Page 21 of Hidden Fates

My brows pinch when I see her watery eyes. She may be my manager, but that doesn’t make my personal bullshit her problem. “It’s nothing-”

Her glare pierces me, sharper than any knife, and I swallow the rest of my words. I can’t meet her eyes, staring at the table instead as I clench my hands until my knuckles turn white.

“The morning we found out you were missing, I hit the hotel gym and ran into two members of Shattered Horizons. Mid-workout, I started to panic. Full-blown, hard-to-breathe panic attack. It was fucking weird. I didn’t understand why my body was reacting so poorly to something I’d done a hundred times…”

I trail off, struggling to voice the rest. To admit my failure aloud is especially humiliating.

“They dragged me upstairs, and that’s when I saw Skye. She was hyperventilating in her other mate’s arms. I didn’t get it at first, but one of her Alphas explained, and suddenly it clicked.”

Her breath catches, already guessing what happened next.

“They weren’t my emotions at all. They were hers. Shared through a Fated connection we never uncovered.”

“What did she say?” The words are barely a breath between us, but they force me to shift away, dragging my shame to the surface and suffocating me with it.

“I left before I could find out. Like hell, I was going to stick around to get rejected.”

Her hand settles on my forearm, her grip gentle as she draws my gaze back to her. “Skye already has a bonded pack-”

Irritation blazes through me, and I shake off her hand. “I fucking know that.”

I’m not the only one irritated by this situation, because her eyes narrow and one polished finger juts into my face. “Let me finish speaking, asshole.”

When I clench my jaw and tap the table, she backs away and continues.

“She has a bonded pack, but she still sought you out. The history between the two of you obviously means something to her. And I know it does to you. Are you really going to walk away from your Fate-matched mate again because you are afraid you won’t fit in with her other mates?”

The question slaps me in the face with the force of a freight train. “That’s not… It’s complicated.”

Bea pushes to her feet and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Maybe. Maybe not. You won’t know if you don’t try. I don’t know about you, but I believe Fate is worth taking chances on.”

She leaves me sitting in the office, stewing over her words.

Skye is worth the pain of trying to find my place in an already formed pack. That was never a question.

It’s me who doesn’t deserve her.

As we step off the stage, making way for the crew to swap out equipment and get ready for the main act, I can’t hide a heavy sigh. Tonight was our third and final charity tour appearance, and it was… not great.

My heart wasn’t in my performance. It hasn’t been since I found out about my Fated connection. Forcing myself to continue performing is a disservice to the rest of the band.

Bea must see it written in my eyes, because she doesn’t stop us on our way to the green room.

The guys collapse on various surfaces, guzzling water and trying to cool off. Matt peels the label off his bottle before pointing at me. “You’re out.”

My brow furrows. “I’m out?”

“Of the band. The pack. Caleb, we all adore you. Having you with us has shown us how amazing this experience can be. But you don’t belong here. And now, we all know it.”

Glancing at Joey and Lee, they nod in unison. “Mattie’s right,” Lee says. “Why stay when your heart moves on?”

Frowning, I tug at the curls falling across my face. “I can’t leave you hanging like this.”

“So vet your replacement. There are a ton of dudes at the label who would jump at the chance to join a band with some traction. Help us find the right person and then get the hell out of here. Track down your girl and fix things.” Joey shrugs, throwing one arm across the back of the couch.

The door opens, and Bea walks in. “They’re right, Caleb. I spoke with Shiloh, and you are free to leave your contract as long as there is a bass player to replace you.”

My mouth opens and closes several times, a hundred protests sitting on my tongue. They’re all excuses. Dumb ones driven by fear.