Page 45 of Plus-Size Bullied Mate

As the quiet settles between us, she looks at the table while many things move in her face at once. As much as she wants to maintain whatever this stance of hers is, she isn’t heartless. She’s aware there was a hurt child beneath it all.

“I know she lost them. I know that,” she murmurs, swallowing harshly now. “But I lost my mate that night. He was more than just your father and more than an important figure in the pack. He was mine first.”

Hearing that from her makes something complicated form in my chest.

I get where she’s coming from, since I know something would break in me if something were to happen to Tessa, regardless of the uncertainty between us. That connection is so profound in any mated pair that losing one feels like losing half your soul.

While my mom certainly experienced that, Tessa has been enduring blame that was never meant for her ever since. She never had the chance to heal, and given how intense her emotions can be through our bond, it’s like she’s losing pieces of herself every day. She’s still carrying that pain, and if these issues continue to linger, it will only get worse.

“I know…” I tell her, pulling in a breath as I sit back. “It wasn’t fair how it happened, but holding this grudge against Tessa won’t bring Dad back. Please, I’m just asking you to make room for her loss, since it’s just as real as ours. Give her a chance.”

The silence between us is different from how it was at the beginning of the conversation. It shifts as some of the pressure releases, and my mother looks older in a way she usually doesn’t let herself look.

Regardless of how easy it is for her to cling to this long-standing belief, I can see the consideration in her face. How she can acknowledge flaws in her logic, all while managing the hurt simultaneously.

She doesn’t say she’s convinced, but she doesn’t argue further.

***

While that conversation could’ve gone worse, I’m still irritated when I get back to the house.

The remainder of my visit felt a bit colder than usual, given how neither of us reached the conclusion we wanted, leaving the frustration to simmer in my chest even as I walk through the door to find Tessa in the chair by the window.

The sight of her eases something just enough for me to notice, and a flicker of hope starts up in me when she looks in my direction.

“Hey,” I say, hoping something simple might coax her into more.

“Hey.”

I stand in the entryway for a moment and take stock of what I’m working with.

The bond is more insistent, warm, and pulling me toward her in the way it tends to when we’re closer, like our inner wolves are trying so hard to reach one another despite the nuances of our circumstances.

But for all my reaching, her body language is an impenetrable wall.

The chance I’m given to keep her attention fades quickly, feeling more like it’s slipping through my fingers as she stares out the window again. She’s here with me, yet she’s so far away at the same time.

When the sight of her detachment becomes too heavy for me to bear without losing my mind, I turn and go to the kitchen despite not needing to. I try to let the irritation from my mother’s house discharge somewhere that isn’t around Tessa, but it doesn’t let go.

I’m standing in my own kitchen, mated for the first time in my life, with the bond finally settled into what it’s supposed to be, and I have spent more years than I can account for avoiding this exact thing because it required a vulnerability I couldn’t afford.

I spent years learning to shut down the non-operational parts of myself on command, to be useful and effective, and not to need anything that complicated the mission. I came back to the territory and took the alpha role, but now I’m left to try and unlock those repressed parts of myself.

Regardless of how long that takes, I’m here, the bond is open, and the very person I ran from is just in the other room.

She won’t look at me, and I know why.

I understand her resistance, the history that formed it, and every way I contributed to it. Patience is my only chance of making this work, and all of this is obvious. Yet it doesn’t make standing in this kitchen, with the bond pulling between us, any easier to swallow.

Be patient, I tell myself.

When I look at her profile silhouetted by the light coming in, and the stillness coming from her that looks like peace but is far from it, I know that none of this will be simple or easy, but if I can somehow make this easier for her to bear, then I’ll do whatever it takes.

Be patient.

Chapter 17 - Tessa

I’ve read the same paragraph four times, but I still haven’t retained anything from it.