Page 57 of The Careless Alpha

That was us,Ranger whimpered in my mind.We did that to her. We broke our mate.

“We didn't know the whole story,” Tom continued, his voice a low rumble. “Just that some bastard had hurt her bad enough to make her run thousands of miles. She wouldn't talk about it. But you could see it. She walked around like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, like she didn't believe anyone could be kind to her without wanting something in return.”

My throat was thick with shame. All I could do was nod, accepting the truth of his words.

“Rita fattened her up. Mrs. Walker got her reading again. She loves romance books. I just tried to make her feel safe,” Tom said, finally turning his piercing blue eyes on me. “You see,Marshall, we are all neighbors here. Friends. Family. And when one of our own is hurting, we rally. We build a wall. We protect them.”

He took a step closer, and despite his calm demeanor, I felt the full, crushing weight of his disapproval. He was a human man who had stepped up to be the protector I had failed to be.

“The girl we see today, the one laughing over there… we all helped build her back up. Piece by piece.” His gaze was hard. “You come in here now, all apologies and big promises. You have to understand what you’re asking. You’re not just asking for her forgiveness. You’re asking a whole town to trust you not to shatter something we all worked damn hard to put back together.”

“I won’t,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I won’t hurt her ever again.”

Tom’s expression didn’t change. “That little boy she’s carrying… he’s going to have the best of her. He deserves a father who is worthy of that.” He paused, letting the statement hang in the air. “Are you worthy of that, son?”

The unexpected, fatherly term, so different from how my father would have said it, broke something in me.

“No,” I breathed. “But I want to be. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be.”

Tom watched me for a long, silent moment. I didn’t look away. I let him see the self-loathing, the regret, the desperate sincerity. Finally, he gave a slow, deliberate nod.

“Words are cheap,” he said, picking up his hammer. “You don’t fix something this broken by saying sorry. You fix it with time. And a hell of a lot of showing up.” He clapped me once on the shoulder, a heavy, solid impact that was neither friendly nor hostile. It was a statement - I’ve said my piece. The rest is on you.

“Back to work,” he said, turning back to the stall. “These things won’t build themselves.”

I watched him go, then took a long drink of water, the cool liquid doing nothing to quench the fire of shame in my gut. I looked back over at Annalise. She was still smiling. She was safe here. She was loved. These humans, with their simple, fierce loyalty, had given my mate the protection and family I, her fated mate and Alpha, had denied her. I marveled at them, at their capacity to care for a stranger, to make her one of their own.

They were a better pack to her than her own pack had ever been. It was the most humbling realization of my life.

Chapter 18

Annalise

The pain hit me like a sledgehammer, ripping through my abdomen with such intensity that I couldn't even scream. I doubled over in my bed, my hands gripping the sheets so tightly I heard fabric tear. The baby had been restless all evening, kicking and shifting with an urgency that had kept me awake, but this was different.

Something's not right,Sapphire said, her voice tight with pain and fear.The pup is coming too fast, too hard. This isn't normal.

Another contraction seized me, and this time I did scream—a raw, animalistic sound that echoed off the walls of my small apartment. Through the haze of agony, I could hear my phone ringing insistently on the nightstand.

Marshall. The man who'd spent the last month proving himself in ways both small and significant. Who'd shown up to every festival setup meeting, who'd hauled tables and strung lights without complaint, who'd earned grudging acceptance from Tom and even a few approving nods from Rita. He'd beennothing but respectful and patient, never pushing for more than I was willing to give.

He had become a quiet, constant presence. Groceries would appear on my doorstep—not just random food, but thoughtful choices: the iron-rich vegetables Dr. Harrison had recommended, the ginger tea that soothed my nausea, the specific brand of ice cream I craved. Some evenings, when he saw the exhaustion etched on my face after a long shift, he would show up at my door with ingredients and quietly cook dinner, leaving the meal on my table before retreating to the hotel he was staying at.

He never overstayed or pushed for an invitation. He just... provided. When my feet swelled, a comfortable footstool appeared outside my apartment. When I mentioned wanting to read about childbirth, a stack of the best books on the subject was delivered from the local bookstore. It was a silent, steady courtship of care, with every action demonstrating that he was paying attention to my needs, not his own. He even covered a few of my shifts at the diner when I was too tired to stand, insisting to Maggie that she pay me my wages anyway. He wasn’t trying to consolidate my life to pack it up; he was helping me build it, right here in Maine.

A couple of times, he'd had to return to Washington for a few days of pack business. I’d overhear him on the phone with Jackson, his voice low but firm as he gave orders, the Alpha still clearly in command of his territory from three thousand miles away. The first time he left, a part of me expected him not to return. It would have been the easy way out. But he always came back, exactly when he said he would, his rental car pulling up outside the diner right on schedule.

I fumbled for the phone, my vision blurring as another wave of pain crashed over me. The screen swam in front of my eyes, but I managed to swipe to answer.

"Annalise?" His voice was sharp with concern and something that sounded like panic. "I'm coming up now. Something's wrong, isn't it? I can feel—" He stopped himself, but I could hear his footsteps already on the stairs outside my apartment.

"The baby," I gasped, my words coming out in breathless pants. "Something's wrong. The contractions are too strong, too close together. It feels like he's trying to claw his way out."

"I'm here," he said, and I could hear him at my door, keys jingling. "I'm right here. I've got the spare key you gave me for emergencies."

The door opened before I could even try to get up, and Marshall burst in, his phone still pressed to his ear even as he rushed to my side. He ended the call and dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hands hovering near me, clearly wanting to help but not sure how.

He took one look at my face and went pale. "How far apart are the contractions?"