Page 20 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas (Hollow Haven #2)

Wes

L ast night had been hell. I’d spent hours pacing my living room as I fought every single alpha instinct I possessed to just go to Willa.

Even the message from Rhett hadn’t helped.

Willa was hurting right now, and she was alone.

That offended me to my deepest core. Willa should never have to feel like suffering alone was her only option.

I wanted to be one of her options. But Elias was right.

It was a decision she had to make for herself.

Forcing it on her would make me no better than the alpha who had tried to smoother her before.

Work was the last place I wanted to be this morning, but at least the normal routine would give my mind something else to fixate on.

The wildlife rehabilitation center was busy with Saturday morning preparations when I arrived, volunteers setting up educational displays for our monthly public outreach event.

Dr. Martinez was arranging pamphlets while several staff members checked on the animals that would be featured in today’s presentations.

“Perfect timing, Wes,” Dr. Martinez called out when she spotted me. “I was just thinking we really need better documentation of these events. Something that shows the emotional impact of rehabilitation work, not just the clinical aspects.”

I nodded, but my mind was only half on the conversation.

I’d been thinking about Willa since yesterday’s suppressant crisis, wondering how she was feeling after Elias’s scent work had helped stabilize her symptoms. More than that, I’d been thinking about her admission that she used to be a professional wildlife photographer.

Professional . Someone who’d made a living documenting endangered species and conservation efforts. Someone whose work had supported scientific research and habitat protection. And Sterling had convinced her it was selfish indulgence.

“The problem is we don’t have anyone with the skills to capture both the scientific and emotional aspects of what we do here,” Dr. Martinez continued. “Our current documentation looks like clinical case studies instead of compelling stories that make people want to donate.”

An idea was forming, dangerous and hopeful in equal measure.

Yesterday Willa had been vulnerable and shaking from suppressant failure.

Today I was thinking about asking her to do the one thing that had been used to hurt her most. But this was different.

This was her choice, her expertise, her chance to reclaim something that mattered to her.

Before I could second-guess myself, I pulled out my phone and found her contact.

Hope you’re feeling better today. Would you be interested in photographing our wildlife education event this afternoon? No pressure, just thought you might enjoy documenting some conservation work. Event starts at 2 PM if you’re interested .

I hit send before I could overthink it, then immediately started second-guessing everything. Too pushy. Too soon after her medical crisis. Too much assumption about what she might want.

My phone buzzed within minutes.

Feeling much better, thanks to all of you. What kind of photography are you looking for?

I stared at the message, surprised and hopeful. She was interested. Actually interested.

Just documentation of the educational program. Families learning about wildlife rehabilitation, volunteers explaining our work. Nothing formal, just thought you might like to see what we do here.

I’ll think about it. No promises.

No promises expected. The invitation stands but only if you feel up to it.

I pocketed the phone and threw myself into event preparation, trying not to watch the parking lot for signs of a familiar figure with a camera.

Dr. Martinez was right about needing better documentation.

We had wonderful success stories, but no compelling visual evidence of the emotional journey from injury to recovery.

By two-thirty, I’d given up hope that Willa would show.

The event was going well, families engaged with the educational displays, children asking thoughtful questions about wildlife conservation.

But without professional photography, we were missing the chance to capture moments that could inspire future donations and volunteer support.

Then I saw her.

Willa stood at the edge of the parking lot, professional camera hanging from her shoulder, looking nervous but determined. She was wearing dark jeans and a forest-green jacket that made her blend naturally with the outdoor setting, her hair pulled back in a practical braid.

She came. She actually came.

I excused myself from the family I’d been talking to and walked over to meet her.

“You made it,” I said, trying to keep the relief out of my voice.

“I almost didn’t.” Willa adjusted the camera strap nervously. “I’ve been sitting in my car for fifteen minutes trying to decide if I was ready for this.”

“And?”

“And I realized I missed it too much to keep hiding from it.” She looked around at the activity, her photographer’s eye already assessing light and composition. “What do you need?”

