Page 39 of Healed in the Alpha's Embrace
Zoey might not know it yet, might not understand the unbreakable bond that tethered us together, but that didn’t change the immutable fact that she was ours to protect.
I had to trust the men my father had placed on her for now, but my wolf wasn’t happy.I will watch over her and Ro, I vowed, the promise a silent oath to both my wolf and the woman who held our fate in her delicate hands.
I stalked to the bathroom, needing to wash off the sweat and grime from this long day.
As the water sluiced off my back, I closed my eyes, my mind filling with images of Zoey. I wrapped my hand around my hardening length and stroked myself slowly, imagining it was her dainty hand touching me. I thought of her soft curves pressed against my body, her breathy moans filling my ears. My wolf growled possessively, urging me to go now and claim our mate. But I had to take things slow with Zoey. I refused to be another man who hurt her.
My strokes quickened as I chased my release, and I lost myself in the fantasy of her. With a low groan, I came, her name a whisper on my lips.
10
ZOEY
Roland’s excitement was like a live wire zipping through the room as he recounted every detail of his day. He bounced from one foot to the other, buzzing with an energy I’d never seen before. His enthusiasm was infectious, and a smile quickly spread across my face.
“Mom, did you see me? With the punching bag?” He beamed up at me, his fists flying through the air as he demonstrated the punches he’d been taught. “And Noah says I’m really good.”
I nodded, my heart swelling with pride and an ache I couldn’t quite name. “I always think you’re good, but Noah would know best,” I said, remembering the wealth of information I’d seen online. “If he says you’re going to be amazing, then he means it.” I dodged a particularly exuberant fist. “But listen to me, kiddo, we need to keep the punches in the ring. Remember what Noah told you? Unless you’re in the class and one of the other instructors is there, no boxing outside the gym.”
His initial excitement faltered. “You’re not gonna let me go back, are you? It’s like when I wanted to play baseball, and Dad said I wasn’t allowed because it wasn’t safe and sports were stupid.”
“Your father was wrong, Ro,” I said with a sharp sting of regret. My son had already missed out on so much and was growing up so fast.
I should have left sooner.
George’s crippling paranoia had clipped Roland’s wings and kept him from being a kid, from having friends. Neither of us could leave the house without his express permission. He’d claimed it was for our safety; that there were people who’d want to hurt us to get to him. It had nothing to do with our safety—it was about exerting control. He wanted us under his watchful eye so he could monitor and dictate our every move.
“Sports aren’t stupid,” I said, hoping to rewrite the narrative George had imposed on us. “They’re about teamwork. About having fun and staying healthy. You can go back.”
Roland fist-bumped the air. “Yay! Can we go back tomorrow, Mom?” His eagerness was a balm to the guilt, a reminder that things were changing for the better.
“Of course, we can.” I ruffled his hair, feeling his tension ebb away under my touch. “We’re free to do as we please now.”
“Really free?” His question was tentative, as if testing the truth of my words.
“Really free,” I confirmed, and this time, the smile I offered him was as much for myself as it was for him.
“Will I have to work for Dad when I grow up?”
The innocent question sent a shiver down my spine.
“No.” The word came out more forceful than I intended. “You will choose your own path, Roland. One full of things you love.”
“Like boxing?”
“Like boxing,” I confirmed, pushing away the image of George sneering at the idea of his son debasing himself with those he thought beneath him.
Later that evening,after Roland had drifted off to sleep, dreams of punches and victories no doubt filling his head, I found myself alone with my thoughts. No, I wasn’t entirely alone. Guilt kept me company, a harsh inner voice thatnagged like a relentless predator,reminding me of all the ways I’d let my son down by not freeing him from the clutches of George’s oppressive rule. As I dissected the past, my mind replayed scenes like a broken record, each loop inflicting fresh wounds.
George had been persuasive in his argument that our son needed a traditional family, with both a mother and father. At first, I’d been unwilling to see the abuse for what it was. Then I was so deeply entrenched that I couldn’t get out. The shame was like a festering wound, eating away at my conscience.
In my own way, I was dealing with a crushing uproar of new emotions. With the constant worry for our safety, I was in a never-ending loop of fight or flight, hyperaware of every sound and movement around me. It was exhausting. There were moments when I felt disconnected from reality, as if I was observing my own life from a distance. The façade of pretending everything was fine was becoming impossible to maintain.
I remembered Heather’s suggestion of therapy. Perhaps I needed to look into it. Despite my aversion to it, I had to confront the fact that both Ro and I were victims. Only by acknowledging that could I begin to move forward and truly allow myself to heal.
“Zoey? You okay?” Heather’s voice startled me.
My body quivered from the memories I’d been reflecting on, so raw that tears immediately welled up and spilled over.
