Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

H e wasn't there.

Rochelle's steps slowed as she approached the bank. Her gaze went toward the bench across the street—the same bench Caleb sat on every morning. His familiar silhouette, always there, like the sunrise over the mountains. But today, it wasn’t.

She stopped and stared. He didn't materialize. A frown tugged at her lips, and for a moment, she just stood there, staring as if she could will him into existence with her gaze. But the bench remained empty, the street eerily quiet without the subtle presence of him watching her.

He’s not there . The realization sunk in like a cold wave of water splashing over her. He’s always there.

She tore her gaze away, shaking her head as she scolded herself inwardly. This was what she wanted, right? She had told him last night that she was leaving, that she was moving to take the promotion. She had hesitated, but still, she had made her choice. Caleb had asked her to choose, and she had chosen her career, her independence.

So why, when he finally wasn’t hovering over her like some quiet guardian, did the absence of him feel so jarring?

With a tight breath, Rochelle pushed the thought away and went into the bank. It was for the best. He was moving on. They both were moving on.

But as the morning wore on, the strange, heavy feeling in her chest didn’t lift. It clung to her like the smell of coffee and ink in the air, growing heavier with every passing minute. She tried to lose herself in work. Her pen glided over forms and documents. The soft shuffle of papers was the only sound in her office.

It wasn’t until late morning, when an elderly couple stepped into her office, that she managed to shake the unsettling quiet from her mind. Mrs. Parker, a female shifter with sleek silver hair, and her husband, Mr. Parker, a human with a kind, weathered face, had been planning their retirement for some time now. They had been married for decades—longer than most human couples.

"Thank you for meeting with us today, Rochelle," Mrs. Parker said, her voice soft but steady. "We’ve been talking about finally settling down for good. A little house by the lake—somewhere quiet."

"It sounds perfect. I’ll help you with whatever paperwork you need to get in order."

As she began gathering the necessary forms, Rochelle's eyes kept drifting to the two of them—the way Mrs. Parker's hand rested gently on her husband’s arm, the way Mr. Parker looked at his wife as if she were the only person in the room. They radiated a kind of love that felt… effortless.

Shifters had their bond that they felt like the moon's pull. But Mr. Parker wasn’t a shifter. He couldn’t feel the bond like his wife could. And yet, there he was, devoted to her in a way that made Rochelle’s chest tighten.

“How did you know it would last? I mean… you don’t feel the bond like she does. How did you know?” It was a rude question, and Rochelle was about to apologize. But the couple laughed.

Mr. Parker looked at his wife, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a moment, it was as if the years they’d spent together replayed in his eyes. “I couldn’t imagine a day without her. Didn’t matter if it was a good day or a bad one. I was happy to have all of them—with her.”

Rochelle swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the paperwork, her hand trembling slightly as she handed Mr. Parker the form. “Here you go. Just need your signatures.”

But even as she tried to smile, her mind was elsewhere—back on the empty bench outside, the place where Caleb should have been. The place where he always was.

And suddenly, his absence wasn’t a relief anymore. It gnawed at her, a quiet ache that settled deep in her chest, refusing to be ignored.

The Parkers finished their paperwork, thanking her kindly as they left. Rochelle sat in silence for a long time, staring at the forms in front of her but seeing nothing. The image of Caleb’s empty seat burned into her mind.

He was really gone, wasn’t he?

The thought sent a ripple of fear through her, an emotion she hadn’t allowed herself to feel before. She had always assumed Caleb would be there. That no matter what happened, he would wait for her. But now he wasn’t waiting. He had finally let go.

The midday sun was warm against Rochelle’s skin as she stepped out of the bank, her thoughts still lingering on the elderly couple and their quiet, enduring love. The weight of their words—of Mr. Parker’s simple declaration that he didn’t need a bond, just the knowledge that he couldn’t imagine a day without his wife—sat heavy in her chest. She had shaken off the feeling at work, but now as she walked toward the small café down the street, the knot of tension in her stomach twisted tighter.

