Page 24 of Marked By The Filthy-Mouthed Grizzly
It’s her. It’s actually her.
My grizzly stirs as my mate parks beside my house. I quickly fix my hair and toss the empty beer bottles into the bushes.
Her engine idles for a moment, then shuts off.
The door opens.
And there she is.
Erica.
My mate.
She walks into the light, her silhouette haloed by headlights, hands in pockets, her jacket pulled tight like a shield. For a second, I wonder if grief has finally broken me—because she looks too perfect to be real.
My heart lurches so hard it feels like it might split open.
I stand silently, not trusting my voice.
She takes one step. Then another. Then she stops, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Her headlights turn off and I can finally see her gorgeous face, lit up in the moonlight. My heart aches, she’s so beautiful.
“I wasn’t going to come,” she says softly. “I was going to drive back home.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t,” I say with a lurch in my throat. “Erica, I’m so sorry.”
She puts her hand up. “I don’t think I can forgive you,” she says, which makes me want to die. “I don’t know how I could.”
I drop my head, devastated. That’s the last thing I wanted to hear.
“Then how come you came?” I ask in a low tortured voice.
“I had to say goodbye,” she says. “I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
I just stand there, not knowing what to say or do. I don’t know how I can fix this.
“I know you’re not a bad man,” she says, her voice breaking. “I know you didn’t want what happened to happen.”
“I would take it back if I could,” I whisper. “I’d do anything to make it right.”
We’re standing only a few feet apart, the tension so thick I can barely breathe. I just want to go over there and kiss her. To make it all better. But I can’t.
“Well, we are where we are,” she says sadly. “And there’s no fixing what already happened.”
“So,” I say, not wanting to believe it. “This is it?”
She shrugs her slim shoulders, trying not to cry. “I think this is it.”
I’m about to beg her to reconsider, but the faint sound of motorcycles comes rumbling to my ears. She doesn’t hear it yet. It takes her a few seconds.
“What’s that?” she asks fearfully, turning to the sound as she steps back.
“You’ll be safe,” I tell her as my bear steps up inside, ready for anything. “No one is going to hurt you.”
Three motorcycles rumble onto my property, the aggressive headlights slicing through the darkness.
I grit my teeth and narrow my eyes on them as they roll to a stop.
