Page 40 of Nursing the Alpha
The cab ride felt longer than usual, even though it wasn’t.
I kept my hands folded in my lap, fingers knotted tight around the envelope I’d been clutching since leaving my apartment. The paper was creased now, creased and a little damp where my palms had sweated against it, but it didn’t matter.
I wasn’t here to impress anyone.
I just… needed to say this.
I’d rehearsed the words all night. Apologies. Gratitude. Even a little explanation for my abrupt resignation. But each time I ran them through in my head, they came out sounding clunky.
Still, I had to try.
Because the truth was, I wasn’t proud of how I’d left.
I’d quit without notice. No two weeks, no warning. Just a simple phone call with a request to terminate the contract effective immediately. I’d fully expected consequences. Penalties. Even legal action.
But then Walter at the agency called me, saying my employer wasn’t pressing the issue.
“Your client has chosen to waive the notice period,” he’d said as if it wasn’t the best news of my life. “You’re free to move on.”
I should have been relieved.
And I was.
But part of me couldn’t shake the gnawing guilt in my chest.
I’d signed a contract. Promised a service. I’d been prepared to give up everything—my savings, my future jobs—if it meant getting out clean. I hadn’t even blinked at the thought of losing it all because I had Seth now. Seth, who loved on me the way no one had ever done. Seth, who made me feel comfortable in my skin.
But still.
This family—whoever they were—had paid for my milk, my time, my effort.
Now I was here.
To say thank you. To say I was sorry. To say something.
The cab slowed and turned into the long private drive. My stomach knotted tighter with every foot of smooth, perfect asphalt.
Maybe I should have called first.
I shifted nervously on the seat, fidgeting with the edge of my sweater.
God, Flynn. Who just shows up at their employer’s house unannounced?
But I hadn’t known what to say over the phone. I couldn’t send an email either. It felt too impersonal.
So here I was.
The cab eased to a stop outside the house. The same house I’d come to so many times in the last month.
Sleek black trim. Clean lines. Windows like polished obsidian. The whole place was quiet, still, like the kind of home where no one raised their voice or left shoes by the door. I’d never witnessed either.
I thanked the cabbie softly and stepped out onto the driveway.
The air smelled of cedar and rain-washed stone.
I hesitated, the envelope clutched against my chest.
What was I even doing?
