Page 29 of His Problem Alpha

He gives me the number. I write it down with trembling fingers on a scrap of Devon's notepad I find on the counter. His handwriting is all over it, little doodles and design notes. Seeing it nearly breaks me all over again.

"Alex," Finn says, his voice gentle. "Whatever's going on, it's going to be okay."

I almost laugh. Nothing is okay. Nothing has been okay for a long time, and I just made it infinitely worse. "Thanks, Finn," I say instead. "I'll... I'll call you later."

I hang up before he can say anything else. Before he can offer more comfort I don't deserve. I stare at the number in my hand, my parents' number, and for a moment I think I can't do it. It's been too long. There's too much unsaid between us.

But then I look at the test, still clutched in my other hand. Two pink lines. A life I helped create and then abandoned. Another person I've failed.

I dial the number before I can lose my nerve.

It rings once. Twice. Three times. I'm about to hang up, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over me, when there's a click.

"Hello?" My mother's voice. Older than I remember, but unmistakably hers. The sound of it hits me like a physical blow.

"Mom?" My voice cracks on the single syllable.

There's a sharp intake of breath. "Alex? Is that you?"

"Yeah," I manage, my throat closing up. "It's me."

"Oh my god," she breathes. "Oh my god, Alex. Are you okay? Where are you? Are you hurt?"

The concern in her voice is like a knife to the heart. After everything I've done, after all this time, her first thought is still for my wellbeing. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve her.

"I'm not hurt," I say, the words coming out choked. "Not physically. But Mom, I... I fucked up. I fucked up so bad."

"What happened?" Her voice is steady now, that calm, capable tone I remember from childhood scrapes and teenage heartbreaks. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

Her words break something inside me. Fresh tears spill down my cheeks. "I killed Ethan," I blurt out, the confession tearing from me like it's been waiting to escape. "I mean, I got him killed. And now we're pregnant—he's pregnant—and I left him too."

There's a pause, just a beat of silence, but it feels like an eternity. I wait for her anger, her accusation, her agreement that yes, I did kill her youngest son. I wait for her to hang up on me. I would deserve it.

"You didn't kill anyone, son." Her voice is gentle but leaves no room for argument. "You never did."

The words hit me like a slap. "But if I hadn't called him—"

"If you hadn't called him, he would have been on a different road at a different time," she interrupts. "And maybe the drunk driver would have hit someone else, or maybe no one at all. You didn't put that man behind the wheel. You didn't make him run that light."

"But—"

"No buts, Alex," she says, and now there's steel in her voice. "I've had years to think about this too. To grieve. To be angry. And I've never, not once, blamed you. Neither has your father."

I can't speak. My throat is too tight, my chest too heavy.

"Now," she continues, her voice softening. "Tell me about this pregnancy. Who's pregnant? What's going on?"

The question brings me back to the immediate crisis. "His name is Devon," I say, the words coming out in a rush. "He's my roommate. We... we got involved. And now he's pregnant, and I just walked out on him because I thought... I thought I was protecting him. From me."

"Oh, Alex," my mother sighs, and I can hear the heartbreak in her voice. "Come home. We'll figure this out."

"Home?" I repeat, the word foreign on my tongue. I haven't thought of my parents' house as home in so long.

"Yes, home," she says firmly. "Where you should have been all along. We miss you, Alex. We've missed you every day."

The simple admission cracks something open inside me. They miss me. After everything, after I cost them their youngest son, they still want me home.

"Okay," I whisper, the decision crystallizing in my mind. "Okay, I'll come home. But first, I have to find Devon. I have to try to fix this."

"Good," my mother says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "That's my boy."

We talk for a few more minutes, making plans. I'll drive up tomorrow. They'll have my old room ready. It feels surreal, like I'm making arrangements to visit strangers, not my own parents. But it also feels right, in a way nothing has for a while.

After I hang up, I sit on the bathroom floor for a long time, the pregnancy test still in my hand. The initial shock has worn off, leaving behind a strange, terrifying clarity. I know what I have to do.

I have to find Devon. I have to tell him I was wrong. That I want to be there for him and our baby. That I'm ready to stop running and start fighting for something good.

But first, I need help. I need someone who knows where Devon might have gone.

I pull out my phone again and dial Lawson's number. He'll hate me for what I did to Devon, and he should. But he's also my only link to him now.

He answers on the fourth ring, his voice wary. "Alex? What's going on? Kole and I just dropped Devon at his brother's place. He's a mess."

I feel a flash of relief—at least I know where Devon is—but shame follows instantly. I did that. I made him a mess.

"I need to see him," I say, my voice raw. "I made a terrible mistake, Lawson. The worst mistake of my life."

"No shit," Lawson says, his voice hard. "You destroyed him, Alex. Whatever your issues are, he didn't deserve that."

"I know," I admit, the words inadequate but necessary. "I know he didn't. That's why I need to fix it."

"Fix it?" Lawson scoffs. "You think you can just—"

"He's pregnant," I interrupt, the words hanging in the air between us. "Devon is pregnant with my baby, and I walked out on him because I'm so fucked up from my brother's death that I convinced myself I'm toxic to everyone I love. But I'm going to change that. I'm going to get help."

There's a long silence on the other end. When Lawson speaks again, his voice is cautious. "What kind of help?"

"I called my parents," I say, the admission still feeling strange. "I'm going home tomorrow. And I've already looked up therapists who specialize in grief and trauma. I have an appointment on Tuesday."

Another pause. "That's... that's good, Alex. But Devon—"

"I need Devon's location," I rasp, my voice breaking. "I made the biggest mistake of my life. I have an appointment with a therapist Tuesday. I'm going to do the work. I'm going to learn how to stay instead of run. Please... please, Lawson, help me fix this."