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Who am I kidding? I’m sure they’ve all already changed their minds. They’re probably talking to Celine about being re-matched as we speak.
Try as I might not to let it, the thought of being left behind sinks its claws into my stomach, slicing deep.
No one has ever wanted to keep me.
Cassian knows that. He saw it happen. I was always the reject; returned like a defective purchase.
Why would he want someone like that?
Meg is still shrieking. “Remi! Why aren’t you jumping up and down?!”
I sniff, swiping at the corners of my eyes so my makeup doesn’t run, feeling so overwhelmed I can barely think. “Yeah,” I lie. “Y-you’re right. It’s great! I, um, I should go, though. I need to be ready when…”
The sun still rises tomorrow.
And the next day? I have to go back to work. With Smith.
If I even have a job anymore.
Which is unlikely, actually.
“…they come to get me.”
Theo’s booming voice cuts in. “Congratulations, Remi! I can’t believe I’m going to get to meet Beastly! That guy is a monster. Best goalie in the NHL.”
I’ve always hated those nicknames. Monster. Beastly. They don’t suit Cassian at all. Even now that he’s enormous.
It’s surreal to even think about him as a fully grown adult. When I was still a teenager, I used to curl onto the floor of whatever makeshift nest I had, picturing him in there with me. Knowing he’d grumble and frown, but find some way to squeeze himself in without verbalizing a single complaint.
Bear.
He was always like that. Big, burly, with that thick, long hair he refused to cut. He acted gruff and prickly, but his heart was soft; and he always made room for me, no matter where we were.
Maybe he actually wasn’t so irritated by me after all.
He probably is now.
The urge to return to him is so strong, I feel dizzy and nauseous from resisting. A whimper rattles my throat and I apologize. “Sorry.”
Meg guffaws. “Sorry?! It’s normal to feel this way, Rems! It just means they’re really your mates!”
My mates.
I feel the words, deep down, tugging at me. And I know they’re true. It’s real.
But it’s also impossible.
chapter
nineteen
So, here’s the thing.
I’ve never been great with rules.
Someone with some fancy-ass degrees on their wall could probably psycho-analyze me and figure out what, exactly, made me like this. Was it watching my parents break the law all the time? Was it the seething sense of injustice whenever they forgot to buy food, but somehow had the nerve to try to set rules for me?
Or maybe it was all that cheating I did in school. Copying answers from whoever sat closest to me, knowing I’d never be able to read the questions.
