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The alphas.

They’re still on my mind, like a thorn I can’t quite dislodge. I know I should ignore them – forget about them – but there’s something about the way they looked at me, the way they refused to give up, that keeps me on edge.

I have to admit it’s been nice messaging them. Less lonely. And I guess they’re not as big and bad and scary as I first thought.

I make my way back to the porch, the wind kicking up, and I can’t help but sigh when I see the state of it. The wood is old, the nails rusted. It needs fixing – again.

I kneel down to assess the damage caused by the alpha who put his foot through it – I don’t know which it was, though I suspect that maybe it was Dane because he’s the largest of the three of them – my fingers pressing into the rotting wood, the icy wetness seeping through my fingers down to my bones. My breath catches. There’s no way I can do this myself.

But I have to.

I pull my phone from my pocket, the familiar weight of it comforting in my palm. I briefly consider texting the guys. A simple message, just to ask if they could help with fixing the porch like they originally offered…

But I can’t bring myself to do it.

They’ve already given me enough, and I won’t be the one to keep asking. No matter how much the storm outside makes it feel like the whole world is closing in on me, I’ll face it alone.

I grab the hammer from the tool belt at my side, starting to pull up the nails one by one, working through the frustration and the fear in my gut. This is what I do – I fix things. It’s the only way I can make this place bearable, the only way to stop myself from feeling completely overwhelmed.

I lift the hammer, ready to drive the nail back into place, when I hear it.

The drip.

My stomach tightens, and I look up.

The porch is leaking.

Great.

I try to ignore the rising panic in my chest, but it’s no use. Tears fill my eyes and I debate just letting them fall. Crumbling and just letting myself have a minute to fall apart as quickly as the house around me seems to be.

Crying never solves anything, girls. Crying won’t keep you safe or save you.

Of course the one time I consider having a brief pity party, Grams’ voice in my head stops me. Can’t even wallow in peace without her haunting me.

The storm is only getting worse, and if I don’t fix the leak soon, the water’s going to ruin everything. So instead of crying, I wipe my eyes with the back of my icy cold hands and stand up. I wish I’d worn gloves now but I don’t even know if I have any. Maybe lying round somewhere, who knows.

I really should message them, maybe ask them to come fix the roof. It’s starting to sag with all this rain, and I know they’d be here in an instant. But the thought of calling them, of letting them back into my space...it feels wrong.

I don’t want them to think they can just come and fix everything for me.

Instead, I push the thought away. I have to handle it myself.

I glance at the ladder leaning against the side of the house. I’ve always hated heights. Fell out of a tree when we were six or seven and Grams was too scared to take me to hospital, and so I just had to live with the pain of what I now suspect was a broken arm. Never been too keen since that.

I’ve done my best to avoid them since then, but now there’s no choice. But I’ve never been good at asking for help either, and I sure as hell am not calling anyone to fix this for me.

I know what I have to do.

With a deep breath, I grab the ladder, dragging it across the soggy ground, fighting the wind as it threatens to knock me off balance. I set it up beneath the roofline, the top of the ladder scraping against the wood. I take advantage of the boggy ground underfoot and try to wedge the feet of the ladder into the soft mud a little, hoping it can help anchor me against the elements. The wind bites at my skin, and my heart races, manifesting as a solid lump of fear in my throat. I know this is stupid. But I climb anyway, pushing aside my fear.

Each step feels like it takes forever. The higher I go, the tighter the knot in my chest becomes. But I have to do this. I can’t wait for someone else to do it.

No one is ever going to fix your problems for you, girls.

When I finally reach the roof, I exhale, the fear still gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. I lean over to inspect the damage, my hands trembling as I reach for the shingles.

And then, suddenly, I hear it.