Page 58 of Pin My Alpha
A laugh almost gets out. It’s an ugly one. “Then stop calling me like you’re drowning.”
“That’s a cruel thing to say.”
“I’m tired.”
“So am I,” she whispers, and a familiar, sour guilt churns in my stomach. She’s my mom. She did her best. And her best still meant I grew up learning how to make a life that had no room for anyone else to screw up.
“Do you have money for rent?” I ask, my voice flat.
The silence is all I need.
“Mom.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Are you?”
“Darren said he’d help. He just… he just needs a little time.”
I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles white. There it is. The real reason for the call, hiding under all the drama about a green dot on a screen.
Darren’s money. Darren’s promises. The way he probably told her not to worry about a thing, he had her.
I can hear it so clearly, it’s like he’s in the room. The same deep, sure tone Declan used when he told me to stay. When he pinned my hips to the mattress and growled, I have you.
My skin feels tight.
“I’ll send you something,” I say. The words taste like metal.
“Shay, no. You’re in school.”
“I have savings.”
“You need that for yourself.”
“I said I’ll send it.”
She starts crying again, soft, relieved sobs that are somehow worse than if she’d just said thank you.
“You’re such a good boy,” she whispers.
No, I’m not. Good sons don’t feel a flash of relief when their mother hangs up. Good sons don’t spend years of their childhood wishing the latest alpha would just disappear so the house would feel like theirs again.
“I have to go.”
“Wait. Shay, are you—”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Baby, please—”
“I love you.” It comes out like a reflex, a way to end the conversation. A key to get out of the room.
“I love you too,” she says, the words tripping over themselves. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I bothered you.”
“Yeah.”
I end the call.
