Page 99 of Mated to the Mountain Bear
Hope is dangerous for someone in my position, but it flickers anyway. A stubborn flame I can’t quite extinguish.
“She asked me to leave,” I say quietly, my voice nearly lost in the wind. “Saw how miserable I was and gave me an out.”
“Yeah,” Maddox agrees, his voice unusually gentle. “Because she loves you.”
There’s a hint of envy in his voice. Even knowing the torture I’m going through, all bears want to find their mate.
“She’s not marked.”
“Then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.” He pulls the keys from his pocket and unlocks the doors and climbs behind the wheel in one smooth movement. “No wonder your bear is frantic.”
We sit in silence as Maddox follows the Mercedes through afternoon traffic at a distance. When she stops for coffee, and we have to sit and wait, I almost lose my mind.
“I hate this,” I finally say, the admission carrying all the weight of the last two days.
“The job or the situation?” Maddox never takes his eyes off the road.
“Both.”
Maddox nods, understanding in his eyes. “Fair enough. Maybe it’s not for you, but it beats sitting in your cabin going stir crazy, doesn’t it?”
I’m not so sure. At least there, I could properly wallow in memories of her. Here, all I can think about is how I should be with her.
My bear shows me images of her curled up sleeping, using me as a pillow. Her face when she came apart beneath me. The way she tried to be strong when she sent me away.
The first drops of rain fall, hitting the windshield in fat splats. Maddox turns on the wipers as we watch the Mercedes pull into a hotel parking lot. The blonde woman throws her keys to the valet with a practiced smile.
Maddox pulls over and turns off the engine, pushing his seat back. He reaches into the back for a bag of snacks, handing me a thick sandwich. More meat than bread, just how I like it.
I grunt my thanks and unwrap it, breathing in the scent of roast beef and mustard. Okay, maybe this is better than destroying my cabin.
My phone buzzes. Beau’s name flashes on the screen.
“How’s it going?” he asks carefully.
“Thrilling. We’ve documented two delivery trucks and a gardener.”
“Better than destroying property.” A pause. “Hang in there. Two more days.”
The rain drums harder on the roof, and I watch this stranger's life unravel in slow motion.
I pull out my phone and text Zara: "Miss you. See you Friday."
Three dots appear immediately. She's typing. Then they disappear. Then appear again.
Finally: "Miss you too."
44
ZARA
The laptop screen glows in the dim apartment. I’ve been hunched over the coffee table for hours, working through Amber’s contracts. Empty coffee mugs crowd the surface, and my back protests when I shift positions. Jerry’s sprawled across my feet, occasionally sighing, like he’s as bored as I am.
I hate it here. Amber’s everywhere and nowhere, all at once.
A knock breaks the monotony of my work and the bouts of sadness that hit whenever a memory of her, no matter how inconsequential, fills my mind.
Jerry lifts his head, ears forward, then trots to the door with his tail doing that uncertain wag he does with strangers.
