bittersweet green apples, rejection, and the mediocre life of a human

Chapter 6

It was nearly Saturday evening when I realized why I felt so shitty. It wasn't just the pack deprivation or my teammates' aloof shame - even though it had been only three days since the incident, and my mate felt so awful it was spilling across a bond not even a quarter formed. I couldn't take it anymore, my alpha instincts screamed fire into my belly and my head pounded. I had to fix this somehow, but I couldn't think of a single problem I'd ever solved instead of brute-forced.

Unfortunately, I couldn't tackle this problem like it was football. True to form, I'd spent nearly half of the day working out to try to avoid thoughts about the mess I made, but somehow even right at my limit, the heaviest exertion I could handle, all I could think about was him. I kept pacing and pawing at my hair, but I just couldn't show my face anywhere - even my teammates seemed disgusted, and they're pretty accepting of behavior my pack isn't. Usually, I should be seeking comfort from my mate right about now, but I'd gone and fucked that up harder than the kitchen last time I tried to help cook, and it's not like he was feeling great himself either. I could feel exactly how he felt, and it made me grimace.

Then, it dawned on me that maybe I should be seeking my mate right now. Maybe I should, no, I had to fix this, even if I had no idea where to start or what the starting line even looked like. It felt like a giant chasm - the goal of accepting both him and myself on the other side, but no clear way to cross. How was I going to win him back without a bond helping me along? I needed to think like I used to, before I let myself fall into this kind of fake mindset if I wanted to figure out how to win him back. The kind of ideas I had before I changed myself, like the ones that inspired my poetry. I needed to think without thinking about anyone's reactions. I needed to think about what I genuinely wanted to do.

It was absolutely fucking terrifying how hard that was.

I was in the middle of what was likely my billionth lap around the weight room when I realized how stupidly simple the answer was. I knew exactly how to try to fix things, it was something that I wasn't sure I was ready for - but I had to try. What kind of Alpha am I if I'm so scared shitless by other people's opinions that I hide for the rest of my life? I nearly tripped over myself in my haste to the showers, and I was out of the gym and in my car faster than I've ever ran across the field. My phone told me it was only the later end of mid-afternoon - I could make it back to the pack house, clean up, get dressed, and make it in time if I really hustled. I made a call in preparation, and hoped I'd be able to actually follow through - I was going to make this work.

I was nearly hyperventilating in my car on the drive over. It's not easy to drive into the inner workings of lower Manhattan where his dorm was based, and even more difficult to park. After spotting an underground garage, I decided to give myself exactly two minutes to pull myself together, and then get moving; one minute to convince myself I could do this, and then another to convince myself to do it. I was just as nervous as when the scouts had shown up to my college games- no, more. Over my entire time in football, from my peewee league to the WFL, the most important lesson I've learned about nerves is to just start doing it, and hope you can finish it. So I followed what I could feel of our bond and tracked it as best I could, until I was face to face with an unmistakable college dorm, the posters and fliers covering the inside walls peering through the glass at me, silently asking me what I was doing here.

I had only been out of college for a couple years, but physically it definitely didn't look that way. Unfortunately, the security guard on duty recognized me as 'Kyle Summers, Offensive Lineman', as did a gaggle of girls walking through the lobby, who giggled at me and batted their eyelashes like some sort of mean girls antagonist. I could smell the makeup radiating off them in waves, and combined with the overwhelming cacophony of scents left behind by students passing through the lobby it was impossible to think straight. I stopped in front of the security guard's desk but paused like an awkward teenager, unsure of how to ask, "Hey, the mate I rejected before I got his name lives in this building, can you help me find him?" Fortunately enough, one of the elevators opened behind the turnstiles, and by the grace of the goddess, out walked my mate - who seemed to be oblivious to my existence, until he was halfway to the mailroom and froze like a rabbit who had just seen a wolf.

"Please, just give me five minutes," I pleaded, but he didn't seem to unfreeze at all. It was like someone had hit pause on his remote, and so I took the plunge and decided to go ahead, in front of everyone, and beg my mate for forgiveness. "I was a colossal dick to you and I'm really, really sorry about that. To be honest, I'm absolutely terrified of everyone and how they think of me, and it's driven me to do some pretty stupid shit. It's not an excuse, but you represent a part of me I've tried to ignore my entire life, because I'm such a fucking coward that I couldn't tell the world to fuck off and accept me as I am. I have a lot of issues, and I'm pretty sure there's literally no way I deserve you or a second chance, but please let me try to earn it. Would you, uh, maybe like to go to dinner with me?"

Like I'd pressed play, his face contorted erratically, emotions, I couldn't even recognize running across it so quickly I could barely keep pace. His scent finally made its way to my nose from that side of the room and I nearly popped a vein trying not to leap the turnstiles and hug him close. Finally, his face calmed, settling on sheer dismay, and he finally began to speak, softly at first but gaining steam with each word. "I wish I had the courage to tell you no. I fucking despise everything about you. You are everything I can't ever be and it infuriates me that you never, ever lose. You have no idea what it's like to have your last dream crushed by some arrogant asshole who is hyper-aware of all your shortcomings and just how much better than you he is. Lucky for you, for some fucking reason, romance is my last dream, the one thing I'm still holding onto after a remarkably miserable twenty years of existence. But I'll be damned if I'm just going to let Prince Asshole sweep me off my feet - the second chance is yours, but there won't be a third. If you actually somehow meant that and you really did change, I'm sorry for saying that to you. But there won't be a second date if I still want to cry at the end of the evening."

His words knocked the air out of my chest like the world's greatest Defensive Lineman, and I stood completely still, stunned, as he tackled me with his monologue. I knew everyone in the lobby was probably staring at our spectacle, but I couldn't even see them because I was so hyper-aware of the pain behind his words. He didn't want me as his mate now, and that was no one's fault but my own. I would have to earn this, and it wouldn't be easy. I needed to show him I had changed, and I already had a plan. Finally, taking a deep breath, I answered, "You won't. That's a promise."

It was a promise I intended to keep.