Page 7 of Alpha Wolf’s Arranged Bride (Rose Hollow Wolves #1)

From the soft sounds I can hear in the bathroom, I can tell that Scarlett is crying, and it breaks my heart.

There’s nothing I can do to help her. I’m the jerk here. I lied, I left her, and I should be the one suffering.

It’s true that I regretted my actions every day since I left her, but I also managed to convince myself that she was better off without me. Now I understand how ridiculous that reasoning is; I was only telling myself what I wanted to hear.

Maybe I should tell her everything.

I glance over at the bathroom door, thinking about Scarlett and what she must be going through, and how I’m the cause of it all. I want to explain myself, but I also don’t want to cause her more pain.

Do I want to tell her so I can make her feel better, or do I just care about unburdening myself?

I lay back in bed, still listening to Scarlett in the bathroom. It sounds like she’s stopped crying, which is a relief, but it doesn’t encourage me to start enlightening her.

I’ve never told anyone about my involvement with Wolf’s Shadow. We work under a strict secrecy act, and I could be putting her in danger if I tell her. Besides, where would I even start?

It’s a good question, and I don’t have an answer for it. If I tell Scarlett I was only in Eccles because of my job and was there to gather intel, she might think my interest in her was only for my mission.

I did get a lot of intel from her. Nothing that answered the questions in our files, but pack history, power dynamics—all of that I got from her.

A sigh eases out of my chest as I realize I’m going to have to just carry this secret, even though it’s going to get heavier every day. I can bear it, though. I have to if it will help Scarlett deal with my betrayal.

What does she think of me right now? That I’m an insensitive jerk who slept with her and skipped town. As harsh as that is, it’s better than finding out you were manipulated by a secret agent.

The bathroom door squeaks, and I lay down quickly, pulling the covers over myself. I’ve definitely lost my nerve now, and I want to avoid a conversation with her just in case I blurt out everything.

I can’t compromise the mission, either. If I tell her and she shares it with anyone in Eccles, it would put other Shadows in danger. I can’t expose the whole operation.

Listening to Scarlett’s breathing, I hear her slowly relax and doze off. She murmurs in her sleep and stretches out, her hand almost touching my back.

I’ve missed you so much, my honey.

Memories rush through my mind—Scarlett’s happy smile and the rich cascade of her laughter. She was always so bright and extroverted, adventurous, and looking for fun.

And I loved it. She turned every occasion into a party, and she taught me how to let go and really enjoy myself.

She’d only been out of high school a year or so when I met her.

By that time, she had moved out of her uncle’s house to the small cottage her late parents had left her.

Every day seemed to be a celebration of her freedom and expectation of a wonderful future.

I remember that feeling from my own youth, and it was as if she gave it back to me.

Thinking about the age gap between us only makes me feel like even more of a jerk, so I turn my back on Scarlett and scoot over a bit so there is no chance of touching her, even accidentally. As I turn my mind away from my own secrets, I focus on hers.

Scarlett has a child… and who is the father? What happened to her after I left? She has every right to be mad at me for what I did, but I feel like there is so much more to this story.

Whenever I’m close to the boy, I feel a growing warmth in my chest, a powerful sense of connection that gets stronger when I look into his eyes. It’s as if there is a great truth hidden there, something I’m desperate to know, but afraid to accept.

I consider it a great blessing to the situation that Jarrod and I are getting along so well. He’s a good kid, and I feel honored to raise him—but I still have to wonder who his father is, and if I have to worry about this guy.

The idea of someone else being with Scarlett also fills me with frustration. My mind dances with images of her laughing with another man, him touching her, her kissing him. I wrestle with this pain, knowing I have absolutely no right to it.

I left her. I disappeared like a rat in the night. She can do whatever the hell she wants. I have no claim on her.

Even though I’m full of self-inflicted misery and glimmers of jealous anger, I manage to calm myself down enough to rest. I sleep very lightly, jolting awake every time Scarlett moves. By the time dawn comes, I give up and get out of bed.

After I get dressed, I’m drawn outside to Mom’s garden. I walk through the overgrown paths, wondering what the hell I’m doing out here, until I come to the bed of violets.

Scarlett’s favorites!

I pick a few, being careful not to disturb any spider webs. When I have a small posy of them, I take the flowers inside and set them up in a nice vase.

My thoughtful deed has given me courage, so I decide to run on with my good intentions and make breakfast. I know Scarlett loves pancakes, but I have no idea what Jarrod likes, so I just start frying up eggs, bacon, and sausage, hoping I’m on point.

