Page 18 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas (Hollow Haven #2)

“Then we respect that choice and support her however she’ll let us.” I climbed into my truck, already planning the specialized teas and oils I’d prepare for her continued recovery. “But something tells me she’s ready to stop carrying all this alone.”

Just as I was about to start the engine, my phone buzzed with a text from Willa.

Would you both mind staying a bit longer? I could use the distraction from feeling terrible.

I looked at Wes, who was checking his own phone. “She wants us to stay,” he said, sounding surprised but pleased.

“Good,” I said, getting back out of my truck. “She needs the support, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.”

We found Willa back on her couch, looking slightly better than when we’d left. The scent cloth was still pressed to her face, and some of the worst tension had eased from her shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I feel like I’m being a bit ridiculous. Thank you for coming back,” she said quietly. “I know you both have other things to do, but sitting here alone with my thoughts wasn’t helping.”

“Of course,” I said, settling back into the chair I’d occupied earlier. Wes took a seat on the other end of the couch, careful to maintain distance while still being present.

“I keep thinking about what you said,” Willa continued, looking at me. “About suppressants dampening other omega instincts, not just heat cycles.”

“What specifically?” I asked gently.

“I went to an omega arts night last week. Kit invited me.” She glanced between us, as if checking our reactions. “It was the first time I’d been in a creative space with other omegas in over a year.”

“How did that feel?” Wes asked.

“Terrifying. And wonderful. And like I’d been holding my breath without realizing it.” She adjusted the scent cloth, breathing deeply. “I told them a little about my background. About what I used to do before I moved here.”

“What kind of work?” I asked, though I kept my tone casual, not wanting to pressure her.

Willa was quiet for a long moment, clearly debating how much to share. “Wildlife photography. Professional conservation work. I used to travel documenting endangered species, habitat restoration projects, research initiatives. Work that actually mattered for environmental protection.”

I saw Wes go very still beside her. Wildlife photography was right in his wheelhouse, something he’d understand and value in ways most people wouldn’t.

“That sounds incredible,” he said carefully. “And important work.”

“It was,” Willa said, and I could hear both pride and pain in her voice. “Until my ex-alpha decided it was too unpredictable, too time-consuming. He wanted me to focus on ‘practical’ photography. Pack portraits, corporate events, things with guaranteed income that kept me close to home.”

Sterling. I watched the way her jaw tightened when she mentioned her ex. He took something she loved and convinced her it was selfish.

“How long had you been doing wildlife photography?” Wes asked.

“Five years professionally. Since I graduated college.” Willa’s fingers tightened on the scent cloth. “I had clients, regular assignments, relationships with research organizations. I was good at it.”

“I’m sure you were,” I said gently. “That kind of work requires incredible patience and skill.”

“Sterling used to say it was self-indulgent. That real omegas create things that serve their pack, not art that nobody wants to see.” Her voice got smaller. “By the time I left him, I couldn’t even look at a camera without hearing his voice telling me I was wasting everyone’s time.”

The pain in her voice made my alpha instincts flare with protective anger. Whatever else Sterling had done to hurt her, convincing her to abandon work she loved and was skilled at felt particularly cruel.

“Sterling was wrong,” Wes said firmly. “Conservation photography serves something much bigger than any individual pack. It serves entire ecosystems.”

Willa looked at him with surprise, like she hadn’t expected him to understand the significance of her work.

“You think so?” she asked.

“I know so. I’ve seen what good environmental photography can do for conservation efforts. The way the right image can make people care about protecting habitat they’ve never seen, species they didn’t know existed.” Wes leaned forward slightly. “Your work wasn’t selfish. It was essential.”

I watched Willa process his words, saw something tight in her expression begin to ease.

“At the arts night,” she continued, “Kit asked if I’d ever consider picking up a camera again. I said I didn’t know if I remembered how.”

“Muscle memory doesn’t disappear,” I said. “And the eye for composition, the understanding of light and behavior, that’s still there.”

“Maybe.” Willa looked around her living space, and I could see her trying to imagine herself being creative again. “I brought my camera equipment with me when I moved here. Haven’t touched it since I arrived, but I couldn’t leave it behind entirely.”

“That tells me part of you isn’t ready to give up on photography,” Wes said.

“Part of me is terrified to try again. What if Sterling was right? What if I’m not actually good at it?”

“Then you take terrible photos for a while until you remember how to take good ones,” I said simply. “That’s how healing works. You don’t have to be perfect right away.”

Wes was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking about something.

“Willa, if you ever want to practice, to see if it feels good to hold a camera again, I know some amazing locations around here. Wildlife spots that most people don’t know about.

Places where you could work without pressure or expectations. ”

“You’d do that?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“I’d be honored to show you some of my favorite trails.

No pressure to photograph anything, just opportunities if you want them.

” His voice was warm with genuine enthusiasm.

“There’s a meadow about twenty minutes from town where deer come to drink at dawn.

A grove where hawks nest every spring. Places where the light is incredible and the wildlife is used to quiet observers. ”

For the first time since we’d arrived, Willa smiled. Really smiled, not the careful expressions she usually wore.

“That sounds wonderful,” she said. “Maybe when I’m feeling less like my body is staging a revolt.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Wes assured her. “The offer stands.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the earlier crisis feeling more manageable now that she wasn’t facing it alone.

“Thank you,” Willa said finally. “Both of you. For helping with the medical stuff, but also for listening. For not making me feel broken or foolish for missing something I gave up.”

“You didn’t give it up,” I said gently. “It was taken from you. There’s a difference.”

“Maybe it’s time to take it back,” she said quietly.

She didn’t trust her own biology yet, but she was starting to trust us. And that was a good first step.

Whatever happened over the next few days, I’d be ready to support her through it. Not by telling her what she should do, but by creating space for her to figure out what she actually needed.

That was what real alpha support looked like. And Willa deserved nothing less.