Page 7 of Come for Me
Jemma gently pinches my cheek. “Today’s the day you could find your mate. Are you excited?”
I nod.
I want to tell her Caleb isn’t my mate, but I don’t want her to be disappointed; she loves Caleb like a son. She practically raised us. Jemma would watch Caleb at our house while his parents attended meetings or performed their other duties.
Growing up, Jemma apologized to his parents plenty of times on my behalf. I say on my behalf because I flat out refused toapologize. I wasn’t sorry for biting him after he stole my animal crackers, then ate them in front of me. Or when he yanked my pigtails and I pushed him in the dirt.
Jemma is old school, but I never agreed with justifying the notion of when a boy likes you that it’s okay if they show it by picking on you.
In the words of Jemma, six-year-old me showed Caleb “he gon’ learn today to act right.” Kids need to be taught to process and express big feelings in a prosocial way, or they’ll end up with a mouthful of dirt like Caleb did.
I stand by younger-me’s decision not to apologize. If anything, I might’ve prevented Caleb from becoming a domestic abuser.
Honestly, his parents should thank me.I laugh to myself.
Jemma’s high-pitched voice drags me out of my thoughts.
“’Laina?”
“Huh?”
“You’re smiling . . . Are you thinking about Caleb?”
Jemma’s eyes sparkle with hope, and tears spring from my eyes.
“What, honey?” She pets my hair, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Caleb’s not my mate,” I finally say after breathing through my tears.
Jemma clicks her teeth. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. He was here last night, and once it hit midnight, we felt nothing.”
Jemma raises her eyebrow and points to my bedroom floor. “Here?”
I nod.
“You mean to tell me he snuck into your room in the middle of the night? In my house?”
Jemma’s flabbergasted.
“Ugh, that’s not the point!”
I just told her Caleb isn’t my mate, and that’s what she got out of the conversation?Unbelievable.She forgets I’m twenty-one, not sixteen.
“It’s my point,” Jemma mutters but relents, sighing. “I’m sorry, honey. You’ll find your mate one day.”
“My mate isn’t here, though. Which means he belongs to some other pack,” I whine. “I don’t want to go to another pack.”
Jemma frowns.
She knows my ties to our pack grounds are deeply rooted in my identity.
“I don’t have anything of hers but this place”—I gesture to the space—“and old stories I’ve heard hundreds of times.”
When my mother showed up on Jemma’s doorstep, she came with nothing.
Jemma takes hold of my hand, giving me the best smile she can muster. She was also wanting my mate to be someone from this pack. Even more so, she was hoping it was Caleb.
