Page 42 of Stout Bear

“You don't mean that,” Max said, desperation edging his voice. “You're upset. Let's go somewhere quiet, talk this through.”

“There's nothing to talk about,” Laney said, turning away. “I was fooling myself thinking I could ever belong here, with you. I should have known better.”

The distance between them grew as she walked toward her car, her shoulders hunched against the weight of her perceived failure. Max followed, but slower now, sensing that pushing too hard would only drive her further away.

“What about our mate bond?” he called after her. “What about everything we've shared?”

Laney paused, her hand on her car door. For a moment, Max thought she might turn back, might reconsider. But when she spoke, her voice was hollow.

“Some bonds aren't meant to be,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Goodbye, Max.”

She got into her car and drove away, leaving Max standing alone in the glow of the streetlamp, his bear howling in anguish inside him as he watched his mate disappear into the night.

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

The dim lightof Laney's apartment cast long shadows across the half-packed boxes scattered across the floor. Her curtains hung half-drawn, allowing just enough moonlight to illuminate the disarray of clothes tossed on chairs and research papers strewn about. A mournful melody played from her small radio, underlining the heaviness in the air.

Laney moved mechanically, folding a sweater before placing it in an open suitcase. Her hands trembled slightly as she worked, her mind replaying the disaster at the town council meeting. Flint's smug face appeared in her thoughts, followed by the dismissive expressions of the council members. The shame burned fresh in her memory.

“They never believed me,” she whispered to the empty room. “Just like before.”

It was her previous job all over again, except this time, the stakes were higher. This time, she'd foolishly allowed herself to care about the town, the brewery, and most dangerously, about Max.

Laney moved to her desk where stacks of lab notebooks were neatly arranged. She picked them up one by one. Years of work, of passion, of hoping to make a difference, all going into storage or trash. Her finger traced the careful notes on water contamination, the evidence she'd meticulously gathered that no one wanted to hear.

“So many times I tried to help,” she murmured, closing the notebook with finality. “But each time, I was branded 'overreactive.' I'm done.”

The decision to quit the Bright Institute had come easily after tonight. Science had been her refuge, her way of proving her worth when her inability to shift had made her feel less than whole. But what good was being right if no one would listen? What value did her research have if it couldn't help the people she'd grown to care about?

The thought of Max threatened to unravel her resolve. His kind eyes, his unwavering support, the way he looked at her as if she was perfect just as she was. For a moment, doubt crept in. Was she making a mistake by leaving him behind?

She shook her head firmly. No. She couldn't bear another disappointment. Max might think he wanted her now, but eventually, he would realize what everyone else seemed to know. That she wasn't enough. That a bear shifter of his stature deserved better than a half-shifter who couldn't even fully transform. A sudden knock at the door made her jump. She froze, listening.

“Laney?” Max's voice called from the hallway. “I know you're in there. Please open up.”

She crept silently to the door, peering through the peephole. Max stood there, shoulders slumped, clutching a bouquet of roses. His face was etched with worry, his usual confidence replaced by unmistakable fear. The sight made her chest constrict painfully, but she stayed silent, one hand pressed against the door.

“Laney, please,” he called again, knocking more firmly. “Your car's still here. I can hear your music playing. Just talk to me. Don't walk away like this.”

His voice cracked on the last words, and she closed her eyes, feeling tears well up again. She pressed her forehead against the cool wood of the door, torn between her desire to flee from more pain and the magnetic pull she felt toward him.

“I'm begging you,” Max said, softer now. “Please don't shut me out.”

The raw emotion in his voice broke through her defenses. With a shaky breath, Laney unlocked the door and pulled it open, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. Max stepped inside, his sharp intake of breath telling her he'd noticed the boxes, the emptied shelves, the clear signs of her imminent departure. He set the roses down on a nearby table and moved toward her, arms opening to embrace her.

Laney took a step back, wrapping her arms around herself. “Don't,” she whispered.

“What are you doing?” Max asked, gesturing to the packed boxes. “You're leaving? Just like that?”

“I can't stay here,” Laney said, her voice thin and brittle. “You saw what happened tonight. They laughed at me, Max. They dismissed everything I found, everything I worked for.”

“That doesn't mean you run away,” Max said, his voice gentle but firm.

“Doesn't it?” Anger flashed through her grief. “No one believed me. No one ever does. I tried so hard, and I'm just... I'm done fighting.”

“I believe you,” Max said simply. “I've always believed you.”

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