Page 85 of Pin My Alpha
He was making a home here. With me.
And I saw it. I saw every shirt he stole, every night he stayed, every time he sat at my kitchen counter with his laptop. I knew what it meant. Some part of me had to know.
But I was so fucking scared of losing him that I tried to lock every door.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
The room is quiet. His nest is still here, almost warm, like he just left. I let him leave because I finally understood that making him stay would’ve been the last, unforgivable thing.
My forearm throbs. The mark Shay left is half-hidden by my sleeve, teeth marks healed into something permanent. I rub my thumb over it through the fabric.
He claimed me, too. He chose me. For a while, at least.
God, I don’t know if he still does.
The bond is there, a low, constant ache under my skin. It pulls toward him so hard it feels like I’m standing on a cliff with a rope tied to my ribs. He’s out there somewhere, hurting. Angry. Probably telling himself he did the right thing.
Maybe he did. Maybe letting him go is the first right thing I’ve done in weeks.
That doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I curl forward, elbows on my knees, and just stare at the nest until my vision blurs.
I don’t have a plan. No numbers to run. No shift to cover. No broken pipe or rent check to worry about.
Just a toothbrush by my sink. A hoodie on a chair. A nest in my bed.
And the hollow at the center of it, where he should be.
I lean forward and breathe in the scent still clinging to the blankets until my lungs burn.
And I just sit there in the dark, surrounded by the proof of the home I almost had, with no fucking idea how to earn it back.
Shay
My phone lights up. Again.
I lunge for it, almost knocking over the cold brew sweating on the edge of my desk. My thumb is already on the screen before my brain even registers the buzz.
Jude:OPEN THE DOOR
Jude:I know you’re in there
Jude:your scent is leaking under it like a sad little candle
Not Declan.
Of course it’s not Declan.
My stomach still drops like I missed a step in the dark. Then I’m just pissed at myself, because apparently collecting new and exciting humiliations is my hobby now.
I flip the phone facedown on the desk.
Three seconds later, I flip it back over.
No new messages.
“Pathetic,” I tell the phone.
