Page 29 of Match My Alpha
She freezes. I watch the shock hit her, followed immediately by the math. The dinner at her apartment. The bathroom. The way I always ask about him.
"The dinner," she says.
"Yeah."
"In my BATHROOM?"
"Yeah."
"While I was cooking chicken?"
"The chicken was very good."
She stares at me for a long time. I brace myself. I'm waiting for the yelling, for her to tell me I crossed a line, that I ruined everything. Instead, her eyes narrow with a sharp, protective edge.
"Is Milo okay?" she asks. "Cal, he's sweet, and he doesn't know how to say no to things. Did you—"
"He came to me," I say, cutting her off. I need her to know this part is real. "After the dinner. He texted me, and he walked to my apartment, and he chose this. I would never pressure him, Ava. You know me."
She searches my face. Then, slowly, she nods. Her shoulders drop a fraction.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks. That's the part that hurts her. Not the bond, but the secret.
"Because I was scared," I admit. "I was scared you'd look at me different. I didn't want to be the guy who messed with his sister's best friend. I should have told you sooner, and I'm sorry."
She picks up her latte, takes a sip, and sets it back down.
"I always knew Milo had a thing for you," she says, her voice tight. "He can't cook at my place without bringing up your garlic bread. I just thought it was a crush. I thought he'd get over it."
"He didn't."
"Clearly." She tugs at the sleeve of her sweater, and something shifts in her expression. The protective edge hardens into something quieter. Colder. "You know what the worst part is? I can do the math, Cal. The dinner was weeks ago. You've been lying to me for weeks. Both of you."
"Ava—"
"How many times did I text you about Milo being weird? About his scent changing? Iaskedyou, and you sat there and saidmaybelike you didn't already know." She shakes her head. "That's not protecting anyone. That's just lying to your sister."
The words land exactly where she means them to. My throat tightens. "You're right. I should have told you sooner."
"Yeah. You should have." She picks up her bag. No hesitation, no lingering. She stands, slings it over her shoulder, and doesn't look at me. "I need some time. Don't text me tonight. I'll reach out when I'm ready."
"Ava—"
"I'm not saying it's over, Callum. I'm saying I'm hurt, and I need to be hurt for a minute without you trying to fix it." She meets my eyes then, and the look is steady and serious. "Take care of him. That part I mean."
She turns and walks out of the café. No kiss on the head. No dinner invite. Just the bell above the door and the sound of her boots on the sidewalk getting farther away.
I sit there for a long time. The espresso machine hisses. Someone orders an iced coffee. My chest feels hollowed out, not relieved. I knew she wouldn't scream. Ava doesn't scream. She goes quiet, and quiet from Ava is worse.
I pull out my phone.
Callum:Told her.
Callum:She didn't scream. But she's hurt. She needs time.
Callum:I think we just have to let her have it.
The typing dots appear immediately. Disappear. Appear again. Disappear. Then:
