Page 96 of Pit Stop

He’s tired and angry. But more than that, he’s sad.

But he doesn’t say it, and he certainly doesn’t show it.

And over the next several days, things don’t go back to normal like Attie said they would.

No, they go from bad to worse, and on day six of being completely miserable and depressed, of being so utterly alone and physically weak, I realize I’ve made a huge mistake.

Only it’s too late to change it now.

Maverick hasn’t been around, his absence an ugly, palpable thing that I feel in my joints, in my chest. He hasn’t made any contact with me. Hasn’t even attempted to.

In a moment of complete and utter despair, I tried to text him, but it didn’t go through. Which means he blocked me.

It’s the worst kind of breakup, the meanest. I don’t know why he’s cut me off so cruelly. Is he not hurting as much as I am? Does he not remember telling me he’d travel hours to get to me? How can he do that if he’s cut me off and completely removed me from his life?

I don’t know. I can’t even begin to understand. And when I ask Forest about it, he brushes me off, telling me it’s not his business and that he doesn’t want to get involved.

“He’s not well, Skye. You have to give him time,” he says.

So I do. I give him so much time.

But it’s running out. I have to go back to school. I have only a few days left here in our small town, the place where I spent my summer bonded to my mate.

My ex-mate.

My future is waiting for me, all my dreams and goals, and Maverick won’t be a part of it. He won’t even know I’ve left.

That hurts the most.

How it all began in that dirty bathroom stall. How it ended. How I used to have him and now I don’t.

And the worst part of it all is knowing that I made that choice.

Me.

And now I have to live with it.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

SKYE

“You look like shit,”Rob says, tossing a pillow at me. We’re in our apartment off campus, and Rob is starting to tire of my moping. And I’ve been moping. It’s a chronic illness at this point.

I truly feel sick. All the time.

I grab the fluffy pillow that’s far too bright and throw it to the ground.

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Yeah, I can tell. When’s it going to stop? You’re not yourself.”

Never, I think, but bite back those words. The truth is, I miss him; the weight of his absence is felt through my entire body. Every night, I toss and turn, trying like hell to drift off, but unable to do so. And during the day, I ache. Every joint hurts. From the little research I’ve done, I think it could be the trauma of the bond being broken, but I think it’s more than that.

I think I simply just miss him.

I regret my decision to go through with it, but now I have to live with the consequences.

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