Page 54 of The Careless Alpha

"Losing you." The admission felt like ripping my chest open. "Losing our son. Sitting in that empty office for weeks, realizing that everything I'd thought was important—the pack, my rights as an Alpha, my pride—none of it mattered without you."

She was quiet for a long moment, her green eyes studying my face like she was trying to read something written there. The baby kicked, and I watched her wince slightly, her hand moving to the spot where his foot had connected with her ribs.

"It took losing me to make you value me?" The question was delivered without anger, which somehow made it worse.

"Yes." The word tasted like ashes in my mouth. "And that's on me. I should have valued you from the beginning. I should have treated you like the precious gift you were instead of an inconvenience to be managed."

A fishing boat horn sounded in the distance, low and mournful. The seagull on the railing took flight, its wings catching the morning light as it soared over the water.

"I started therapy." The words came out in a rush, like I was afraid she'd cut me off before I could finish. "After I realized what I'd done. I'm working with a healer who specializes in Alpha psychology, trying to understand why I thought I could control everyone's feelings like pack logistics."

"And what have you learned?" There was something in her voice—not softness, but maybe the faintest crack in her armor.

"That I was terrified." My chest felt tight, like I couldn't get enough air. "Terrified of the responsibility, terrified of failing you, terrified of not being good enough. So I put off dealing with any of it until I thought we needed to. I told myself I was protecting you, but I was protecting myself from having to grow up."

"You were nineteen." For the first time, I heard something that might have been understanding in her voice. "You were just a kid yourself."

"So were you. But you were willing to love me anyway. You were willing to wait, to hope, to believe that I'd eventually see what was right in front of me." My voice broke completely, and I had to take several shuddering breaths before I could continue. "And instead of treasuring that, I took it for granted."

"Yes." The word was simple, matter-of-fact. "You did."

The honesty of it, the lack of anger or accusation, was worse than if she'd screamed at me. It spoke of someone who'd moved beyond rage into acceptance, who'd processed the hurt and come out stronger on the other side.

"I've made changes to the pack." I found myself speaking faster, desperate to show her that something good had come from this destruction. "Real changes. I fired everyone who participated in the harassment campaign against you. Scarlett, Veronica, Tiffany—they're all gone. I've instituted new policies about how unmated wolves are to be treated, about respect and dignity for all pack members."

"Good." She rubbed her belly again, and I caught a glimpse of a tiny foot pressing against the fabric of her dress. "They should have been gone years ago."

"I know. I should have protected you from them. I should have seen what they were doing and stopped it." The words feltlike they were being dragged out of my chest. "Instead, I enabled it by treating you like you didn't matter."

She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the fishing boats were now just specks in the distance. The morning was warming up, and I could see sweat beading on her forehead despite the cool breeze from the water.

"Why should I believe you've changed?" The question was delivered without heat, clinical in its assessment. "Yesterday, you came here expecting me to be grateful that you'd finally decided to want me back. You talked about your rights, your heir, what the pack needed. How do I know this isn't just another manipulation?"

The accusation hit home because it was true. Even now, part of me was calculating, trying to figure out what to say to get the result I wanted. The realization made me sick.

"Because I'm not asking you to come back." The words came out hoarse, scraped raw from my throat. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm not asking you to give me another chance. I'm just asking you to let me prove that I can be better."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what you asked yesterday - respecting your boundaries, accepting that you've built a life here that makes you happy." I gestured toward the diner, where I could see faces pressed against the windows once again, watching to make sure she was safe, just like yesterday. "It means being grateful for whatever relationship you're willing to let me have with our son, even if it's not what I had pictured."

"And if I say I don't want you in his life at all?"

The thought was agony, a physical pain that made me double over slightly. But I forced myself to stand straight, to meet her eyes. "Then I'll accept that. Because his well-being and your peace of mind are more important than what I want."

"You'd walk away?"

"If that's what was best for you and him, yes." The words tasted like silver in my veins, but I meant them. "But I'm hoping you'll give me the chance to earn something more."

She studied my face for what felt like an eternity, her eyes searching for something—truth, maybe, or sincerity. The baby kicked again, and she pressed her hand to her side with a soft "oh" of surprise.

"What do you want, Marshall?" The question was simple, but I could hear the weight behind it.

"I want to be a father." My voice cracked on the words. "I want to be part of our son’s life, to teach him about his heritage, to make sure he knows he's loved and wanted. I want to support you in whatever way you'll let me, even if it's just financial."

"And us? Is there an us in this picture of yours?"

The question I'd been dreading. The one that would determine everything.