Page 36 of His Problem Alpha
“I’m fine,” he mumbles into the toilet bowl, not lifting his head. “Just… give me a minute.”
“Bullshit.” The word comes out sharper than I intend, a low alpha growl I can’t control. I soften my tone, forcing the instinct down. “You’re not fine. You’ve been off all week. What is it?”
He finally lifts his head, and the sight of his face—pale, sweaty, with dark circles under his eyes that look like bruises—hits me like a physical blow. The usual fire in his eyes is gone, replaced by a glassy sheen of pure terror. That’s when I know this is serious. My hands itch to pull him close, to wrap him in my scent until whatever’s hurting him goes away. Instead, I wet a washcloth with cool water from the tap and press it gently against the back of his neck.
“Thanks,” he whispers, his eyes closing briefly as he leans into the cool dampness.
I give into the instinct, leaning closer without thinking, my nose just inches from his throat, trying to catch that strange new note in his scent. He jerks back, eyes flying open, wide with panic.
“What are you doing?”
“Sorry.” I pull back, embarrassed by my own feral behavior. “You smell… different.”
Something flickers across his face—fear, resignation, something I can’t quite read. He slumps back against the cold wall of the tub, the fight draining out of him completely.
“Alex,” he says, his voice so quiet I have to lean in to hear him over the hum of the bathroom fan. “I think… I might be pregnant.”
His words knock the air from my lungs. I can’t breathe, can’t think straight. The room tilts, the white tiles of the floor swimming in my vision. Pregnant? Devon might be carrying my child?
“What?” It’s all I can manage, the word a strangled croak.
Devon wraps his arms around his middle, a protective gesture that makes something primal and possessive roar to life deep inside my chest. “My cycle’s late. I’ve been sick every morning this week. And today, at the meeting, when Richard mentioned Lawson being a father, I just… I don’t know. It hit me.”
My throat is dry as sandpaper. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel the frantic pulse in my fingertips. “How late?”
“A week.” He won’t meet my eyes, his gaze fixed on a crack in the tile. “I’ve never been late before. Not like this.”
A week late. I lost control and knotted him without protection, lost in the desperate, primal need to claim him, to make him mine. My mind races, calculating dates, possibilities. The room feels too small suddenly, the walls closing in.
A baby. My baby.Ourbaby.
My chest tightens, my lungs refusing to work. Cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. A child. The ultimate responsibility. The ultimate vulnerability. I see flashes—tiny fingers gripping mine. Trusting eyes looking up at me. A small, fragile body I could fail to protect. Just like Ethan. God, just like Ethan.
But underneath the panic, something else pulses through me—hot and possessive. Pride. Joy. My chest swells with it before shame rushes in, cold and sickening. How can I feel happy about this when I’m so fucking terrified?
“Alex?” Devon’s voice pulls me back. He’s watching me warily, like he’s bracing for me to bolt out the door. “Say something. Please.”
I swallow hard, trying to pull it together, for him. “We need to be sure,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “We need a test.”
He nods, a flicker of relief crossing his face. Maybe he expected me to run. Maybe part of me still wants to.
“I can go get one,” I offer. The words feel monumental, a commitment that goes far beyond a simple trip to the pharmacy.
“You don’t have to—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“I want to.” And it’s the truest thing I’ve said all day. This isn’t just his to face. Whatever’s happening, we’re in it together. “Stay here. Rest. I’ll be back soon.”
He looks surprised, then his shoulders slump with a gratitude that twists something in my gut. “Okay.”
I help him to the bedroom first, settling him on my bed—ourbed, because my room has become our room without either of us acknowledging it. He looks small and fragile against the dark sheets, and the sight makes my chest ache with a fierce, protective urge.
“I’ll be quick,” I promise, pressing a kiss to his forehead without thinking. His skin is cool and slightly damp. “Try to drink some water.”
Outside, the evening air is crisp and bites at my exposed skin, but I barely feel it. My mind is a chaotic storm as I walk to the nearest pharmacy, my feet moving on autopilot. A baby. The word echoes in my head, terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
Before Ethan died, I’d sometimes imagine having kids someday. After the funeral, I packed those thoughts away with his clothes—things I had no right to touch again. But Devon… Devon makes me want things I’ve spent the last six years convincing myself I can never have.
The pharmacy’s fluorescent lights buzz overhead, making everything look sickly green. I find the right aisle and freeze, staring at the rows of boxes with their cheerful, smiling couples. So small, so innocuous. Just a piece of plastic that could change our entire lives. Digital or analog? Early result? Two pack or one? My hand shakes as I reach out. I grab two different brands. One for the hope, one for the fear.
