Page 49 of The Careless Alpha

“After I remembered,” he continued, his voice dropping, “Ranger and I… we talked. Really talked. He confirmed everything. He was the one who left your room that morning, worried that if someone found me there, it would ruin you. He told Jackson it was the best night of my life, and he was right, then stumbled back to my room and collapsed. By the time he woke up, I was already downstairs with Scarlett, rewriting the memory to fit the narrative I was comfortable with.”

He looked me straight in the eye. “He tried to tell me, Annalise. After that day, he tried to tell me about you, about us, a hundred times. But I was so sick of the conflict, so sick of him going on and on and on about you and Sapphire, that I blocked him out.Every single time.”

The world seemed to stop. “He did that?” I whispered. “He kept trying to talk about me?”

“Endlessly,” Marshall confirmed, his voice thick with self-loathing.

In the quiet corners of my mind, Sapphire gave a small, excited yip.He’s telling the truth, sister. Ranger never gave up on us.

For a single, fragile second, a warmth bloomed in my chest. A validation. It wasn't all in my head. The connection was real, so real his wolf had fought for it. But the memory of the morning after, of Scarlett on his lap and the cold disinterest in his eyes, was a tidal wave of ice that extinguished the tiny flame. He had a choice, and he had made it, over and over again.

“So you decided not to feel it at all,” I said, my voice rising as the full weight of his confession hit me. He hadn't just forgotten; he had actively chosen to forget, to ignore, to silence the partof him that was mine. A door slammed somewhere behind me, and I heard the quick footsteps of someone—probably Jimmy—stepping outside to check on me. "You decided to pretend that the most important night of my life never happened. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

"I was trying to protect you—"

"Protect me?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. The sound was bitter and broken, and I saw Marshall flinch as if I'd struck him. "You were protecting yourself. You were too scared to deal with the consequences of your actions, so you made me disappear. Again."

"That's not true—"

"Isn't it?" I stepped closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in his amber eyes, close enough to smell the desperation on his skin. "Tell me, Marshall. After that night, how many times did you try to talk to me? How many times did you ask how I was feeling? How many times did you even look at me like I was a person instead of an inconvenience?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it, his face going gray. I could see the exact moment he realized he couldn't answer, couldn't defend himself, couldn't pretend he'd been anything other than cruel.

"None," I said for him, my voice soft but carrying the weight of months of pain. "Not once. Because that would have meant acknowledging what happened, and you couldn't handle that. So you went right back to ignoring me, to treating me like I was invisible."

A seagull landed on the diner's roof, its cry sharp and mournful. The sound seemed to echo the ache in my chest, the hollow space where my heart used to be.

"I was trying to give you space—"

"Space?" My voice cracked on the word, and I felt more tears spill over. "I was seventeen years old and desperately in lovewith someone who'd just shown me paradise and then acted like it never happened. I didn't need space. I needed my mate to remember that he'd held me and told me I was perfect."

I was crying in earnest now, four months of suppressed grief finally finding its voice. My whole body was shaking, and I could feel the baby moving restlessly, responding to my distress.

"I waited," I continued, my voice breaking on every word. "I waited for you to remember, to come to me, to acknowledge what we'd shared. I made excuses for you. I told myself you were busy, that you were scared, that you just needed time. But you never came."

"I'm here now," Marshall said desperately, taking another step toward me. I could see tears streaming down his face, could see the way his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

I stepped back again, wrapping my arms around my belly in a protective gesture. "Two months too late. Two months after you called me a whore and banished me."

The words hung in the air between us like a physical barrier. I could see them hit him, could see the way his whole body recoiled as if I'd slapped him.

"I didn't mean—"

"You did mean it," I said firmly, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "In that moment, you meant every word. You were so convinced that I was lying, so certain that I couldn't possibly be telling the truth, that you destroyed everything rather than consider that you might be wrong."

"I was confused—"

"You were cruel," I corrected, my voice growing stronger. The baby gave a particularly strong kick, and I rubbed the spot, drawing comfort from the movement. "You were cruel and selfish and so focused on your pain that you couldn't see mine. Even when I was standing there pregnant with your child,begging you to remember, you chose to believe the worst of me. You chose to believe Scarlett, who actually is a whore."

Marshall's face was wet with tears now, his careful composure completely shattered. I felt no sympathy, only a bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to weigh down my very soul.

"When you banished me," I continued, my voice growing stronger with each word, "when you stood in front of the entire pack and called me a whore, do you know what that did to me? Do you know what it felt like to have the person I loved most in the world look at me with such disgust?"

"I was angry—"

"You were heartless," I said, and the word came out like a blade. "You took everything I was, everything I'd ever been to you, and you destroyed it in front of everyone we knew. You made me nothing. Less than nothing."

I could hear voices from inside the diner now—Rita's sharp tones, Tom's deeper rumble, the concerned murmur of the people who'd become my family. They were worried about me, ready to intervene if I needed them. The thought gave me strength.