Page 82 of Broken Bonds
What I can’t deal with is getting his hopes up just to smash them because of circumstances beyond our control. And as much as I’d hate to say goodbye to Mal, leaving the Ocala Pack is not an option for me. This is my home, my livelihood, my family. I will not give all that up for a pup—no matter how attracted I am to him—that I’ve only known a few days.
His gaze drops to my chest, where his fingers play with the hair across my pecs, drawing little swirls and whorls. “I don’t want to do anything to mess this up,” he finally admits. “Working here, living here, or…this, with you.” His gaze cuts up to mine. “Does that make sense?”
“I promise you, as long as you don’t lie to me, we can work through nearly anything. I’m a patient man.” I cup the side of his head, draw him snugly against my chest again, and settle deeper into the water so we can stare out at the stars visible in the dark sky beyond where the overhang ends.
Part of me wishes I had a stronger spiritual nature so I could wish upon them for Mal to remain in my life forever.
“I’m scared,” he whispers. “I finally feel safe for the first time in my life. With you. And I don’t want to lose this. Any of it.”
Something inside my soul lurches, hard, in a good way.
I want to promise to take care of him.
I want to swear to make every worry disappear.
I want to eliminate every threat to him and never let him feel a single second of fear ever again.
But I can’t.
Even if things were settled and he was definitely staying, I can’t be sure he won’t feel a mate bond with someone else during his initiation, and then I’m left with a broken heart.
I press my face against the top of his head and breathe in.
What I finally say is, “I don’t want to lose this either.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Mal
Slow, Hot & Sweaty
This…
I’m rarely at a loss for words—something that’s pissed off my father countless times throughout the years—but right now there’s not much I can say because there’s too much that I want to say.
The part of 25-year-old Malcom Ryan Sterling’s brain that controls logic and reason says there’s no fucking way in hell I should let my imagination entertain anything other than enjoying here, and now. This moment. Not even twelve or six hours ahead of now.
Because realistically, I have no fucking clue where I’ll be tomorrow or next week or next month.
I don’t know what’ll happen with my father, or with my initiation.
If I even make it that far and I’m not shipped out of here to some unknown destination.
I don’t know what Todd’s thinking, either. His actions feel like safety and even more—like what I really wish I could label love—but I have no clue if that’s his default or something special reserved for me. The truth is, I’ve never felt anything like this before, but I’ve also never had a short-term, much less a long-term, romantic relationship. This could simply be what other people get to enjoy all the time, even if they’re not in a committed relationship, when they’re not deep in the closet and terrified of their father killing them over who they love.
I have no idea if, during or after initiation, I’ll meet someone I feel an instant mate bond with.
It finally drifts into my conscious brain there’s music softly playing through an outdoor speaker above us. I don’t know when he turned it on, but the mellow mix of music from jazz to country to slow rock is a nice backdrop and I’m digging it, even though I’ve yet to hear a song I know.
The last thing I want to do is move. I’m comfy, I’m fucking flying still from what we did, and part of me feels desperately afraid that if we go our separate ways now that I might never get this opportunity with him again.
“Part of me wants to be tucked into bed,” I say, “and part of me wishes I could go on a nighttime run.”
His chin nuzzles the top of my head again. “Why not both?”
I tip my head back to look him in the eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. We can run here. I run all the time. It’s safe.”
