Page 59 of Brody
“What happened when she opened the door?”Rozi asked softly.The clinical detachment she’d maintained since our reunion was missing from her voice, replaced by genuine interest that made my heart stutter.
“Una took one look at us and knew.She didn’t seem surprised.”The memory was vivid—Una’s face, lined but strong, gray hair pulled back in a practical braid.“My father said, ‘I can’t do this anymore.Not without her.’Then he dropped my bag, put my hand in Una’s, turned around, and walked back to the car.”
The tremor in my left hand intensified at the memory, and I instinctively pressed it against my thigh to hide the pre-feral symptom.But Rozi’s keen eyes missed nothing.I saw her gaze flick to my hand, her mind cataloging another data point about my condition.
“I ran after him, screaming, crying, begging him not to leave me.I grabbed his leg, and he…” My voice broke slightly, the emotion still raw after all these years.“He just detached me like I was nothing.Dragged me back to her door and said, ‘You’ll understand someday.’”
Maybe I do understand now, I thought but didn’t say.The mate bond pounding between Rozi and me made my father’s actions both more incomprehensible and more terrifyingly clear.The idea of living without your mate, by choice or by fate, was a kind of death in itself.
“I watched his taillights disappear down the mountain road.Una stood behind me, not saying a word, just letting me cry until I couldn’t anymore.Then she kissed my cheek, tucked my hand into hers, ushered me inside, and said, ‘Let’s make hot chocolate,’ like it was the most normal thing in the world.”
Rozi’s hand moved unconsciously across the space between us, stopping just short of touching mine.The aborted gesture of comfort seemed to surprise her as much as it did me.She quickly withdrew, tucking her hand beneath her thigh as if to prevent any further rebellion.
“How old were you?”she asked, her voice pitched low, intimate in the flickering light.
“Thirteen.Old enough to understand he had abandoned me.Young enough to still believe I must have done something to deserve it,” I said softly, recognizing the parallel between her experience with her mother and mine with my father.The fire crackled in the hearth, casting shadows that danced across her face.Something about the intimacy of the moment, the safety of this Fae dwelling tucked away from the world, loosened words I rarely spoke.“My mother… I never told you how she died.”
Rozi’s eyes met mine, surprise flickering across her features.“No, you didn’t.”Her voice was gentle, an invitation rather than a demand.
I stared into the flames, seeing memories instead of fire.“My parents were fated mates, found each other young, both from the same pack.The bond between them was…” I swallowed hard, the familiar ache returning to my chest.“It was powerful.Unbreakable.The kind of connection most shifters only dream about.”
“But something happened,” Rozi said softly, her perceptiveness cutting straight to the heart of my story.
I nodded, my hands tightening on my knees.“When I was eleven, my mother got pregnant with their second child.It should have been a time of celebration.”The memory of my father’s face, transformed by pure joy when they announced it to me, remained vivid even after all these years.“But there were complications from the beginning.”
Rozi’s hand moved across the space between us, hesitating before settling on my forearm.The touch was light, barely there, but it anchored me to the present.“What kinds of complications?”
“Something rare, a genetic incompatibility that doesn’t show up until conception.”My voice roughened with emotion I rarely allowed myself to feel.“The pregnancy began to drain her life force, her wolf’s energy pouring into the baby to keep it alive.”
“A conservation mechanism,” Rozi murmured.“The mother’s body sacrificing itself to preserve the next generation.”
I nodded, grateful for her understanding.“The pack healer warned them to terminate, that it would kill her if they continued.But she refused.”My throat tightened around the words.“Said she could feel it was a daughter, the little girl they’d always wanted.That she was strong enough to bring her into the world.”
The silence between us grew heavy with anticipation of what I would say next.Rozi’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on my arm, her touch saying what words couldn’t.
“My father begged her to reconsider.I heard them arguing at night, him pleading, her resolute.”I drew a deep breath, the hard part of the story still to come.“She held on for seven months, then collapsed during a pack gathering.They rushed her to the healer, but it was too late for both of them.”The words came out flat, emotionless, the only way I could speak them without breaking.“Her last words to my father were, ‘Take care of our son.’”
“Oh, Brody,” Rozi whispered, and the genuine pain in her voice nearly undid me.
“My father was never the same after that.How could he be?He’d lost his mate, his daughter, his future, all in one night.”I looked up, meeting Rozi’s gaze directly.“Shifters mate for life.Once the bond is formed, there’s no replacing it if it’s broken.He tried to go on for my sake, but…”
“But living with half his soul gone was destroying him,” she finished, understanding in her eyes.
“Two years later, he couldn’t take it anymore.Dropped me at Una’s and disappeared.”The final, brutal truth emerged.“He chose not to live rather than live without her.”
Rozi’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the room.The firelight caught the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes.
“And when we met,” she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion, “you were terrified of history repeating itself.”
“Yes,” I admitted, the single syllable scraped raw from my throat.“I watched my father die twice, once when my mother took her last breath, and again when he chose to follow her.”
She nodded, something like resignation settling in her expression.“It makes sense now.Your fear wasn’t just about commitment or settling down too young.It was about survival.”A bitter smile twisted her lips.“I wish I’d known back then.It might not have changed anything, but at least I wouldn’t have spent years thinking I wasn’t enough.”
I nodded, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat.Years of regret crystallized in that moment of shared understanding between us.
“Brody,” she said, my name a caress on her lips.“I’m sorry about your parents and that you had to witness what happens when a mate bond is severed so violently.”
The simple acknowledgment unlocked something in my chest, not healing exactly, but the possibility of it.Like the first spring rain after a long winter, promising that growth might come again.
