Page 42 of Broken Rejected Mate

“I’m sure,” I laugh, then shrug, pulling the seatbelt over my chest. “It must be a biological thing. Not sore at all.”

He swallows, turns and looks out the driver’s side window. Starts the truck, but doesn’t pull out of the driveway.

“Emin?”

“Veva.” When he turns back to look at me, his voice is hoarse. “What are we—what are we doing?”

I’d thought, foolishly, that I was going to be able to get through the heat without an attachment to Emin. That I could use his body, get the relief I needed, and feel nothing at all for him after.

Of course, that turned out to be impossible. How could I not feel softer toward him, after more than a week of doing nothing but touching him, talking to him, running my fingers through his hair?

We talked about growing up. We talked about my mother, the gift my grandmother gave me, what it was like living in the camp.

Emin apologized over and over for what he did, kissing the tops of my knees, the inside of my elbows, my eyelids. Every inch of me. Giving me such pleasure that I could hardly focus on what he was saying, let alone think of the past.

“I don’t…” I face the front of the truck, sucking in a deep breath. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to spend more time with Emin.

Knowing that he went looking for me, that he had no idea what I was trying to tell him—he’s not the man I thought he was.

But is this what I want? A relationship with him? The very thought of it feels foreign, to tie myself to another person.

And there’s the question of Sarina. What do I do about that situation? Because she knows how old she is, and if Emin and I decide to make a go of this, I’m going to have to tell him the truth. He deserves the truth.

But, is that what’s best for Sarina? The Ambersky Pack might be better for omegas than the Grayhide, and things might have gotten better even since I was a teenager, but that doesn’t mean things aregood.

It’s too much to think about. Too hard to come up with a conclusive answer.

“I don’t know,” I finally manage, and when I glance at Emin, I realize he’s staring at me, a strange, open look on his face.

“Veva.” He sucks in a breath, says. “Listen. I—I know things are complicated for you. And I’m not asking for a promise. For a definite answer. But I want…I want you to try. Try this out, give it a chance? Give me a shot to show you what life could be like here, with me?”

I swallow. Even just him asking for this feels like enough for me to say yes. I resist it, resist the urge to give in.

For the past ten years, I’ve been hating Emin. Maybe that entire time, it was a cover to keep from feeling what has always been deep down.

“Okay.”

The word slips out, but the look on Emin’s face is enough that I know I can’t take it back. He puts the car into reverse, rolls out the driveway. Turns on the radio, starts to whistle.

I’ll give it a chance, I decide. But I’m never, ever going to stop thinking about what’s best for my daughter, even if it’s not what’s best for me.

***

“Mom!”

The moment Sarina flies into my arms, the constant, low thrum of anxiety in my chest eases up. I just can’t stand to be away from her.

I’m crouching in Dorian and Kira’s driveway, clutching my daughter to my chest. Dorian and Kira stand at the edge of the driveway, Dorian with one of the twins and Kira with the other. Behind us, Emin’s truck idles.

“You look different.” I finally pull back and hold Sarina at arms’ length, turning her side to side so she giggles at the movement. There are a few more freckles across her nose. Her hair is a shade lighter, more strawberry blonde. “Have you been outside a lot?”

“In the pool a lot,” Kira says, smiling down at my daughter. “But always with sunscreen.”

“And lemon juice!” Sarina adds, touching her hand to her hair.

I glance at Kira, and she blushes. “I hope that’s okay—we’d talked about it lightening hair and she wanted to try it.”

“Kira,” I say, standing up and shaking my head at her. “You took my kid for nine days without warning and you think I might be mad she had lemon juice in her hair?”

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