Page 57 of Pin My Alpha
“Darren,” she whispers, like saying his name is a prayer.
Of course. Darren, the alpha with the nice watch and the condo. The one who brought her flowers, who bought her that expensive face cream, who was different.
They’re always different.
“He canceled dinner yesterday, and he hasn’t called all day,” she says, the words starting to tumble over each other. “I know he works a lot, I do, but he was online. I saw the little green dot, Shay, he was right there and he didn’t open my message.”
“Mom.”
“I’m not being crazy.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“But you’re thinking it. I can hear it in your voice.”
I stare at my reflection in the dark kitchen window. A blurry shape of a man with bare shoulders and a dark mark blooming on his neck. Declan’s claim. A brand.
“Did you ask him if something’s wrong?” I say, my voice flat.
“I don’t want to seem needy.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
The silence on the other end of the line is a familiar weight. It’s the quiet that comes after the tears, the one where she’s waiting for me to tell her a different story than the one she’s in. The one where the guy comes back.
“I just thought… you’d understand,” she says, her voice going soft.
“Understand what?”
“He was so good to me at first.”
And just like that, the kitchen is gone. I’m a kid again, staring at some alpha’s boots by the front door while Mom’s bedroom door stays shut. Waiting for a movie we’re not going to. Waiting for a fight to be over. Waiting for the quiet that means he’s gone for good this time.
She says it every single time. A different name, but always the same line. Like being good at the beginning is a down payment on being a bastard later. Like a few nice dinners are enough to erase the part where they always, always leave.
“Mom,” I say, and my own voice sounds distant, trapped. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You say that, and then some guy buys you a drink and tells you you’re beautiful and suddenly this is the one who’s going to fix everything.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Shay.” Her voice goes thin, all the tears drying up at once. “I didn’t call for a lecture.”
“No. You called so I’d tell you he’s not leaving.”
She says nothing. Which means I’m right.
I press the heel of my hand into my eye socket, trying to shove back the pressure building there. A floorboard creaks in the living room.
Declan. Moving around, quiet as a ghost. Not coming in here.
He’s giving me space. The kind, decent thing that would have felt like a miracle an hour ago. Now it just feels like he’s holding a door open, patiently waiting for me to walk through it on my own so he can shut it behind me.
“I don’t need saving, you know,” Mom says, her voice shaky.
