Page 79 of The Reluctant Alpha

When the front door clicked shut, it felt like a punch to the gut, and all my anger evaporated, leaving a hollow ache tightening my chest.

“Fuck,” I whispered, sinking onto the couch as the memory of my words slammed into me. I’d done it again. What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I being such a complete bitch to the one person who loved me for me. I glanced at Em who was looking at me like I’d just crawled out from under a stone. “Em, I—”

“Danny, I love you, but I don’t like you right this minute.”

“I don’t like me either,” I whispered.

"Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?" Emery asked. "You are one of the kindest, most loyal people I know. It isn’t like you to be cruel, and Danny, that was cruel."

I didn’t know what to say. Every word was true.

"Danny." Emery's voice was gentle but firm. "We've been best friends for five years. I’ve always known there was something you never explained, and I figured you’d tell me when you were ready, but you need help."

I tried to give myself time to compose my thoughts. Or avoid them entirely. But Emery waited with the patience of someone who'd spent years working with five-year-olds, and I knew he wouldn't let this go.

"You want to know what scares me?" I finally said, my voice coming out rougher than intended. "It's not the revenant. It's not even the pregnancy thing, though that's terrifying enough."

"What is it then?"

I sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "It's...giving up everything again. Losing myself in someone else's life. Becoming dependent."

"Again?" Emery caught the word immediately.

And there it was. The thing I'd never told anyone, not even him. I took a deep breath, feeling like I was about to jump off a cliff.

"I had a professor in college," I began, the words tasting bitter. "Dr. Robert Whitfield. He taught developmental psychology, and I thought he was brilliant. Charismatic, passionate about education, seemed to really care about his students." I laughed without humor. "Especially me."

Emery stayed quiet, just listening.

"I was in my second year, majoring in early childhood education. It was everything I'd ever wanted. Mrs. Calloway had inspired me, and I was going to be that teacher for other kids like me. Kids whose brains worked like mine," I finished quietly. "ADHD kids who needed someone to understand they learned differently. That they weren’t slow or stupid"

I could feel Emery's eyes on me, patient and concerned, but I couldn't look at him, and my eyes kept blurring.

"Whitfield noticed me early on. Started calling on me in class, praising my insights. Asked me to be his teaching assistant by the end of that semester." I swallowed hard. "I was thrilled. Honored. Here was this respected professor who saw potential in me—the kid who'd barely scraped through high school because he couldn't remember to turn in homework he’d spent hours completing."

"Danny..." Emery's voice was soft.

"He started small," I continued, the words coming faster now that I'd started. "Extra meetings to discuss my 'career path.' Coffee to talk about research opportunities. I thought he was mentoring me. Looking back, I can see how he isolated me from other students, made me feel special, chosen. Made me feel like I owed him for seeing something in me no one else did."

My hands were shaking. I clasped them together to stop the tremor.

"By the end of the first year we were having sex, and I was spending more time with him than with my friends. He'd convinced me that my other relationships were distractions from my 'true potential.' That my family didn't understand my academic goals. That even my mom, who'd worked two jobs to support me, was holding me back with her 'limited perspective.'"

"Jesus," Emery breathed.

"I believed him," I said, my voice cracking. "I cut myself off from everyone. Stopped going home on weekends. Barely talked to my mom. All I had was Whitfield and his approval, and I would have done anything to keep it."

I finally looked at Emery. His face was pale, his expression a mixture of anger and heartbreak.

"He controlled everything—what classes I took, what jobs I applied for, how I spent my time. He'd praise me one day and tear me apart the next, always framing it as 'pushing me to be better.' I became obsessed with pleasing him, with proving I was worthy of his attention."

"How long?" Emery asked quietly.

"A year. Twelve months of my life revolving entirely around one man's opinion of me." I laughed bitterly. "And by then I was struggling with the course work, and he was tearing me down. I’m not sure what he actually wanted, whether I was just an experiment, but by the time he was done, he’d convinced me I was failing every class without his help. And the sex…"

Em’s face hardened. “What about the sex?”

“It wasn’t—” I cringed. I wasn’t even sure I could admit it to myself. “I didn’t really want it anymore, but I didn’t feel I could say no.”