Filed to story: The Alpha’s Pen Pal Book
“Good,” he says, sitting up straight and rubbing his hand over his short hair as he relaxes back into his seat. “Because I don’t want this to happen again.”
I swallow and drop my hand to the pillow, blinking, a tiny worm of doubt wriggling into my heart. “What?”
“You wearing yourself out like this while doing your job. It can’t happen again. We can’t allow that risk,” he says, the words leaving him with no hesitation or emotion. Just straight facts, pure honesty.
I flinch back, his statement a slap in the face and a stark reminder of all I am to him and the only things I ever will be—a coworker. An inconvenience. The unexpected speed bump in his daily routine.
I shouldn’t have let hope bloom. But I did it anyway. I let the shirt mean more than it did, and I read too much into all our interactions, thinking his concern for me was because he desired me, because he thought of me as something more.
Because I yearn for more.
Silly me. I know better. But hope is dangerous and addictive.
Just like Nolan.
“Well, like I said, it won’t be a problem,” I say, rolling over to face the back of the couch, finally feeling the weight of it all—the exhaustion from earlier, his unintentional rejection, and my reality that I keep forgetting.
“Cassandra—“
“I’m going to sleep,” I say, cutting him off as I burrow further into the pillows and under the blankets. “I’ll let you know if I need something.”
It’s a lie. I won’t let him know. I wouldn’t even stay here on the couch, except my bones are lead and my brain is spaghetti, and all I want to do is fall asleep and forget this conversation, forget the last hour, forget how I thought there could be something deeper between us. Something real. Something special.
His scent from the shirt I wear wraps around me, trapped inside by the weight and warmth of the blankets, and I bite my lip against the pang of pain in my heart, squeezing my eyes shut against the itching of swelling emotions. He lingers on the loveseat for longer than he should, longer than needed, longer than should be legal.
And only when his footsteps fade as he climbs the stairs do I let my tears fall.
CASSANDRA
I stayed on Nolan’s couch all night.
I didn’t want to. My body betrayed me, though. The couch was too plush, the blankets too warm, and his shirt too comforting, all of it combining and soothing me into a deep, restorative sleep I didn’t wake from until just now, jolted from it by Nolan slamming the door as he left for his regular morning run.
An exact echo of the metaphorical door he slammed on me yesterday.
With the shutting of the door, the events of the last twenty-four hours all come rushing back to me. The rehearsal, Nolan’s teasing, Haven’s aura, my exhaustion, and my misinterpretation of Nolan’s actions towards me; my misreading of his fussing and hovering over me as I recovered from draining myself. His tender touch, gentle hands, and his stern, overbearing kindness and concern were the perfect blend, making my heart race and my blood rush. But he pulled the rug from under my feet right as I got comfortable, sending me toppling over and crashing to the ground in a crumpled, mangled heap.
The rush of memories replaying in my mind is almost as gut-wrenching as when they happened in real time. And the only thing keeping me from drowning in the wave of painful memories is the ringing of my phone in my bag Nolan left in the entryway.
I hop up to grab it, my muscles aching in protest at my sudden movements. I clench my teeth and massage my thigh as I take my phone from my bag and answer it.
“Hello?” I say, hissing through the stiffness leftover from my overexertion and the way I slept on the couch—in one spot and completely unmoving—all night long. Nolan’s couch may be comfortable, but that doesn’t negate the slight stiffness from the position I slept in.
My dad’s voice filters to me through the speaker. “A grunted ‘hello’? Is that any way to greet your father?”
I chuckle softly at his teasing. “Sorry, Mpampa,” I say, rubbing my forehead with my fingertips as I wander back into the living room and plop down on the couch, pulling the blanket up over my legs again. “I didn’t check the phone before I answered. How are you?”
“Alive,” he says, then he lowers his voice to almost a whisper. “I think my days are numbered, though. Now that you’re gone, there is no one to protect me from your mother.”
“I heard that!” my mom says from wherever she is in the house. Most likely cooking in the kitchen or reading near the piano.
“Oh, hello, agápi mou, I didn’t know you were home!”
I hear a light smack and an “ow!” and I laugh louder at their antics, warming on the inside while also getting a little homesick. “Hello, Mama!”
“Help me!” my dad says in a stage whisper.
“She wouldn’t have to help you if you did the dishes when I asked the first time!” my mom says to him beneath the rustling of her grabbing the phone from him. “Hello, sweetheart.” Her tone switches instantly when she speaks to me. “How are things?”
“Everything is fine.”
Lie. Nothing is fine. But I just place a mask of a smile on my face and keep my voice bright and cheerful.
She is silent for a moment, and I can almost feel her sharp, critical eyes on me, examining me and piercing through my facade. She may be an entire country and ocean away from me, but it’s as if she’s sitting on the loveseat right across from me. “You sound tired.”
She doesn’t believe me for a second. She knows me too well.
I swallow and lick my lips, resisting the urge to collapse back into the pillowy softness of Nolan’s couch. It’s embedded with the hint of his scent, just like the shirt on my body, adding to the comforting bubble of coziness I slept safely in all night. “It was just a long day yesterday, Mama. I’m fine, I promise.”
She clicks her tongue at me. “You need to pace yourself.”
I shift uncomfortably on the couch, and my lycan bristles in my mind, frowning at the unnecessary scolding from my mother. Even though we know she means well. It feels like a lecture for an amateur apprentice instead of an adult acolyte on an assignment.
I sigh. “I know, Mama.”
“Good.”
It’s silent again for a long moment, both of us waiting for the other to speak. My tongue is heavy, though. It’s filled with lead and hesitation, and I can’t bring myself to be honest with her and tell her of my woes. Even though she likely already knows. Or has an inkling of them.
She doesn’t push me either, thank the Goddess. A positive side effect of her empathic abilities—she knows when to back off and not pry into things.
“I’m going to go,” I say. “I have the day off from going to rehearsal with Luna Haven, so I’m going to go for a run. Get some exercise and enjoy the fresh air.”
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?