Page 103 of Stalked By the Alphas
“Oh, ye of little faith,” I joke lightly.
He smiles and shakes his head, taking it on the chin and not in the heart, which shows me he is confident that his own time with Hazel was more than he is letting on. “You’ve got this?”
“Trust me,” I say, although I’m nowhere near as confident as I sound. But I can’t let him see that. Half of me wishes I’d gone yesterday so this immense pressure fell on Carter, but maybe Carter’s time with her will pave the way for me. It’s hard to say without him spilling all, and he won’t. He won’t answer his door, and his phone is switched off. I get it. He doesn’t want me to think this is all in the bag and not make an effort.
I find it a little bit insulting that he would think I’d fall back on their laurels, but I also know how much is riding on this. I definitely know this is a one-shot deal, and it’s all or nothing. If I fail now, she won’t have any of us.
Okay, maybe Zach. He probably has this in the bag regardless. Me and Carter, not so much.
I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the short journey to the village. “I’ll do my best, Zach. That’s all any of us can do at this point.”
Zach nods, his eyes serious. “Just don’t psychoanalyse her, okay? She needs you to be Noah, not Dr Forshaw.”
His words sting, but I know he’s right. It’s a habit I’ve fallen into too often with Hazel, trying to understand her through the lens of my profession rather than simply being there for her as a friend, as a potential partner.
“I won’t,” I promise. “I’m going in there as just Noah. No more hiding behind my job or my education.”
Zach seems satisfied with this. He claps me on the shoulder, a gesture of solidarity that means more than I’d like to admit. “Good luck, mate. We’re all counting on you.”
As he leaves, I turn back to the journal on the bed. I pick it up, running my thumb over Hazel’s name. I’ll give her this piece of myself, along with all the truths I’ve been holding back. It’s terrifying, but it’s also liberating. For the first time in years, I feel like I’m on theverge of being truly honest - with Hazel, and with myself.
Picking up my phone and keys, I head out to my car. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I start up and set off towards Hazel’s, knowing I’m early, but I want to be waiting for her, to let her know that I’ll show up and be there for her and that she doesn’t have to wait for me.
The drive to Hazel’s cottage feels both interminable and far too short. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white with tension. As I pull up outside her quaint little home, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my raging nerves.
Hazel should be closing up the bookshop right about now and will start her walk home. I’m here. Waiting.
I sit in my car, watching the road that leads from the village to Hazel’s cottage. My heart pounds as I wait, palms sweating against the steering wheel. After what feels like an eternity, I spot her familiar figure in the distance.
As she gets closer, she finally looks up and notices my car. She falters for a moment, then squares her shoulders and continues forward.
I step out of the car, clutching the journal in my hands. “Hazel,” I say softly as she approaches.
She stops a few feet away, eyeing me warily. “Noah.”
“I wanted to be here when you got home,” I explain. “To show you that I’ll always be here for you, whenever you need me.”
A flicker of amusement crosses over her face. “Okay.”
I curse in my mind. She’s going to think I’m a lunatic.
“Would you like to come inside?” she asks after a moment.
I nod, following her to the cottage door. As she unlocks it, I notice her hands trembling slightly. She is nervous, which spikes her scent. It hits my nose, and I stifle my groan, desperately clutching the journal so I don’t reach out and touch her.
Once we are inside, she takes me into the living room. She sits, perched on the edge of the sofa and stares at me.
I take a deep breath. This is it. My chance to make things right.
“Hazel. I want to start by saying how deeply sorry I am. For everything. For betraying your trust, for not being there when you needed me most, for trying to analyse you instead of just being there for you.”
She nods slightly, her expression guarded. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s bracing herself for whatever I might say next.
“I brought you something,” I say, holding out the journal. “It’s not much, but I wanted you to have a place to write down your thoughts, your feelings. I’ve written a letter to you on the first page. Everything I feel, everything I regret, it’s all there.”
Hazel takes the journal, her fingers brushing against mine. The brief contact sends a jolt throughme, and I have to resist the urge to pull her into my arms.
She opens the journal, her eyes scanning the words I’ve poured onto the page. I wait, hardly daring to breathe, as she reads.
