Page 52 of Broken Bonds

Easy peasy.

“You gonna come in this time or stand out here all night?” a deep voice asks beside me, startling me from my internal war.

When I look to my left, clear, ocean blue eyes stare back at me, stalling the breath in my lungs. Sculpted facial features, square jaw, Romanesque nose.

“What are you doing here?” I finally choke out, pulling my eyes away from him and looking back up at the building that’s intimidating the hell out of me.

“Same as you, I suppose. Been coming here a few nights a week since the funeral. It helps, in case you were wondering. It’s not a cure-all, but you leave feeling just a little lighter after getting things off your chest.”

When I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, he’s looking up at the building as well. Maribel was right. He looks just as shitty as me.

Dark circles ring his eyes. Hair in desperate need of a wash and a trim. My chest starts to ache as I look at the miserable state he’s in, and I rub the heel of my palm against it, trying to make it stop.

“I know you’re not really ready to be around me, but I want you to know I’m here when you are. I know Forde told you we just want to help, and that’s true, but I’d also like for us to be able to be around each other. I’d truly like to be in the babies’ lives if you’ll let me.”

I swallow, chewing on my lip as I look down at my feet.

There’s no reason for me to keep the babies from him if he wants to be in their lives. Seeing him will probably always be a little hard, but hopefully, as time goes on, it’ll get easier. They may look the same, but that doesn’t mean they’re anything alike, so maybe one day when I look at him, I won’t think he looks so much Lake. Maybe one day I’ll look at him as just… Link, and not tie him to my dead alpha every time I’m near him.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Who knows?

Either way, I need to make an effort.

“W—” I clear my throat when my voice cracks and try again, turning to face him and holding my hand out. “Will you go in with me?” I ask him, my hand trembling as I wait to see if he’ll take it.

I don’t know what pushed me to hold my hand out to him, but it’s too late to take it back now without feeling rude. He stares at my outstretched hand for so long my cheeks start to burn. I’m about to just tuck it back into my pocket when his eyes narrow. His hand quickly shoots out and clutches mine in his grip, and the smallest gasp escapes me. Tingles erupt where he touches me, spreading up my arms and leaving goosebumps in their wake. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and a shiver rolls down my spine at the sensation that’s oddly familiar, yet not.

“Ready?” he asks, voice low and deep as he looks down at me with my hand held hostage in his.

I nod, unable to speak as I get caught in his gaze.

He leads me across the street and up the stairs to the double doors. I take one last deep breath before he opens the door, moves his hand to the middle of my back, and we step in.

Here we go.

ChapterFourteen

LINK

I lead Ramsey inside,my palm resting in the center of her back. Panic courses through my veins as I anxiously watch her walking up the stairs, fearful that she might take a misstep and tumble down. That’s why I keep my hand on her back, even when we’re inside, because hell, the floors could be wet, or... fucking something.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

That the reason I can’t stop myself from touching her is because I need to make sure she gets to where she’s going safely. That I’m just worried about her falling. There’s absolutely no other reason for this urge to be near her, to touch her and hold her. It’s all out of obligation to my brother, hermate, and concern for her and the babies. No other reason at all.

I blow out a breath as I guide Ramsey down the hallway to the room at the end.

Fuck. I’m such a piece of shit.

Can’t even convince my damn self.

It was a few weeks after the funeral that I stumbled across this support group. Or, I guess I should say they stumbled across me.

This particular building, which is located directly across from a church, accommodates many different support groups, including one for individuals dealing with grief. Ironic, if you think about it. That it sits across the street from a church.

While I was standing in front of the church, attempting to summon up the strength to enter a place that had never brought me solace nor which I believed could ever provide any, a few people from across the street began attempting to get my attention. I’d been confused as hell about why a bunch of strange, mostly older ladies and gentlemen, were waving me over to them.

I went over anyway because there was a pull. One far stronger than the one to the church I’d stood in front of for over half an hour.

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