Page 64 of The Gamma's Second Chance

“But my condition—”

He yanks me into his body, his arm circling my waist and the momentum forcing my head to lift and my eyes to meet his. “Your condition changes nothing, Cassandra. Not a damn thing.”

He holds my gaze with fierce certainty. I open my mouth, but the only sound to escape me is a choked sob, followed by a tear streaming down my cheek. He cups my face with one hand, his other arm bracing me and keeping me upright.

“That’s it,” he says as my fingers curl into his shirt, and another tear falls from my eyes. “Let it out.”

I inhale, my breath shuddering and my chin quivering. Now that the tears have started, they won’t stop, no matter how much I blink or how tightly I clench my jaw. My teeth grind together,and I cling harder to him as I fight against the pain leaking from my eyes.

“Have you ever let yourself cry about it?” Nolan asks, stroking my cheek, and I shake my head. “Why not?”

“I—I don’t—I never—” I shake my head and bury my face in his chest.

He lifts me into his arms, cradling me to his chest, and carries me to the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress with me in his lap. “Then do it now.”

Nolan hugs me, and I weep. I weep for the little five-year-old girl who didn’t understand the enormity of what she’d endured and for the teenager who finally realized what it meant to be infertile. I weep for the future stolen from me, for the fate decided for me by a power-hungry and selfish male. And I weep with gratitude for the arms keeping me steady, the stalwart stability from the muscular body I cling to, and the open, ready acceptance from the male they belong to.

I let all of it out. Every drop of pain—physical and emotional—that I’ve held in over the years. It all exits me in heaving sobs and streaming tears, leaving me raw and exposed in Nolan’s arms.

“I met my mate when I was twenty-two,” Nolan says as my tears ebb. I lean back from his chest and stare at him, my fingers loosening on his shirt, my heart racing in my chest, and my stomach dropping out of my body. “We found each other at a mating ball on the east coast. She fucked me and then rejected me.”

My eyes widen and I sit up straighter. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“What a bitch.” I shake my head. “You’re better off without her.”

He exhales through his nose, a noise that’s almost a laugh. “Thanks.”

I wince and stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry. I just meant—”

“No. You’re right. I am.” His fingers curl around my hip, and he holds my red-rimmed gaze.

“Who was she?” I ask.

“Her name was Kimberly. I don’t know anything else about her. Don’t know her last name or what pack she was from. Nothing.”

My brow furrows. “You never found out?”

“No. She disappeared from the room where we…” He clears his throat, and his gaze shifts downward, his chin dropping. “She took off after rejecting me, and no one could find her. There was no Kimberly on the guest list for the mating ball.”

“Wesley’s dad could have checked the official registry for werewolves named Kimberly, though. You could have tried to find her.”

“Wesley wanted Alpha Harrison to do that, but I said no.” He huffs out a derisive laugh. “What good would it have done? The rejection was complete. Our bond was broken. Why would I want to find her? Why would I want to see her again or speak to her again? What would be the point in chasing after someone who didn’t want me?”

Each word he says is edged with pain. Each sentence he utters is the reopening of an old, unhealed wound. And I taste every ounce of distress, misery, and unresolved trauma pouring from those reopened wounds. It’s a mirror of my own, an echo of what I kept hidden from him. His own secret pain, laid bare for me so I don’t feel isolated in my heartache.

I lick my lips, considering my next question carefully. “So I’m guessing the ring I saw wasn’t for her?”

He gives me another sharp laugh and shakes his head. “No. That was the result of a desperate male trying to cling to someone who was already gone and something that was already over.” He covers my hand on his cheek and moves them both sothey rest on his chest, right over his heart. “If you’re broken, then so am I.”

I shake my head at him and press my palm harder against his chest. “You’re not broken, Nolan. You’re resilient.”

I turn in his lap so my legs settle on either side of his thighs, and his hands move to my hips, holding me close. He leans forward so our noses brush, and his mouth hovers over mine. “If I’m resilient, then you’re invincible.”

I take his face in my hands and press my lips to his, the salt of fresh tears flavoring our kiss. They flow unfettered once more from my eyes, brought forth by his story and his affection and affirmations. Each movement of our lips is slow. Neither of us rushes the other. The kiss is smooth and stretches like a drop of fresh honey—warm and golden and just as lush and sweet.

Nolan weaves his fingers into the hair at my nape and rests his forehead against mine as my hands explore his clothed torso, touching each hardened muscle that tenses and relaxes as we kiss and embrace. “Tell me what you need,” he says, his mouth staying close to mine.

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