Broken Bond by C.J. Primer

27
MILES
“Knock, knock,” I call, gently rapping my fist against the wood of Nessa’s bedroom door as I push it open.
She’s curled up on her bed in the fetal position, her knees tucked tightly into her chest and a pillow clutched in her arms, hiding
her face. She picks up her head when she hears me come in, frowning when our eyes meet and burying her face back in the
pillow. “Go away, Miles,” she grumbles, her words muffled.
I blow out a breath, taking a tentative step into the room despite her protest. She’s been holed up in here for hours following that
ugly scene in the kitchen this morning. Chase kicked Cal out right away, but I stuck around, figuring Nessa would come out
eventually and need a shoulder to cry on. I iced my face and explained to Chase what went down between Cal and me, but then
Vee woke up and called him back upstairs.
So I sat in the living room by myself for what felt like forever, bored as shit, waiting and waiting until I couldn’t take it anymore
and decided to come seek Nessa out.
While she’s been over to my apartment a handful of times, I’ve never set foot in her space here until now. The other guest rooms
in the packhouse are stark and impersonal, but Nessa has put her stamp on this one in the months since she’s moved in.
Everything about it is distinctively girly, from the blush pink comforter on the bed to the black and white art on the walls- romantic
prints of old -timey couples and vintage Hollywood starlets.
“I just wanted to check on you,” I offer, my gaze traversing her bare legs. “Make sure you’re okay.”
She peels her face away from the pillow and lifts her head again, narrowing her eyes on me. “Funny, aren’t you the one who got
their face beat in?”
“Eh, wasn’t so bad,” I chuckle, advancing further into the room to glance at my reflection in the mirror over her dresser. I’m lying-
it hurt like a bitch- but she doesn’t need to know that. The pain already feels like a distant memory. “Look, not a scratch,” I drawl,
swiping a hand along my jaw as I turn back to her with a grin. “Perks of shifter healing.” I toss her a wink, but judging by her
frown, she’s clearly not amused.
Guess she’s taking this whole bet thing harder than I thought.

Nessa hides her face in the pillow again and I shuffle closer to the bed, heaving a sigh as I sink down onto the edge beside her.
“I know you’re upset about that bet, but you deserved to know. Cal...”
“Isn’t the only one to blame.” She lurches up into a sitting position, clutching the pillow to her chest protectively and glaring
daggers at me. “You made that bet, too. And just whose idea was it to place a bet on me in the first place, Miles? Hmm?”
Well shit. She’s got me there.
I can’t exactly say I was thinking straight when I called Cal out about our bet in front of her. Honestly, I panicked- I know their
history, and I saw the way he was looking at her. The way she looked back at him. In that moment, I could picture it all falling
apart; him explaining himself, her forgiving him and leaving me in the dust. So in my panic, I lashed out with the first thing that
came to mind to prevent that from happening.
Probably should’ve considered how it’d blow back on me, though.
“I mean... I didn’t know you back then,” I stammer, trying to find the words to somehow dig myself out of this hole. “If I did, I
wouldn’t have...”
She cuts me off again with a growl. “I’m a fucking person, Miles! My life isn’t a damn game for you guys to place bets on.’
I flinch back, caught off guard by both her icy tone and her use of profanity. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard sweet, calm Nessa use
the f-word before, which tells me just how epically pissed-off she is by this whole thing.
How the hell am I gonna talk my way out of this one?
“You’re right,” I admit, hanging my head. Deciding that humility is probably the best way to go in this situation. “It was stupid. If I
could take it back, I would.”
She studies my face for a moment like she doesn’t quite believe me. Then, rather than pressing further, forcing me to own up to
my role in the whole thing, she asks, “Did he really try to call it off?”
My jaw twitches.
Well fuck. I don’t want to lie to her, but I don’t really want to tell her the truth either and shift more of the blame onto myself. Or
give her a reason to forgive Cal. Regardless of what went down with our bet, he still left.
I purse my lips, unable to keep the scowl from forming on my face and drawing my brows together. “He left you, Nessa.”

