Page 71 of Forced Plus-Size Mate
Slowly, awareness comes back into her eyes. She blinks, and it’s like a shroud passes across her vision. She looks at me with some confusion.
“Body?” she asks. “What’s happening?”
“You’re standing out in the yard barefoot, staring into a freezing cold wind!” I say, wrapping my coat around her. “Let’s get you inside. Do you have any idea what you were talking about just now?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head, but she keeps her gaze from mine as she does.
Like she’s lying.
“Should I get Lucy?”
“No, there’s no need to trouble her,” Amanda says a bit too quickly. “What did you get for dinner?”
“Italian. Your favorite restaurant on the other side of town.”
“Oh, thank you. I forgot about that place. They have the best fettuccini.”
“I didn’t forget,” I say.
While we have dinner, Amanda seems to perk up, but I still feel like something isn’t right.
Don’t curse yourself, man. If you start second-guessing everything, you’ll truly fuck this up!
She happily tucks into the food, and a few glasses of a nice merlot. She talks easily about trivial things, and I try to follow suit and trust her.
So why does it feel like she’s completely avoiding looking right at me?
When we go to bed, she snuggles against me, and my heart soars. I keep my arms wrapped around her, finally feeling secure that she’s really okay.
Then, just as I begin to drift off, she untangles herself from my arms, slides over to the other side of the bed, and curls up with her back to me.
I barely sleep that night, and when morning comes, it brings no relief. Amanda rolls over as I wake, and I see the drawn look on her face.
“The funeral is today,” I mention, and she nods.
There’s no point in saying good morning, because it certainly isn’t.
The loss and sorrow of the day hit my growing anxiety like jet fuel thrown on a nuclear reactor. I feel jittery and tense, completely locked in my own skin.
I don’t try to talk to Amanda as we get ready. Any false platitudes or attempts to converse would be in poor taste. Still, I can’t help but feel lonely, and even a little abandoned.
As much as I love her and want her to get well, I still feel hurt that she won’t let us take comfort in each other.
Just one big hug, long kiss, or… damn, I’d take a good hand squeeze at this point.
We were supposed to be fighting the future together, but I’ve never felt more alone.
Bailey and Gina hold a brief ceremony behind Jenks’s place. Carson speaks ritual words, and so does Jen, but neither brings me any comfort. Amanda keeps her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the graves as the others speak about the dead. Only a few pack members have come, and Lucy and Amanda are the only witches there.
There is a brief wake, but no one stays long. Before we leave, Bae tells me he wants us to get together soon to discuss our next move.
“I’ll put the word out and text you when,” he says. “But we can’t sit idle. I know they won’t.”
“Sure thing,” I reply. “I’m always with you, Bailey.”
“I know you are,” he says, and we hug briefly before I go.
When I get outside to my truck, Amanda is there, standing by the door as she stares up the mountain.