I’m halfway between poorly flipping a pancake and burning the bacon when someone comes into the kitchen behind me. I’m at such a critical moment, I can’t turn around. I just manage to get the pancake to safety and turn down the heat on the bacon before disaster strikes.

I turn around to see Scarlett pouring herself some coffee, watching me. I might be imagining it, but I could swear the edges of her mouth are twitching with the hint of a smile.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “It looks like that bacon was getting the better of you.”

“Oh, the bacon was pretty well-behaved,” I answer. “It was the pancake-making trouble.”

“Good to see you got the situation in hand.”

“It wasn’t easy,” I say, holding up my spatula. “But I showed that pancake who’s boss!”

“I think you’re burning the eggs,” Scarlett says wryly, turning to walk away.

I spin around, turning off the burner and lifting the pan off the heat. The eggs aren’t quite burned, but they were about to be.

I look over at the dining table. Scarlett is sitting in front of the violets, looking at them thoughtfully. She glances over at me, and I wait for her to acknowledge my gift.

Her eyes sweep quickly over my face, then she turns away again. Disappointment thuds into my guts, and I hold back the urge to say something.

If I say, “Hey, I got those because I know they’re your favorites,” then I look desperate, or like I’m pandering.

Who am I kidding? I am pandering!

Keeping my mouth shut, I pile up a stack of pancakes and bring them to the table with butter and syrup. Scarlett thanks me but keeps her eyes down.

That little exchange we had when she first came in really gave me some hope…

I go back to the kitchen to plate up the bacon and eggs, trying to manage my emotions. I should be doing something nice for her simply to make her feel good, and I shouldn’t expect anything in return.

Still, I’m not used to being completely ignored and shut down. She could at least acknowledge that I’m trying.

“What smells so good?” Jarrod asks, coming into the kitchen.

“Hey, kiddo! Bacon, eggs, and sausage. I hope you’re hungry!”

“I am. Thanks, Dad—”

My heart leaps into my throat at the exact same moment Scarlett drops her coffee cup on the floor. It shatters spectacularly, splattering coffee across a nearby wall.

“I’m sorry,” Jarrod says, looking between us with confusion. “I wasn’t sure what to call you. But you are my dad now, aren’t you?”

I look into the kid’s eyes, and I feel such a powerful wave of emotion, I can’t even describe it.

He makes me feel complete. As if all I’ve ever wanted was someone to teach and raise. He filled a gap inside me I didn’t even know was there.

“I don’t know, Jarrod,” Scarlett says. “That might be too much—”

“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly, giving Jarrod a rub on the shoulder. “You can call me Dad. I don’t mind.”

His face blooms with a magnificent smile, and he wraps his arms around my waist. I hug him back, and the warm feeling inside me intensifies to the point it almost hurts.

I don’t know, or care, who your real dad is, but you’re Scarlett’s son, and that means you’re mine, too.

“Hey, guys,” Scarlett mutters, picking up the broken shards of her mug. “I think the food is getting away from you again.”

“Shit!” I hiss, turning back to the last burner and switching it off. “Oh, shit—I mean, damn—I mean—” I turn around and look awkwardly at Jarrod. “I’m not supposed to swear around kids, am I?”

Jarrod chuckles, and so does Scarlett.

“Well, as a rule, no,” Scarlett says. “But in reality, it happens. Jarrod will survive the occasional curse word.”

“I don’t know,” Jarrod pipes up. “I’m feeling pretty damaged.”

“Oh, yeah?” Scarlett comes over to tousle his hair. “Hmm, you look fine to me.”

“Not to me,” I say, peering at him. “I think he’s going to fade away from hunger.”

“I agree,” Jarrod says.

Scarlett looks between us both, her face paling a little. Before I can ask her what’s wrong, she goes back to the table, leaving me to follow with a plate for me and one for Jarrod.

Through breakfast, I try to draw Scarlett into the conversation, but she remains withdrawn. I’m disappointed because I really felt like we were making progress, but I don’t want to push.

If I just give her time, hopefully she’ll settle in, and we can have something like what we had before. I don’t know how to make it up to her—I probably can’t, anyway—but I won’t stop trying!

Meanwhile, Jarrod and I make conversation effortlessly, and as we get closer, I notice Scarlett’s expression grow even tenser. Uncertainty breaks through my newfound happiness.

She doesn’t want us getting closer—and the reason has to be Jarrod’s father.