The Lone Wolf's Rejected Mate (Five Packs, #3)

by Cate C. Wells

She’s kind of made crabby and bitter her life philosophy.

It smells like what happy childhoods must.

I’m not going to let that toxic bullshit stroll on into my brain and make itself at home. I’m a grown female—I’m not giving into those thoughts anymore.

I learned a long time ago that people do things that are incomprehensible, and in the end, there is nothing you can do but rely on yourself.

I hold my breath until my lungs burn because the part of you that wants to be loved is so very, very fucking hard to kill.

If I want a good life, it’s up to me. No looking back. No wondering why.

it isn’t strength to close your eyes and plug your ears, is it?

The past—it happened. The scars—they’re real. The past made us what we are. It broke shit that can never be fixed. I will never deny that.” It’s undeniable. I live with that fact rampaging inside me, every moment of every day. “But, you know, other shit is true, too. Some broken shit heals with time. Some scars, man, we give them to ourselves.”

sometimes we cannot be other than what we are, even when it breaks our hearts.

I don’t know what love is. I had ideas when I was young that mostly revolved around a palette of faded pastels, bittersweet acoustic songs, and the vague notion that love would be pretty and delicate and simple. I don’t think I had it right at all. I think it’s the opposite—ugly and messy and tough as gristle. It’s not a miracle, not a gift out of nowhere, not a vibe. You make it out of thin air, from nothing, by what you do.