Page 56 of His Problem Alpha
"I called my parents," I say, the admission still feeling strange. "I'm going home tomorrow. And I've already looked up therapists who specialize in grief and trauma. I have an appointment on Tuesday."
Another pause. "That's... that's good, Alex. But Devon—"
"I need Devon's location," I rasp, my voice breaking. "I made the biggest mistake of my life. I have an appointment with a therapist Tuesday. I'm going to do the work. I'm going to learn how to stay instead of run. Please... please, Lawson, help me fix this."
Devon
"You're going to be an amazing father, you know," Kole says, his voice so full of quiet conviction that my chest tightens, and I have to fight back a fresh wave of tears. I will not cry again. I've done enough crying for one day. For one lifetime.
I stare down at the mug of chamomile tea Raymond insisted I drink—"It settles your stomach, Dev"—and blink hard against the sudden burn in my eyes.
"Thanks," I manage, my voice raw from hours of alternating between rage-filled rants and horrifying, gut-wrenching sobs. My brother's couch cushion still bears the damp evidence of my breakdown. "But I'm not sure 'amazing' is in the cards when I don't even have a place to live."
"You have a place to live," Raymond says firmly from where he's leaning against the kitchenette counter, arms crossed over his chest like he's physically holding back the urge to hunt Alex down and dismember him. "Right here. As long as you need."
His protective energy would be touching if it didn't make me feel like such a fucking failure. Twenty-five years old, pregnant, and crashing on my little brother's couch. Not exactly the independent empire I'd imagined for myself.
"And you can stay with us too," Lawson adds, his arm draped around Kole's shoulders. The casual intimacy of the gesture is a dull ache in my chest. "We've got the guest room all set up, and Noah would love having his cousin around."
The mention of Noah makes my hand drift unconsciously to my still-flat stomach. There's a person in there. A tiny, helpless person who is half me and half... him.
"I appreciate it," I say, and I mean it, even if my voice sounds hollow to my own ears. "But I need to figure this out on my own. I can't just—"
A knock at the door cuts me off. Three sharp, decisive raps that somehow manage to sound both hesitant and determined. We all freeze.
Raymond is the first to move, pushing off the counter with a dangerous glint in his eye. "If that's him, I swear to god—"
"Ray," I warn, but it's weak. Part of me wants to see my brother tear into Alex. The other part…
I don't know what the other part wants. I'm still too raw, too shellshocked to process anything beyond the immediate crisis: I'm pregnant, I'm alone, and the father of my child believes he's cursed.
Raymond yanks the door open with enough force that it bangs against the wall. "You've got a lot of fucking nerve—"
"I know."
The voice stops me cold. It's Alex, but not Alex. Not the cold, distant ghost who walked out on me. Not even the brooding, intense alpha who marked me and claimed me in the heat of passion. This voice is stripped bare, scraped raw, barely recognizable.
I can't see him from my position on the couch, but I can smell him—that familiar coffee-and-leather scent now soured with distress and something else. Something like… desperation.
"I don't deserve to be here," he continues, each word sounding like it's being torn from his throat. "I know that. But I had to come. I had to try."
Raymond doesn't budge from the doorway. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slam this door in your face."
There's a pause, and then: "I don't have one. You should. I would."
The raw honesty in those words twists something in my chest. My first instinct screams along with Raymond.Slam it. Make him feel an ounce of what I'm feeling.I open my mouth to say it, to tell my brother to get rid of him. But then Raymond shifts, and I see him. And the anger dies in my throat.
He looks like he’s been through a war. His hair is a disaster, his eyes red-rimmed and sunken, his clothes rumpled like he's been sleeping in them. Or not sleeping at all. The walls are gone. All of them. And what’s left is so broken, so utterly stripped of pretense, it stops my heart.
"Raymond," I say, my voice steadier than I expected. "Let him in."
My brother turns to look at me, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief. "Dev, are you sure? After what he—"
"I'm sure." I'm not, not really, but I need to see him. Need to look him in the eye and understand what the hell is happening.
Raymond steps aside reluctantly, and then Alex is there, standing in the doorway. His gaze finds mine instantly, and I can’t breathe when I see how vulnerable he looks. There are no walls. No carefully constructed barriers. Just Alex, stripped down to his core.
"I found the test," he says, the words barely audible. "In the bathroom."
