Chapter 17

Rhokar

I avoid the office again. I'm not even pretending to myself anymore that it's not to avoid Ella.

I can't shake the feeling of something being

off

inside me as I drive to the gym in the afternoon, after working from home all day. It's as if something's settled into place and torn open in my chest, somehow at the same time. My mother's words roll through my thoughts once more, repeating her description of Fated Mates.

The tugging heartstring. The irresistible scent. The overwhelming drive to nurture and protect.

I rub at my chest roughly and pull into the parking lot, cutting the engine and swinging my gym bag over my shoulder as I stride in and head for the locker rooms. Olistaire's already here, on the treadmill, and he nods when I jerk my chin at him in greeting.

Well, my mother was mistaken. I was mistaken. I haven't felt the urge for the Claiming Chase, to run her down in the Old Ways and prove my strength and worthiness to be her mate, and that's because what I'm feeling can't be Fated. A Fated Mate's pairing is a two-way street, and Ella's shown she doesn't feel the same way. So, I'm mistaken.

Maybe she feels something else. Maybe she just needs something physical.

When I was in the car kissing her, scenting her desire, feeling her lush, lithe body pressing into me, I was simply overwhelmed with lust and a pathetic hope for something that I'll never have. I let my thoughts get ahead of me, convinced of the possibility for a connection that wasn't really there, and I led myself astray. Led myself into the bitter disappointment I'd felt yesterday morning, when I saw those two precious children. My children.

This is the modern day, after all. Plenty of women raise their young on their own.

At worst, Ella thinks I'm incapable of helping her rear our children, thinks I'm so pathetic as a man that I'll be a worse influence on them than simply not having a father around.

At best, she…forgot to tell me. Which actually, seems somehow worse.

In reality, it's probably something in the middle. She really was unsure about my reaction, and thought it was best just to keep me out of the picture. Despite opening up to me. Despite fucking me. Despite hearing my confessed desire to be with her.

It still paints me as a male unworthy or unnecessary to have around to raise her children. Not even good enough to provide financial aid, at the very least. Unless she counts me hiring her, which I absolutely do not.

I breathe roughly through my nose, angrily, as I change into my gym clothes and stalk out, heading for the ring.

They were so…cute. Those toddlers were fucking beautiful.

I want them. I want them in my life so much.

I shove violently at the sadness that wants to claw its way up my throat, pushing it as far beneath my anger as I can. Before Morgatha, I'd had dreams of having a family, of being a father. But those dreams were shelved long ago.

To have them handed to me and ripped away in the same moment…

I wrap my fingers around the boxing ring's ropes and squeeze, barking out Olistaire's name and ignoring the way several other male's gazes flick my way, too.

"You don't want to warm up?" Olistaire says a few moments later as he jogs over, a towel slung over his shoulder and his chest lifting in a light pant.

"No," I growl, and duck between the ropes.

He raises his brows and follows. "Well alrighty, then."

The gym is dimly lit at this time, the late afternoon sun slanting in through the high windows, cutting through the air thick with the tang of sweat. I let the rhythmic thud of weights hitting the floor ground me, as I begin to circle my friend.

His brows rise even further. "Straight into it. Right— oof. "

I tackle him in his side and we both go flying to the ground. Before I can pin him, he rolls me off with a well-placed knee and we both spring back to our feet. The familiar dance of grappling, wrestling, and punching soothes my muscles, the physical exertion helping to clear my thoughts, if only momentarily. I throw myself into it, willing my emotions to switch off along with the chatter in my brain.

"Well, something's on your mind," Olistaire says placidly, as he jerks back to avoid my punch.

I growl and grit my teeth, pushing away his words as if I could pretend he didn't speak them. I swing at him again, and again, running him back until he's almost flush with the ropes. When he tries to dance sideways, I lunge at him once more, grabbing him around the middle and slamming him heavily to the ground, knowing his body can take it.

But again, the slippery minotaur manages to buck me off, this time flipping me up over his shoulder and landing with a knee to my chest, pinning me down.

"Tell me, you sad bastard," he says, panting, and when I maneuver to buck him off me, he zips down quickly and presses his forearm to my throat in warning. "You'll feel better if you get it off your chest. Probably."

I could crack a tooth with how hard my jaw is clenched, and I make an effort to release it. "I'm a father of two."

Olistaire's mouth falls open, and he stares. "Ella's pregnant?" Then he grins, and his forearm slackens against me. "I knew you'd get her soon enough, but she's already pregnant? That's quick work, even by my standards."

"No." I take advantage of his lax hold and twist him off, feeling brief satisfaction at the thunk of his body as I roll to my feet. "She got pregnant two years ago."

"Oh." Olistaire stands slowly, his face pinching as he works through the implications. " Oh. "

"Her kids came to join her in her new home yesterday. I met them. By accident."

We stare at each other for a long second, and I feel the tension in my shoulders doubling, bursting with an energy I'm not sure I can release.

"She hid them from me. Tried to get them away before I could see them. She doesn't want me in their lives."

Olistaire's brown eyes dance over me consideringly, as if he's trying to read some hidden information I can't see myself.

"Are you sure," he says slowly, "that she doesn't want you involved?"

"She's had all this time to tell me about them, and didn't. That's a pretty clear message."

His eyes squint, and he begins to circle me. I roll my shoulders and warily track his movements.

"She isn't an orc," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

I huff, and twist my feet to keep him in my sight. "Obviously."

"Mm-hmm . "

I growl and lunge towards him, but he darts away and keeps circling. "What in hells do you mean by mm-hmm?"

"I just mean that she's not Morgatha, and you should stop reacting as if she is." I lunge towards him again, and this time he doesn't evade me, facing my grapple head on. "She's a human, and her decision not to tell you might be fueled by a whole slew of reasons and motivations that have nothing to do with you at all, to be frank."

I feel my jaw ticking with irritation, and I push against his hold, forcing him back with brute strength. "And that's supposed to be better?" I grit.

"Yes." He digs his heels down, and we pause at an impasse in the middle of the ring. "She might just be afraid, you great fuck."

My fingers twitch against him, and he leans into me with a grunt.

"I'm assuming you blew up at her," he says, before managing to push me back a step. "I'm assuming you got angry, said things you shouldn't have said, before any real discussion could happen."

I'm shoved back once more, and a new sort of pain begins to slice across my chest, one I've been trying desperately to ignore.

I am trying, Rhokar, she'd said, and her voice had sounded broken and unsure, I'd never heard her sound like that before. I don't have a manual. And I'm doing it all alone.

She'd said she hadn't wanted to do it alone, and I'd probably made her feel even more so.

Suddenly the strength in my shoulders loosens, and I feel shame coursing through me.

Olistaire takes immediate advantage, and before I know it, I'm pinned to the floor once more.

I can tell he knows he's right by the way he looks down at me, but he doesn't press the issue. Instead, he pats my chest once, stands, and offers me a hand up.

I take it, and face him, both of us breathing heavily.

"So, do you want to be a father, or not?" he asks.

I scowl and look away, afraid of the burst of emotions that overwhelm me at that question. "Yes."

"And do you want Ella?"

More than anyone. More than anything.

I continue panting as I clench my fists. It almost hurts, how much I want her. "Yes."

"So go and fucking get her."

Why is that more terrifying than any of the alternatives?