For the next two hours, I watched Willa work.

And it was clear within minutes that she wasn’t just professionally trained.

She was gifted. Her movements were fluid and confident, adjusting for changing light conditions without conscious thought, anticipating animal behavior with the intuition that came from years of experience.

She captured a red-tailed hawk’s first tentative wing stretches after surgery. A family’s wonder as they watched injured raccoon kits play in their recovery enclosure. The concentrated focus of Dr. Martinez explaining wing anatomy to a group of fascinated children.

But it was when she photographed the great horned owl, our success story from her first week in town, that I understood the true scope of what Sterling had stolen from her.

The owl was being prepared for release evaluation, and Willa positioned herself at exactly the right angle to capture both the bird’s dignified composure and the careful attention of the rehabilitation staff.

She worked silently, patiently, waiting for the perfect moments without disturbing the process.

“She’s beautiful,” Willa said softly, lowering her camera as the evaluation concluded. “Strong and alert. Ready to go home.”

“Dr. Martinez thinks she’ll be cleared for release in a couple of weeks,” I said. “Back to the same area where we found her.”

“Full circle.” Willa smiled, and it was the first completely unguarded expression I’d seen from her. “That’s what this work is really about, isn’t it? Giving wild things the chance to be wild again.”

She understood. She got why this mattered in a way most people never did.

“That’s exactly what it’s about,” I said. “And what you just documented will help other people understand it too.”

As volunteers began cleaning up and families headed home, Willa continued taking photos. The golden hour light was perfect for documenting the center’s facilities, and she moved through the space like she belonged there.

“Wes?” Dr. Martinez appeared at my elbow, her expression amazed. “Who is this photographer? Her work is incredible.”

“Willa Rowan. She’s new in town, used to do professional wildlife and conservation photography.”

“Used to? Why did she stop?”

I glanced at Willa, who was crouched beside an enclosure capturing the perfect shot of a recovering fox. “Personal reasons. But I think she might be ready to start again.”

“I hope so. These images could revolutionize our fundraising efforts.” Dr. Martinez shook her head in amazement. “She has an incredible eye for capturing both the scientific and emotional aspects of rehabilitation work.”

When the event officially ended, I found Willa sitting on a bench overlooking the recovery enclosures, scrolling through her photos with the focused attention of someone seeing their own work clearly for the first time in months.

“How do you feel?” I asked, settling beside her.

“Like I’ve been holding my breath for a year and finally remembered how to exhale.” She showed me one of the images on her camera’s screen. “Look at this shot of the hawk. You can see the exact moment she realized her wing was strong enough to support her weight again.”

The photograph was stunning. Not just technically perfect, but emotionally compelling in a way that made you understand the significance of the moment being captured.

“That’s the kind of image that makes people care about wildlife conservation,” I said. “That makes them want to support this work.”

“That’s what I used to love most about this job,” Willa said. “The idea that my images could help protect the animals I was documenting. That I was contributing to something important.”

I watched the soft smile on her face absolutely captivated by the sight of her. How could anyone have wanted to take this part of her away? This was what she’d been born to do and it showed in the way that she put that caring, compassionate piece of herself in every photograph she took.

“Would you be interested in doing more work with the center?” I asked carefully. “We could use ongoing documentation of our programs.”

“I’d like that,” Willa said without hesitation. “More than I expected to like anything involving cameras again.”

As we walked back to the parking lot, Willa’s step was lighter than I’d seen it since she arrived in Hollow Haven. She held her camera with the confidence of someone who remembered they were good at what they did.

“Wes?” she said as we reached our vehicles. “Thank you. For inviting me, for not pushing when I wasn’t ready, for giving me a chance to remember who I used to be.”

“You didn’t lose who you were,” I said. “It just got buried under someone else’s ideas about who you should be.”

She smiled, and it was radiant. “Maybe. But today feels like digging myself back up.”

This was what it looked like when someone remembered their wings worked, I thought as I watched her drive away with her camera gear carefully packed in the passenger seat. This was what healing looked like.