Filed to story: The Alpha’s Pen Pal Book
“We are still… friendly.”
“Friendly.” He huffs out a laugh and smirks. “Right.”
I sigh and shake my head and continue my journey home. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you around,” I throw over my shoulder.
Cavalier follows me around the training fields and towards the lake, breaking away from me to head back to Haven and Wesley’s home as I make my way to my house. I used to reside in the gamma apartment in the packhouse, but since Haven and Wesley didn’t live in the packhouse, it made more sense to live in town like they did, so I could be available to do my gamma duties on shorter notice, and I moved out shortly after Haven moved in with Wesley.
I head straight upstairs when I get home and gather my clothes to change into after my shower, pausing only to greet a dozing Rachel. She has the blankets tucked up under her chin, and I kiss her cheek and her forehead, then go into the bathroom to check off the next step in my daily routine.
I don’t rush, but I don’t exactly take my time either. The warm, steamy shower soothes my muscles from my run and washes away the sweat and grime, and while I enjoy the massaging streams as they pound against my skin, I also want to spend every last second I can with Rachel before she flies back to Boston again. I settle for long enough to soothe my aching muscles but short enough to maybe get in at least a quick hot and heavy make-out session with her before we leave for the airport.
But when I exit the bathroom after my shower, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, she’s nowhere to be found in the bedroom. The tan sheets are changed, the bed is made, and her bag is no longer by the window. I frown, but slip my shoes on and grab my things from the dresser, sliding them into my pockets as I make my way out of the room and down the stairs.
Rachel stands at the door, her straight brown hair pulled back into a low, loose ponytail hanging over her shoulder, her suitcase at her feet as she fiddles with her phone. My feet slow as I step off the last stair, my hand trailing behind me on the banister.
“Hey,” I say, pausing with my hand still on the railing, my brows furrowing.
She whips her head around to stare at me, her eyes wide in surprise, her body utterly still, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
“Hi,” she squeaks out.
“What are you doing?”
She presses her lips together, shoving her phone in the back pocket of her black jeans before crossing her arms and looking down at her feet. “My dad is driving me to the airport. He’ll be here in a few minutes. I was actually hoping he’d be here before you finished your shower. You usually shower for longer.”
My hands slide into my pockets, and I move closer to her. “I told you I would drive you. I’m not working today.”
Rachel shakes her head and looks up at me, taking a small step closer to the door, away from me. “It’s better this way, Nolan.”
“Better what way? What do you mean?”
She sighs. “I’m not coming back to California for… a while. I have a really big job I just booked for a pack back east, remodeling their entire packhouse, and I don’t know how long it will take. But it was the impetus I needed to rip the Band-Aid off and quit you cold turkey.”
I flinch back as her words hit me like tiny splinters of shattered glass, each one slicing into me with surprising force. “Quit me?”
“Yes.”
I frown at her and cross my arms. “I’m not a drug, Rachel.”
“This isn’t healthy, though. What we’re doing. We’re not together, not chosen mates or even boyfriend and girlfriend. We rarely speak when I’m gone, and yet somehow on the rare occasion I visit, I end up in your bed again almost every night. And it can’t continue. Not anymore.”
My jaw ticks as my teeth grind together, and I stare at her, pushing down the rising anxiety that has been a near-constant companion for the last seven years. It’s usually buried deep under the surface, but it always lurks and waits for moments like this, moments when my insecurities all come rushing back, when my routine and my stability are threatened.
The silence stretches between us, my heart climbing into my throat. I swallow against it repeatedly, working to push it back into its proper place and hide that I’m struggling to breathe. There has to be something—anything—I can do to rectify this situation.
I can’t go through this. Not again.
Rachel’s face softens, and her fingers twitch against her forearm, like she’s thinking of reaching for me, but she stays still and grips her arm instead. “I’m sorry, Nolan. I am. But—“
“Wait,” I say, holding up a finger, running my hand over my short hair, and pinching my lips together. “Just… wait. Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”
I race up the stairs and back into my bedroom, rummaging through the top drawer of my dresser and snatching up the small black box, the box with the yellow, square cut, solitaire diamond ring inside it. The ring I’ve had for longer than I should admit,
but for whatever reason, never worked up the courage to give to her. I sprint down the stairs and stand right in front of her, heart racing and shoulders heaving as I hold the box out to her, lid open so she can see the ring.
“I know rings aren’t really a thing for shifters since we can’t wear them. But I want you to be my chosen mate, Rachel,” I say, watching her for her reaction.
She just stares at it, her face blank. Nothing passes over her features or flickers in her eyes, and she makes no move to take the ring out of the box. “How?” she asks, her eyes still on the ring.
My brows furrow, and I blink at her in confusion. Not the reaction I expected. “How?”
Her eyes never leave the box in my hand. “How would we make it work? I live in Boston. I have a job there. An amazing job where I am making a name for myself, bringing in high-paying clients, sometimes even celebrities, who want me to design their new homes or remodel their current homes.”
My heart rises into my throat again. This isn’t working. I’m failing. I’m going to be left all alone. Again.
“You could do that here, too,” I say. “You could move back here, to California. There are plenty of families with money here, people who would be willing to pay you to do the same thing on this coast instead of that coast.”
“Or you could move to Boston with me,” she says.
I struggle to keep my eyes from rolling and to keep the growl of frustration out of my voice. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because of Hav—“
“Haven. Exactly.” She shakes her head. “You do realize that’s what this all always boils down to? The reason I drifted away from you and looked for new jobs, the reason we fell apart in the first place? Because of your inability to let anyone else protect her.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s not fair, Rachel. You know that’s not true.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
“No.” But even as I say the words, even as I utter them with complete conviction and insistence, she and I both know I’m not convincing anyone.
New Book: Veiled Desires of the Alpha King Novel
Dayson was the alpha of the largest pack in North America. Powerful figures from other packs sought to offer gorgeous girls as potential mates for Dayson. He steadfastly rejected these advances, he was not a pawn to be manipulated. But eventually there came a mysterious girl he could hardly say No. Who was she?