She pushed the door open, the familiar scent of fresh bread and roasted vegetables wafting out to greet her. The café was small and cozy, and usually a place of refuge. A place where she could sit and let the noise of the town fade into the background while she gathered her thoughts. But today, something felt off.

Rochelle stepped inside, letting the cool air wash over her, and was just about to place her order when she saw him.

Caleb.

Her breath caught in her throat, her body freezing as her eyes locked on to the table by the window. Caleb sat there, his broad shoulders relaxed, his easy smile aimed at the woman sitting across from him. The woman, the barista from the coffee shop a couple of streets over, laughed softly at something he said, her hand reaching out to touch his arm.

Rochelle’s stomach dropped, an unexpected and unfamiliar sensation of jealousy twisting in her gut.

She didn’t move, standing half-hidden in the doorway, watching as Caleb leaned in, his smile soft and genuine. The way he looked at the woman—the way his eyes crinkled at the edges, the warmth in his gaze—it was the same look he’d given Rochelle so many times before. And yet, seeing it directed at someone else sent a sharp jolt of anger through her chest.

He'd never been familiar with another woman. Never looked at them. Barely smiled at them. And none had ever bothered to approach him because… Because…

Rochelle swallowed hard, ducking into the shadows by the doorway, watching from the corner of her eye as Caleb and the woman continued their conversation. Her head told her to leave, to walk away, to not care about what she saw. But she couldn’t move. Instead, she stayed there, hidden, watching as the woman stood up to leave. Caleb’s smile lingered as she leaned down to say something to him, and then, with a soft laugh, she turned and headed toward the door.

Rochelle’s body reacted before her mind did. She stepped out into the sunlight, the barista walking right past her without noticing. But Rochelle couldn’t stop herself from brushing up against her, just enough to get her attention.

“Oh, sorry,” Rochelle muttered, glancing up as the woman turned.

"Why am I not surprised to see you today? Trying to get him back on your little string?"

Rochelle blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “What?”

The barista crossed her arms, her gaze sharp. “You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, don’t you? You come and go, keep him waiting, keep him hoping. If you don’t want him, you should let him go.”

Heat surged through Rochelle’s body, a mix of anger and defensiveness bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her. “I never?—”

“You never what?” the woman interrupted, her voice rising slightly. “You never claimed him? Never accepted the bond? Maybe not in so many words. But everyone can see it—I can see it. My friend, she’s a wolf shifter, said she can smell Caleb on you from a mile away. You might not say you’ve got him, but even with my human eyes, I can see how he looks at you. You won’t claim him outright, but you’re still holding him back.”

“I never had him.”

The barista scoffed, shaking her head. “Maybe not officially. But everyone knows it. If you were decent, if you really didn’t want him, you’d let him go. For good.”

Rochelle stood there, rooted to the spot, her mind racing. She wanted to argue, to shout, to tell the woman she had no idea what she was talking about. But the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, Rochelle knew that there was truth to what she was saying.

The woman gave her one last hard look before walking away, leaving Rochelle standing alone on the sidewalk. The people on the street bustled around her as if nothing had happened. But something had happened.

Rochelle’s carefully constructed walls—the ones she’d built to keep Caleb at a distance, to protect herself from the bond—were crumbling. The barista’s words echoed in her mind. The sharp accusation cut deeper than she wanted to admit.

You’re still holding him back.

The thought gnawed at her, burrowing deep into her chest as she stood there, staring at Caleb through the café window. He was still sitting at the table, unaware of the confrontation that had just taken place. His face was relaxed, his posture at ease. But Rochelle’s mind was anything but.

She had spent years convincing herself that she was doing the right thing, that keeping Caleb at arm’s length was for the best—for both of them. But now, standing here, having watched him with another woman, Rochelle felt something stir inside her that she couldn’t ignore.

The guilt was there, yes, but beneath it was something more. Something darker, something she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Possessiveness.

She had never wanted to hold Caleb back. She had always told herself that he was free, that he could move on, find someone else, live his life. But seeing him then—laughing with another woman, his eyes lighting up at someone else’s words—made her realize just how much she had been holding him.

She wasn’t ready to let him go.