Page 80 of The Reluctant Alpha

Emery's hands had curled into fists. "That bastard—"

“Then I overheard him talking to his wife.”

Em’s mouth fell open.

“And no, I didn’t know. We all thought he was divorced.” My breath hitched. “I was so fucking stupid.” I brushed the wetness from my eyes, but it made no difference.

"I confronted him," I admitted. "Finally grew a spine and told him I was done. And you know what he said?" The memory still burned. "He said I was proving his point. That I was too unstable, too dependent, too broken to succeed on my own. That I'd come crawling back when I realized how much I needed him."

“Danny,” Em said softly.

"And I never told anyone because I was so ashamed. Ashamed that I'd let it happen, that I'd been so stupid, so desperate for approval that I let one man destroy my sense of self. I switched colleges even though I’d fought so hard to get there. Lost credits and had to do another year. Eventually gave up and switched courses because by then I believed I wasn’t capable of being a teacher."

"Danny, that wasn't your fault—"

"I know that now," I cut him off. "Intellectually, I know. But emotionally?" I touched my chest. "There's still this voice that says I'm too much. Too needy. Too broken. That I'll latch onto anyone who shows me affection and lose myself completely."

Understanding bloomed on Emery's face. "And now with Bayer..."

"Now with Bayer, I feel it happening again," I admitted, the words tumbling out. "The pull to give up everything, to center my whole life around him. The bond amplifies it—this constant need to be near him, to please him, to make him happy. And I'm terrified, Em. Terrified that I'm just repeating the same pattern with a different man."

"But Bayer isn't—"

"I know he's not Whitfield," I said quickly. "Logically, I know that. Bayer is kind and protective and genuinely cares about me. But that's what makes it worse. Because if I lose myself in him, it won't even be because he's manipulating me. It'll be because I chose it. Because some broken part of me wants to hand over control to someone else a second time."

Emery reached for my hand. "Does Bayer know any of this?"

I shook my head. "How do I tell him? 'Hey, by the way, I have massive trust issues because another man systematically destroyed my self-worth, so please don't be offended when I freak out about our bond'?"

"Actually, yes. Exactly that."

I laughed, but it came out choked. "It's different being controlled versus being loved, you know? And I’m terrified I don’t know which one this is."

You know,” Em said. “You trust him.”

My throat closed and my breath hitched, but I nodded. Of course, I trusted him.

"And you?" Emery asked gently. “Do you love him? Do you believe that Bayer isn’t manipulating you? That he honestly loves you right back?” My tears became a flood, and I nodded furiously. Em sniffed then pulled me into a hug. “Next time remember I’m your best friend and I want to know no matter how hard it is to tell me, or if you think I’m gonna get upset.” We both heard the baby monitor and Em let me go heading for the stairs.

Tears burned, and for once, I didn't fight them. I let them fall, hot and fast, streaming down my face as I tossed the cushion away. I'd spent so much time fighting against the changes in my life, against the loss of control, that I'd lashed out at the one person who'd never tried to control me—only protect me.

And why?

I was still letting Whitmore control me. I’d only survived at my job because of Emery, and I’d only kept my job because of Bayer. I was a hot mess, and that was no one’s fault but my own.

Yes, Bayer was overprotective. Yes, he was stubborn and frustrating in his alpha-ness. But he'd never once forced me to do anything. He'd given me space when I asked for it, supported my career plans, respected my need to process this pregnancy in my own time. And I'd thrown it all back in his face with the cruelest words I could find.

A memory hit me like a physical blow, as sharp and fresh as if it had happened yesterday instead of fifteen years ago. Tenth grade, the locker room after gym class. I'd been smaller then, always the smallest in my class, with a mouth that got me in trouble more often than not.

"Hey, Jacobson!" Tyler Morrison had called out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Heard your mom's working at the diner now. Three jobs, right? Must be nice having a mom who's too busy to notice when her kid's a freak."

I’d frozen, my hands stilling on my gym bag. The other boys had started to gather, sensing blood in the water the way teenagers always did. I'd felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with being half-dressed.

"Leave it alone, Tyler," I'd muttered, trying to push past him.

But Tyler had grabbed my arm, spinning me around. "What's wrong, Danny? Can't handle the truth? Or maybe you're too busy dreaming of playing house with your little boyfriend to care about your family falling apart."

The boyfriend comment had been a shot in the dark—but it had hit home anyway. I'd lashed out then, verbally eviscerating Tyler with every cruel observation I'd stored up over the years. Tyler's parents' messy divorce, his failing grades, his desperate attempts to fit in with the popular crowd. I’d torn him apart with surgical precision, leaving the bigger boy almost in tears while the other students watched in stunned silence. And he’d never bothered me again.