What Remains Unclaimed

CHAPTER 5

**LILA’S POV**

I do not want to leave the house.

I make that very clear.

I say it while sitting on my bed, knees pulled to my chest, staring at a wall I have memorized over the last two days. I say it again when Maya stands in my doorway with her arms crossed and that look on her face that means she has already decided something for me.

“I am not going,” I repeat. “I am fine right here.”

“You are not fine,” she says gently. Too gently. “You have not left the house. You have barely eaten. And you have been staring at the same spot like it personally offended you.”

“It did,” I mutter.

Maya sighs and sits beside me. “Lila. You cannot disappear because one man screwed up.”

My jaw tightens. “He is not just one man.”

She pauses, then nods. “Okay. Fair. But you still need air.”

I do not argue because I do not have the energy. That is how she wins. Not by force, not by threats, but by waiting until I am too tired to fight back.

An hour later, I am dressed in something simple and walking beside her down a quiet path that winds through the pack territory.

“This place is perfect,” Maya says, trying too hard. “No one comes here anymore. It is peaceful.”

She is right. The park sits tucked away near the edge of the forest, forgotten after newer gathering spaces were built. The benches are weathered. The grass grows a little too wild. The old stone fountain in the center no longer runs.

It feels abandoned.

Which somehow fits me perfectly.

We sit on one of the benches, and Maya immediately launches into stories. Funny ones. Embarrassing ones. Stories about people I barely remember and moments that feel like they belong to a different version of me.

I laugh when I am supposed to. Smile when she looks at me expectantly.

Nothing reaches my chest.

“I am failing,” she says eventually, slumping back. “This is usually where you snort laugh and tell me I am an idiot.”

“I am tired,” I admit quietly.

She looks at me sideways. “Of him?”

“Of hoping,” I say. “Of thinking maybe this time will be different.”

Maya’s expression softens. “You know none of this is your fault, right?”

I nod, even though it does not feel true. Fault has a way of sneaking in anyway. Sitting heavy in my ribs. Whispering that maybe I expected too much. That maybe I should have known better.

Footsteps crunch against gravel.

I freeze.

I know that scent before I consciously register it. Cedar. Steel. Authority. My wolf stirs, sharp and confused, pressing forward instinctively before slamming hard into the wall I have built around myself.

I look up.

Derek stands at the edge of the park, shoulders squared, face drawn tight with something that looks a lot like resolve.

My chest aches.

Maya notices instantly. “Do you want me to punch him?” she asks quietly.

I huff out a weak breath. “Not yet.”

Derek stops a few feet away, gaze fixed on me. “Can I speak to you?”

I do not answer.

Maya stands. “I will give you space,” she says, then leans down and murmurs in my ear, “If he makes you cry, I will absolutely punch him.”

She walks away without waiting for a response.

The silence that settles feels heavy.

“What do you want, Derek?” I ask finally.

He exhales slowly, like he has been holding that breath for days. “I wanted to do this somewhere you did not feel cornered.”

“That is considerate,” I say flatly.

I do not look at him. If I do, I am afraid my resolve will crack.

“I owe you honesty,” he says. “Not excuses. Not apologies that mean nothing.”

My fingers curl against the bench. “You have already said sorry.”

“I know,” he replies. “And I keep proving it is not enough.”

I finally look at him then. He looks tired. Worn in a way that has nothing to do with lack of sleep.

“I am turning into my father,” he says quietly.

The words land hard.

“He loved my mother,” Derek continues. “Deeply. I never doubted that. But loving her did not stop him from hurting her. Over and over again. He always had a reason. Always had something urgent. Something important.”

My throat tightens.

“She waited,” he says. “She told herself it was the price of being with an Alpha. That someday it would slow down. That someday he would choose her first.”

His jaw clenches. “That day never came.”

I feel something cold settle in my stomach.

“I see it happening again,” he says. “Not because I want it to. But because I keep choosing the same pattern. I make promises, and then I break them. Not out of malice. Out of duty.”

“And you think that makes it better?” I ask quietly.

“No,” he says immediately. “It makes it worse. Because I know better.”

The bond hums painfully between us, responding to the truth in his words.

“I watched you the other night,” Derek continues. “Standing by the lake. Waiting. And when I realized what I had done, it felt like stepping into my own childhood.”

My chest tightens.

“I am not going to let you turn into my mother,” he says, voice firm now. “I am not going to do that to you.”

My breath catches. “Then do not.”

“I cannot promise I will not be called away again,” he says. “I cannot promise that pack emergencies will stop. That responsibility will suddenly ease.”

“So what are you saying?” I whisper.

He meets my eyes fully now. There is no hesitation there. No uncertainty.

“I care about you too much to keep hurting you,” he says. “And right now, the only way I know how to stop is to step away.”

The world tilts.

“What?” The word comes out broken.

“I am rejecting you,” he says, the words heavy and deliberate. “Here. Now. Before this bond tightens any further. Before waiting becomes your default.”

Pain flares hot and sharp, stealing the air from my lungs.

“You do not get to decide that for me,” I snap, standing abruptly. “You do not get to hurt me and then pretend it is for my own good.”

His expression does not waver. “I know.”

Tears burn behind my eyes, furious and unwanted. “Then why does it feel like you are choosing the pack over me again?”

“Because I am,” he admits softly. “And I refuse to pretend that is not the truth.”

The honesty hurts more than any lie could have.

“I wanted to be better for you,” he says. “But wanting it is not enough if I am not ready to be it.”

I laugh, sharp and bitter. “So that is it. You mess up twice and decide I am too fragile to handle you.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I decide you deserve more than a man who keeps asking you to understand his absence.”

Silence stretches between us.

My wolf presses against my chest, confused and aching.

“Do not wait for me,” Derek says. “Do not shape your life around gaps I keep leaving.”

I swallow hard. “And if I would have chosen you anyway?”

His voice drops. “Then I would have destroyed something beautiful without meaning to.”

He steps back, creating space I do not want but cannot close.

“I am sorry,” he says one last time. Not as an apology. As a goodbye.

I do not answer.

I cannot.

He turns and walks away, leaving the park quiet and empty once more.

I sink back onto the bench, shaking, the weight of what just happened pressing down until it feels impossible to breathe.

I was not rejected because I was unworthy.

I was rejected because loving him would have cost me myself.

And that realization hurts more than I ever expected it to.