I’m working on looking at it directly.

What I think about instead is that day at the gate. The moment before I decided. The bond-unexpected, unplanned, the universe offering me a gift I refused to accept. And him, standing there with wonder on his face, the expression of someone receiving something they didn’t know they were waiting for.

I shunned it. I chose to ignore fate and looked right past my mate toward the main house and the Alpha inside. I made a choice I can’t unmake.

I tell myself it’s better this way. He deserves someone who will choose him immediately, without the calculation, without the decision. He deserves the fairytale version. I’m not that. I’ve never been that. I’m the version who ruins things.

I push the thought away. I’m good at pushing thoughts away. Though I’m not sure how much longer “good at it” is going to be enough.

I hear Garrett’s voice in my head again. Whatever it is, it follows you.

The thread of the bond is there. Faint. Dormant. That’s what’s following me.

I close my eyes. Tell myself tomorrow I’ll have more distance from it.

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Yeah, I’m a really bad liar.

Cara Anderson

Author

Thank you for reading!

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