Page 65 of Monsters, Vows, and Growls
“I know,” I whispered, voice cracking.
“And yeah, okay, Screwing Saint Henry in the coat closet isn’t ideal. But your mom didn’tleaveyou this time. She showed up. She stayed. And she found someone she likes. That’s not on you to fix.”
I gave her words a moment to sink in. Slowly… ever so slowly… something shifted inside me. It wasn't a psychological breakthrough or anything like that, but I sat back against the pillows, tears still drying, and whispered, “It’s not normal, is it?”
“What?”
“To think people are late unless they’re ten minutes early. To panic if things don’t go according to plan. To immediately assume that if someone doesn’t answer their phone, it means they’ve forgotten me. Or left.”
Carol gave a half-smile. “No. That’s not normal. That’s trauma dressed up like scheduling.”
Another silence passed. Then I let out a long, unsteady breath. “If my mom wants to bang Henry in a closet… she can bang Henry.”
Carol blinked. “That is… surprisingly evolved.”
I laughed, hiccupped, and said, “Don’t get used to it.”
She patted my knee. “I’ll write it on a mug.”
Then she reached for her phone. “Now. Want me to text your husband and tell him he’s a moron for walking out?”
I paused. Then shook my head. “Not yet.”
She nodded, understanding. “Okay. But give me the green light, and I’ll put him in the emotional ICU.”
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“For being here. For staying. For… knowing me.”
She smiled. “Always. Even when you’re fire.”
I leaned my head against her shoulder.
And, for the first time since the fight, I let myself think:Maybe I could fix this.
I didn’t stop walkinguntil I reached the furthest edge of the venue—a little outdoor bar tucked under an overhang of twinkling lights. I wasn’t sure if it was open or just abandoned, but the bottles were still lined up neatly on the shelves like they were waiting for me. I grabbed a tumbler and poured myself two fingers of whiskey, neat. My tie was already loose. My pulse hadn’t been right since Ella said maybe we’d rushed it.
God, that hurt more than any hit I’d ever taken on a field. I leaned on the bar, drink in hand, staring at the distant trees like they might offer a solution. Thorne growled low and slow inside me.She didn’t mean it.
You don’t know that.
I know her. You’re just being soft and self-pitying.
“Thanks for the support,” I muttered aloud.
I’m a bear. Not a therapist. But even I know you’re not supposed to let your mate cry alone on her wedding night.
“Didn’t expect to findyousulking out here.” A familiar voice behind me interrupted my heart-to-heart with my bear. Gabe stood a few feet away, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a beer. His tie was gone, his hair messy, and he was trying, way too hard, for a neutral expression.
“What do you want?” I asked tiredly.
“Beer. And maybe to make sure you didn’t wander into the woods to be eaten by a moose.”
I sighed and turned back to my glass. “I’m fine.”
“You’re at a bar,” he said, “alone. On yourwedding night.”
