ISLA'S POV

There was little money. Time was even more constrained. And my mind? Just barely making it.

I was celebrating my 30th birthday. It did not matter much. Divorced. No mate. Two children at home. Piles of bills that were as high as a mountain that I could not climb. I was sitting in a bar alone, looking at a glass of a drink that I did not even want. Could not really afford it either.

The cocktail was sweet initially. Then the burn came. A low-rent whiskey twist, posing as high-rent. It went down my throat and did not warm anything in me. That beverage would have paid baby wipes, formula, and a bag of apples. I heaved a sigh and remembered the little envelope of money Fraser had thrust into my hand.

You need a rest, Isla, he had said to me. One night out. That is all I want. One. Put on, take a drink, breathe a bit.”

He had pushed me into this clingy black dress and forced me to swear that I would leave the house.

He had grinned and said, come back after midnight. Or when you meet someone, do not come back at all.

Yeah, right.

I would have shouted at him then, *This is not freedom. This is lipstick and heels punishment.* I had kept silent, however. Fraser did not deserve my resentment. Not when he was the only one who had stayed after it all came tumbling down.

Everything. My so-called life.

Lachlan did not leave me when he walked out. He abandoned our children, our house, our aspirations. Just because he said he had found his *fated mate*. And as though fate had not made his betrayal painful enough. Like it was compensation to the mess he left me in, emotionally, financially, and otherwise.

I looked at the wall clock in the bar. Ailsa would be cleaning her teeth just now, waiting to hear the bedtime story we read to her every night. My heart grew tight. I imagined Hamish, likely fussing in his crib. Would they miss me tonight? Or were they already beginning to adapt to this new form of life? The one with the ghost Daddy and the crying Mommy in the shower?

One drink. That was my bargain with myself.

I would take my time, linger awhile, and disappear before the bar crowd got too noisy or too cheerful. I simply had to feel that I had made an effort. As though I had not thrown away the work of my brother.

Another? said the bartender, drying a glass.

I shook my head. “Nah. I’m good.”

He nodded and went down the line.

A group of guys at the other end of the bar broke into laughter. A score update flashed on the TV above them. Rugby. The Lavender Pack was going badly.

One of the guys grumbled, Why do they even bother to come to these things?

Another person added, “The lycans love it. They consume it. Makes them feel big when werewolves crash and burn.”

Laughter followed. Sharp and loud. It stung.

It never hurt.

Lycans were superior in all aspects, strength, speed, politics. And we were to think we were equals? Please. Each game, each battle, each treaty only served to show how wide the rifts were between us.

Another cheer was blaring on the TV. One of the Lavender Pack players was slammed to the ground by a red lycan. The critics referred to it as brilliant. I termed it superfluous.

I moved my empty glass away and stood up. The sound was excessive. Too many loud mouths. There were too many smiling faces. Too many working lives and working hearts.

I left.

The city air smacked me like a gentle slap--cool and real. Everything slowed. Traffic, music in a club nearby, people laughing as they passed by. Life continued, even when mine seemed to be on hold.

I saw a vacant bench close to the park and collapsed into it. Hugged my coat closer. The world was still turning, but mine was not. Divorce. Bills. Two children who did not know why the tree could be empty this year.

What do I tell Ailsa, that Santa does not visit broken homes? What shall I say to Hamish that his father sold us to fate?

I grumbled, under my breath, Daddy cheated on Mommy and ran away.

The language was nauseating, even to me.

A voice said, near by, Rough night?

I started up with a jerk. There was a man a few steps away. His hands in his coat pockets. Broad shoulders. Calm eyes. He was solid.

You might say so, I answered.

May I sit?

I shrugged half-way. “Free bench.”

He sat, and there was a distance between us.

You do not look like you are out celebrating.

I glanced at my dress, then at him. Not celebrating, definitely.

One of those compulsory evenings out?”

I said, pretty much. It was the idea of my brother.

And here you are. Not quite getting the party started.”

I guess I am not the type.

He nodded. We were silent a minute. Then he said, What drink is it to-night?

“Whiskey. The cheap, burn-your-throat stuff.”

Classic, he said with a little smile. Bourbon is more my style.

I snorted. Naturally it is.

“Of course?”

You are just a bourbon type. All smooth and tidy.”

The appearance is deceptive.

I made no reply. His words were more painful than he intended them to be.

I must have appeared to most people as a woman out celebrating her birthday. Not a person who breaks under pressure. Not a person living on a thread, afraid to open the mail and even more afraid of what her children will ask next.

Well, he said after a moment, getting up. Whatever you are running away tonight, I hope you run faster.

He walked away, and disappeared into the crowd as though he had never been there. I saw him off.

There was something in me that wanted to shout. *Wait. Stay. Just say one more stupid thing so I do not have to go home yet.* I did not.

I was sitting there, alone, the burden of my decisions weighing down on me more than ever.

When had my life been broken?

Was it the day Lachlan packed his bags? Or the night he stared me in the face and told me, she was his real mate. I cannot overlook that.”

Or perhaps it was sooner. Perhaps it began when I first lied to myself--when I said that everything was all right, that I was enough to both of us, that love was stronger than fate.

The myth that all I needed to do was work harder, give more, love deeper… he would stay.

I gripped the bench with my fingers. Cold metal brought me down to earth.

I thought love was a solution. Now I was not even certain that it was real. Not when it could be sold as though it were nothing. Not when it might disappear in one glance at another.

A horn was blown afar. A bunch of girls tumbled out of a cab giggling, holding on to each other by the arms as though their lives were composed of joy and glitter.

I relaxed.

Saw the city stir.

And fill me with the silence.