Page 49 of Broken Rejected Mate

“Emin,” my father says, straightening up when he sees me.

“Can’t right now,” I say, moving to push past him, but he steps in front of me, holding his hands up.

“Emin.”He sucks in a breath of air, squares his shoulders. I look more like my mother, but I see myself in him, too. His chin, the shape and set of his eyes. “Son.”

This is already too much, I can tell.

“Dad—”

“Just hear me out,” he says, the words coming out in a whoosh. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for ages now, and I—”

When he shakes his head, it’s like looking into a mirror, and I realize where I got the gesture. From watching him do it growing up.

“I’m sorry.”

I blink, trying to process the words. Coming from his mouth. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, hands still held up. “For—for everything. I realize now that the way we raised you and Kira—we forced your sister out. We failed her. And, maybe you turned out okay, but I can see now how our behavior affected you. Now that your mother—”

He stops himself, and I see genuine grief there for the wife he lost. The wife he maybe never had. My mother, who betrayed us.

“We don’t have to talk it through now.” He lowers his voice. “But I would like to—I’d like to have a relationship with my children. With my grandchildren. If that’s something you’d be open to.”

I let out a quick, disbelieving breath. Of all the things I thought would happen today, getting an apology from my father was not one of them.

“Maybe,” I finally manage, before I actually do push past him.

He doesn’t say a thing. Apparently, that’s enough for him, for now.

Chapter 27 - Veva

Without meaning to, I fall into a routine within the Ambersky pack. A week has already gone past since my heat ended.

I’ve been working on the Amanzite casting, meeting with Beth and the other psychics. Having dinner with Kira and Dorian, holding their cooing, gentle babies in my hands.

And I’ve started to remember how much I love the color of the sun, slanting over the landscape, everything glowing red like when you tip your closed eyes up to it. The simple pleasure of watching a lizard climb the side of the building, tasting the fresh citrus and how Kira works it into delicious recipes, fresh lemonade, cream pies, roasted fish.

Time has started to move along easily, with Sarina visiting the library each morning and sinking into her books throughout the day. One of the casters mentioned to me that the city school is actually very good, and the look of hope on Sarina’s face—delight at the idea of attending class, doing something more than homeschooling—made something in me shift.

It makes something in me wonder if this might not be a bad place to raise my daughter, after all. The moment I think it, I push it to the back of my mind, but it’s there.

I’ve started to grow a bit complacent, gotten used to the way things feel around here. I don’t have to wake up every morning and gather water, beat scorpions out of our shed. Hope Herold has something good for breakfast, scrub the dirt out of our clothes. I’ve become accustomed to the easy, quiet comfort of Emin’s presence, the way he’s been trying so hard to convince Sarina and I life in Ambersky is worth it.

And that’s why I notice the second Sarina and I come out of the casting room, and Emin stands stiffly, waiting for us.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, brow pulling down immediately. The way he looks at me—surprise, coupled with suspicion—makes my stomach turn.

“Nothing,” Emin shakes the look off his face, replacing it with a terse smile. Putting a hand on my elbow, he guides me toward the door. “It’s nothing—let’s get some lunch, huh?”

Sarina, with a book under her arm, perks up at the idea of lunch, skipping along beside him. I walk behind them, biting my lip, unable to ignore the similarities between the two, even down to the way they hold themselves, their gait, and that red-gold hair, glinting in the early afternoon sun.

***

It’s past midnight when I crack open the door to Emin’s room and slip inside, crawling into his bed. He turns and tucks his arm around me, pulling my body into his automatically, but there’s still something there I can sense—some sort of reservation.

“Emin,” I start, though I’m not sure if he’s even awake. “What happened today?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, long enough that I start to think he might actually be asleep, that I’m whispering to nobody in the dark.

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