Her frown deepens. “That’s not what I asked.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, fighting an internal battle over whether or not I should admit to what really happened. Cal had
have put her through that. I may not be her fated mate, but I can make her happy, damnit. Shouldn’t that count for something?
Then again, Cal has been one of my closest friends since childhood. He’s had a rough upbringing that none of us know the full
details of, but it was pretty obvious that things weren’t peachy at home since he avoided that place like the plague. I want him to
be happy, I really do, but what if that happiness is at the expense of my own? Do I bow out gracefully for his sake, or fight like
hell for what I want?
There’s no easy answer. No obvious solution. Honesty is always the best policy, though, and I don’t want my relationship with
Nessa to be built on lies. So, I swallow my doubts and my own stupid pride, and I answer her.
“Yeah, he did.”
Nessa flinches back like she’s been hit, blinking at me in surprise. “Then why didn’t you call it off?”
I blow out a breath and stab my fingers through my hair. “Because at that point I already knew he’d win, and if he did, he couldn’t
fight me on getting him that part for his car that he’d wanted for so long.” I shrug a shoulder, offering her a wry smile. ” The best
intentions, right?”
Her eyes darken. “As if making a bet over a person could ever be well-intentioned.”
Damn. This whole thing really backfired. Why the fuck did I have to bring up that bet, again?
“I really am sorry, Nessa.” I sigh, reaching out to take her hand in mine. “I don’t want this to come between us...”
She yanks her hand away with a scowl. “I think it’s a little late for that.”
My stomach plummets, my heart slamming against my ribcage. Panic takes root inside me, worse than before, because it
sounds like she’s about to...
She wouldn’t, right?
“Nessa...”
“No,” she says with a firm shake of her head. “I’ve dealt with a lot of shit, but this is too far, Miles.”

I study her face, searching her eyes for any flicker of indecision. There isn’t one. She’s clearly made up her mind about where
she stands on this whole thing, and I’m not sure where that leaves me. Where it leaves us.
“Don’t blame me for his mistakes,” I mutter bitterly. “I’m the one who’s been there for you these past few months. You know I
wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, not on purpose.”
“I’m not,” she snaps, dropping the pillow onto the bed and pointing an accusatory finger at me. “I’m blaming you for your own.
You made that bet...”
“It wasn’t just me, though!” I heave an exasperated sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“Is that supposed to make it okay?!” Nessa scoffs. “This is all just too much. I’m not sure if I can trust you anymore.” She shakes
her head sadly, picking up the pillow and scooching away. “Just go,” she murmurs, turning her back on me and curling in on
herself again, shoving her face into the pillow.
My gaze slides down the curve of her waist as I draw deep breaths, my mind spinning. What the fuck am I supposed to do? How
can I make it better?
I wish life had a rewind button- I’d for sure hit it, erase the last twenty-four hours, and start over.
“What does this mean for us?” I ask cautiously, dreading her response but needing to know where we stand. She wouldn’t just
end things over something this trivial, would she? It was just a bet. A stupid motherfucking bet.
“I don’t know, Miles,” she groans, her voice muffled by the pillow. “I need some time.”
I cringe, not liking the sound of that. With Cal back, I feel like time’s working against me. “How much time?” ”
Nessa sits up, hitting me with an icy glare. As much as I damn well please,” she snaps.
Damn, if looks could kill, I’d be done for. I hold up my hands in surrender, rising to my feet and backing toward the door. Needing
to get the hell out of here before she changes her mind and calls things off between us for good. “Understood. I’m going. Just...”
I shuffle backwards, pausing when I reach the doorway and blowing out a defeated breath. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”
She doesn’t reply. Instead, she flops back down on the bed, effectively ending our conversation. It’s a shitty way to leave things,
but it’s salvageable. I just have to come up with a plan. I close the door behind me as I exit, plodding down the hallway with a
dejected lilt to my walk.

Could this day get any fucking worse?
“You!” Vienna shouts as I emerge from the hallway, pointing a finger at me and charging down the stairs.
“Jesus, is it pick on Miles day or something?” I mumble, shaking my head and bracing myself for the worst.
She launches off the second to last stair, leaping onto the floor below and using the momentum to propel herself in my direction.
“A fucking bet, Miles? Are you kidding me? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
I throw my head back on a groan, squeezing my eyes shut. “I know, I know.”
Vienna storms up to me and shoves her palms into my chest. “You’re lucky you’ve already had your ass kicked once today, or I’d
be showing you what I really think about you idiots placing a bet on my best friend,” she scowls, giving me another hard shove
for good measure. “Douchebag.”
Well, if I didn’t already feel like a steaming pile of shit, I definitely do now. Vee’s furious eyes are narrowed on me, her anger
rolling off her in waves.
“So I guess I can’t count on you to put in a good word for me with Nessa?” I joke.
She doesn’t even crack a smile in response. Instead, Vienna folds her arms over her chest, leveling me with a glare. “You should
go.”
“Yeah, I’m already leaving,” I grumble, pivoting away from her and dragging m feet as I make my way toward the front doo I can
feel the weight of her stare on my bac with every retreating step. I can’t let it pul me down, though- I have to focus on coming up
with a plan to fix this mess I’ve created.
I’m no stranger to trouble, but I’m usually able to talk my way out of it. Or buy my way out of it, courtesy of the fat bank account
supplied by my dear ol’ dad. I wish the solution to this problem was that easy. Something tells me it won’t be.