"Thank you, Lucas. For listening. For staying."
Then he disappeared into the shadows, and the cabin was quiet again.
Lucas stood by the window for a long time after Rohan left. The sea was still there, dark and endless, the moonlight painting a silver path across its surface.
He thought about what Rohan had said. About pride. About time. About not wasting the chance that was still sitting in his chest like a frayed rope waiting to be tied back together.
He thought of Sebastian.
He thought about how Sebastian treated him since the moment they found out they were each other's mate. About the time when they sneak out behind Becca's back to fuck and ease the pain coming from the imprint.
Those nights in the smelly motel rooms, bodies tangled together in the dark, neither of them speaking about what it meant. Just the two of them, scratching an itch that wouldn't go away.
When he discovered that Sebastian had told Beatrice about the imprinting without his permission or even informing him before revealing such a sensitive topic to her, she became enraged and began calling Lucas various names.
Lucas found out when Beatrice showed up at his door, eyes wide, calling him names that still sting when he recalls them. Homewrecker. Desperate.Whore. Mongrel.
She claimed he'd trapped Sebastian. Said he used magic to force the bond. Lucas just stood there and took it because he didn't know what to say. That he didn't ask for this either?
Around the time he discovered why Sebastian had been gone for a month. Lucas had been doubled over in pain for a month, and the bond felt so thin that it could snap at any moment. He could hardly eat. I barely sleep.
He spent most of those days lying on his floor, staring at the ceiling, wondering if Sebastian had finally decided to cut the cord permanently.
When Sebastian returned, he pretended nothing had happened. He claimed he had to visit family. Lucas learned later from a friend that Sebastian had been with Becca the entire time.
Assisting her with the transition to her new home. Paint the walls. Playing house.
About the time he learned Sebastian was going to introduce Beatrice to the other coven near La Ber's eastern border.
The kind that stated, "This is my partner; this is who I have chosen."
Lucas remembered hearing the news from Lyla, of all people, because the entire village was discussing it. And he remembered sitting alone in his house, wondering why Sebastian hadn't mentioned it to him.
Sebastian eventually returned to him and invited him to a very special place. Lucas remembered how well he had dressed that night. A clean shirt.
His best pants. He even borrowed some cologne from Max. He smiled excitedly because he thought this was it.
Finally. After all of the sneaking, secrets, and pain, Sebastian was finally going to choose him.
Only to discover that it was Sebastian's proposal to Beatrice.
Lucas pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window. His breath fogged the surface, which he watched fade before fogging it again.
That night, he stood at the edge of the clearing, watching Sebastian get down on one knee. Watching Becca shed happy tears. Watching the other coven members clap and cheer. Sebastian appeared to be very happy. So proud of himself. As if he had accomplished something wonderful.
He had returned to his cabin, removed his nice clothes, and sat in the dark for hours. The bond screamed at him.
It had pulled and ached, pleading with him to return, fight, and speak up. But he had nothing more to say. Sebastian had made his decision. It wasn't Lucas.
Never him.
From the quiet, crushing realization that the person he was supposed to be with had chosen someone else. Willingly. Happily. Without a single look back.
"Fuck."
Lucas remained by the window, the cool glass against his forehead. The sea stretched out before him, dark and endless, and he wondered if Sebastian was out there, gazing at the same moon.
No. Sebastian was probably at home. In La Ber. He shared a cabin with Becca.
Perhaps they were in bed together, cuddling under the same blankets that Lucas had never been invited to share.
Maybe Sebastian was whispering "I love you" into her hair in the same way he used to whisper Lucas' name in the dark of the old shed.
Rohan claimed he still had time. Rohan stated that the bond was frayed, not broken. Rohan said he should return before it was too late.
But Rohan didn't know the whole story. Rohan was unaware that Lucas had already been the other person. The secret. What a shame. Sebastian wanted to forget something.
Going back would mean looking at Sebastian's face and discovering the truth. That he was never sufficient.
That he would never be chosen. Sebastian had rejected whatever bond had tried to form between them with both hands.
Lucas opened his eyes and looked at his reflection in the glass. Tired eyes. Pale face. A mouth that had forgotten how to smile without forcing it.
What was the point of following a thread that led to a door that would never open for him?
He pushed himself away from the window and walked to his room. He lay down on the bed, still in his clothes, and stared at the ceiling.
The cabin was quiet. Rohan was asleep in the other room, probably dreaming of Logan. At least Rohan had been loved back.
At least Logan had died trying to come home. Sebastian had never even tried. Everything seemed calculated.
As if he were only doing it because the imprint bond told him to.
Lucas rolled onto his side and pressed his hand against his chest, sensing the faint hum of the bond. Still there. Still flickering. Even after he told it to stop, he remained hopeful.
He considered Rohan's warning. He squeezed his eyes closed.
But reconsidering meant opening a wound that had barely begun to scab over. It meant going back into La Ber and dealing with the whispers, pitying looks, and the possibility that Sebastian would forget his name.
Lucas closed his eyes.
He thought about Sebastian's smile. About the way his hand felt on Lucas's waist. About the small, quiet moments when Sebastian had looked at him like he mattered. Before the proposal. He thought about Sebastian's smile.
About how his hand felt against Lucas' waist. About those small, quiet moments when Sebastian treated him as if he mattered. Before the proposal. Before Beatrice. Before everything fell apart. Those moments had been real. Lucas was certain of it. Sure of it.
But "real" was not synonymous with "enough."
He fell asleep with tears drying on his temples, the bond humming softly in his chest, and the waves outside continuing their eternal rhythm. He'd wake up tomorrow and decide whether to stay or leave. Whether to fight or fade.
But for now, he just lay there in the dark, clutching a thread that someone else had let go of.