Page 24 of Alphas Like Us

I couldn’t imagine a person fitting into my unconventional life. I couldn’t imagine a companion at myside.

Not likethat.

In my head, there’d be no one for me. No man. No woman. No person. I’d be alone, and it was supposed to be okay. It’d be okay that it would always be just me, onlyme.

My dad, with amber eyes that can cut the soul into jagged pieces, stared right…rightinto me. Where most would fear him, I bathed in warmth—those sharp-edged eyes, with their bitter history and raw truths, comfortedme.

And he said, “Before I had you and your siblings, your mom was theonegood thing in my life. And I know I’m supposed to tell you how love conquers all. How we could move mountains together. But the love we had almost destroyed us both. Love is like having a mortal wound and you’re bleeding out and no matter how hard you look, you can never find the goddamn cut.” He never broke eyecontact.

I kept looking. Listening, feeling hiswords.

“It’s its own special brand of pain,” he told me. “Because no matter how much you love, you’re still a passenger to their life. You have to watch all their bad decisions. You can’t think for them or change them. Just be there for them. And sometimes, it’s not going to be good enough. Sometimes things happen out of your control.” He paused. “Love is pain, and you know what…I feel sorry for anyone who hasn’t met ityet.”

I think aboutthat.

As my boots cement and the stage lights overpower my vision, rows and rows of blurred faces staring back, I think aboutlove.

How I thought I’d never feelit.

Thepain.

The kind my dad scorned but also achedfor.

I don’t want Farrow to be a passenger to my bad choices, watching my fucked-up decision to be sold for anight.

But I keep picturing Farrow Redford Keene…I keep imagining him running down the aisle. Coming towards me. Because if our positions were reversed, I’d want to pull him off this damn stage. And I’d know I can’t, hecan’t.

I’d feel like screaming and screaming andscreamingjust to reach him. Until my veins burst in my neck and my lungs set onfire.

Until my last breath was used to call hisname.

I imagine him climbing on stage in one swift motion. His intense focus meeting my tough gaze, his hand catching my hand, his inked arm sweeping around my shoulders. Pulled together, not letting go,never letting go—but I don’t see him, or even hearhim.

He’s just the agonized love inside myhead.

“Sold!” the auctioneeryells.

I blink out of my thoughts and near the stagestairs.

A delicate hand touches my shoulder—and I swing my head, meeting the kind eyes of a twenty-somethinggirl.

Probably an eventcoordinator.

Probably.Christ. My face twists in a bitter expression that I almost never fuckingwear.

Because I’m not even a tiny bit sure who she is or her job description or why she’s on stage. I’ve been told next to nothing. At this event, I’m just a celebrityguest.

The one up forbid.

At the events I organize, I know everything. Down to the names and faces of the clean upcrew.

Ernest didn’t think I’d cooperate if I had knowledge, so he’s blindfolded me. Worse, I have no idea where the auction money is going. The board muttered something abouthumanitarian projects.Which is vague andnondescript.

And the company should be clear and upfront with all the guests tonight. So I’m not thrilled about the money raised at the auction. Being reinstated as CEO of H.M.C. Philanthropies is the only good thing that’ll come out ofthis.

“Sorry,” I apologize to the girl before I ask, “who are you?!” I have to shout as the classical music blasts next to me, a violin in myear.

“An event coordinator!” She flashes aNight with a Celebrityevent badge with her name: Tami.“We’re taking a fifteen-minuteintermission!”