Page 1 of Losing My Rejection

Chapter One: Josh

Anger.

That was the only feeling I had as I entered the city limits of Shifter Grove. Even after a four-hour drive across the state, I still hadn’t cooled down even one iota. It wasn’t every day that your father not only kicked you out of the house, but disowned you at the same time and banned you from pack territory, which included the school I was attending. And all for stupid, prideful reasons. Mom never would’ve let that happen if she was still around.

But I was trying my best not to think about it.

It was hard to believe I’d been driving for so long, and the sun was just coming up. My father had given me until the morning to get out. But how the hell did he expect me to sleep after news like that? I spent a while packing, then a few more staring at the ceiling in my bedroom. Finally, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I grabbed my things and snuck out of the house in the middle of the night.

The drive, under any other circumstance, would’ve been beautiful. Leaving Traverse City and heading east across the state to Lake Huron was a peaceful trip through the most rural parts of Michigan. But with a heavy heart, anger filling my chest, and the sky as black as pitch, the trip didn’t hold much charm. If anything, it felt more dour than I could’ve imagined. There was nothing along the road to make me feel even the slightest bit better. All I wanted was some privacy, a soft bed, and coffee.

That’s when I spotted the farmer’s market. It looked like it was still early, but I saw several vendors already standing next to their booths, chatting with one another. One in particular caught my attention. The one with the coffee carafes and racks of pastries.

My stomach growled loudly at the sight, reminding me I’d been too upset to eat for over a day now. But instinct was starting to take over, and I knew I’d need to eat something soon. The wolf inside me had a tendency to get very upset if I didn’t eat. Maybe it would make me feel better. After all, I still had a couple hours until I was supposed to check into this werewolf hotel I’d found online. I might as well get something to eat and go find a bench or whatever to be angry while I sat there eating.

It was obvious when I pulled into the lot that the farmer’s market had yet to officially open. But there were still a few early customers milling about. In fact, a small handful were congregating near the coffee and pastries. Not wanting to miss my chance, I hurried over there, taking my spot in line.

As I waited impatiently, I got a good look at everything in the booth. There were braided breads, coffee cakes, cinnamon rolls, sticky buns, croissants, scones, and even a handful of small raspberry tarts. The scent of cinnamon and warm pecans washed over me from the sticky buns, and I knew I had to have one. My wolf had a sweet tooth and if I walked away from that sticky bun, I might shift involuntarily and go feral.

It had happened before. And I was already in the worst mood of my life, so I didn’t want to test that boundary right now. Not only that, but being around all those people, even a crowd that small, had me on edge. The happy tone in their voices set my teeth on edge. How could anyone be happy while I was going through the worst days of my life? It made me want to scream.

But I kept it together long enough to get to the front of the line. There I saw a tall blond man with blue eyes staring back at me, his face so full of smile that everything else seemed like it didn’t fit. He practically oozed radiance.

“What can I get for ya?” he asked in an overly cheerful tone.

“Coffee,” I grumbled. “Black. And one of those sticky buns.”

He nodded, setting to work on my order. I watched him hungrily as he poured my coffee. Even with the scent of warm cinnamon filling my nose, I still caught the unmistakable hint of werewolf. I wasn’t sure if he was one or the guys in the booth next to him. Hell, maybe all three were. But I didn’t care. This place was called Shifter Grove, after all. It wasn’t like I’d be the only one there.

In fact, I hoped they didn’t notice because I did not want to talk with any of them. Under other circumstances, maybe. If I was in a good mood. But right now, the last thing I wanted to do was a bunch of small talk.

“So what brings you to town?” the blond man asked as he handed the coffee over and pulled out a box for the sticky bun. “I know everyone here and you don’t look familiar.”

It was like he’d read my mind and decided to do the exact opposite of what I wanted.

“Just got here,” I huffed. “Staying at the hotel.”

The man’s blue eyes focused on me. “Oh.” There was a lot of information in that simple word. His eyes narrowed and he sniffed at the air. “Ah. I see.” He lowered his voice. “You’re one of us.”

I sighed, furrowing my brows.

“I can take a hint,” he smiled, waving his hand. “You don’t want to talk about it. Not most do when they first get here. I remember when I first got here…”

“How much do I owe you?” I interrupted, taking my wallet out. The last thing I wanted to do was sit there and listen to this man, whoever the hell he was, wax on poetically about his life.

“Ten even,” he replied, not missing a beat. He took my money and handed over the box. “Have a nice day!”

“Thanks.”

Without a glance back, I headed to the far end of the market, where a few benches were sitting out in the sun. Thankfully, there was nobody there, so I got the place all to myself for the moment. I flopped down on the hard wooden bench, sighing deeply. Everything felt like it took way too much fucking effort. Just the simple act of buying a sticky bun made me feel exhausted.

I took a sip of my coffee. The heat burst over my tongue, the bitterness seeping into my tastebuds. It was good and the familiar flavor felt almost grounding in a way. However, my stomach was churning, and I knew I needed something more substantial. Nestling my coffee up against my crotch, I grabbed the box and flipped it open. Inside was the most beautiful, glossy, pecan-covered sticky bun I’d ever seen.

The smell of it alone almost made me pass out. Tearing a small piece off, I lifted it to my mouth and placed it gently on my tongue. A split second later, I was on a culinary journey unlike any I’d ever been on before. A tingle ran down my spine, goosebumps breaking about across my whole body. The sticky bun was cooked to perfection, the dough soft and tender as I chewed. The topping was incredible, the perfect balance of sugar to spice. And the pecans were candied and soft from their extended time in the oven. Altogether, it was easily the best sticky bun I’d ever tasted in my life.

And somehow, such a simple thing seemed to lift my spirits. The flavor convinced me, even if it was just for a few seconds, that there was good to be found in life. It seemed like such a dumb thing to think, but I couldn’t help it. But the moment the thought crossed my mind, it was followed by another.

I wouldn’t be going back to college on Monday, not with no place to live. And that meant no more cooking. While the hotel probably had a kitchen on site, I seriously doubted I’d be allowed to use it. Hotel rooms didn’t come with kitchenettes either. It had only been a couple of days and already I missed the feel of a knife in my hand or dough squished between my fingers. When my father kicked me out, he took a lot more from me than just my home and my family. He took my dreams.

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