Page 68 of Healed in the Alpha's Embrace
“I called Claire and got the lawyer’s number. Her name’s Margaret Cameron. I reached out to her and told her about you and Roland, and what I knew about George. She is more than willing to handle your case, but she requires confirmation from you.” I said, giving Zoey a minute to process. “I’ve put a retainer down?—”
“Noah, you didn’t have to do that,” Zoey cut in.
“No, I told you I’d do this.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and texted Zoey the number. “Those are her details. Call her when you’re ready. She did suggest you might want to make a report with the police here, so they have something official on paper and can file for a restraining order.”
She inhaled sharply, and the distinct scent of her fear filled the air. “I’m not… I can’t… if I speak to the police, it will only make things worse.” She stared off into space for a moment, thenrefocused. “Thank you, Noah. I know you’re trying to help, and that means a lot.”
“I meant it when I said you’re mine, Zoey. You and Ro. Whatever you need.” And I meant it. Every word.
The memory of our last date clung to me like the lingering scent of rain on dry earth. Though we hadn’t crossed that line since, that sweet, intoxicating taste of her haunted my every thought. I yearned for more, but patience was a virtue I was learning to master, especially when it came to her.
“Don’t let your guard down,” I cautioned Lloyd. He was dropping his left after each jab, a rookie mistake that kept him wide open.
He tucked his chin and adjusted his stance, and it made all the difference. A clean dodge followed by a swift uppercut sent his opponent staggering back.
“Nice!” I shouted in approval. I hadn’t thought I would like this so much, shaping these young potentials into something formidable. It was a distraction, a necessary one, from the gnawing desire that stirred whenever Zoey was close. This work reminded me that life was more than just the urges of my inner wolf. It was about control, focus, and the sweet triumphs found within these four walls.
Ro’s small frame vibrated like a tightly coiled spring, eager to step into the ring. Watching him, Zoey worried her lip between her teeth, her hands clasped together like she was praying for her son’s safety.
“It’s just a light spar,” I reminded her, trying to ease her worry.
Ro bounded over to me, gloves up and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’m ready!”
I helped him clamber up into the ring while Ky guided his young trainee, Craig, to the opposite corner.
The boys met in the middle of the ring, were introduced, and bumped gloves before moving to their respective corners.
I crouched in front of Ro, tightening his headgear. “Keep it controlled, Ro. Watch your opponent and find their rhythm.”
As the bell signaled the start, I watched closely, assessing Ro’s movements. He’d absorbed every word I said, his focus sharp. When he threw a jab followed by a quick sidestep to avoid a counter jab, I couldn’t help but be impressed.
“Speed, Ro, use that speed,” I called.
He darted in and out, landing a few solid taps on the other boy. Each hit was clean and precise, and pride surged through me. Ro was more than just some kid with a heavy punch. He was strong and smart. He would be one hell of an alpha one day. And he’d be a better man than his father could ever hope to be.
“Good,” I called. “Pivot! Follow through!”
Ro executed the move flawlessly, his natural talent shining through. It was a sight to see, this young boy holding his own, and it gave me a glimmer of hope for what he could become, both in and out of the ring.
Craig, muscles bunching with newfound determination, started circling Ro more aggressively. I caught Ky’s eye across the ring. We both saw it. Ro’s potential wasn’t just showing—it was glowing. With a subtle nod, Ky and I agreed to let the bout play through.
“Get your elbow up!” Ky barked to his charge while I leaned on the ropes, guiding Ro.
“Breathe, Ro,” I called. “Wait for it...”
Ro moved with agility and grace, bobbing and weaving like a professional boxer, never losing sight of his opponent. Others gathered around the ring, their attention fixed on the tiny dynamo that was Ro.
“Move in after his left… now,” I said.
Like he was born to do this, Ro slipped past the jab and landed a textbook uppercut. Those watching cheered, but I remained focused, calling out adjustments and watching Ro adapt instantly.
“Time!” Ky finally called, the bell ringing through the clamor.
Applause rang out through the gym as Ro raced across the mat, his chest heaving from exertion, his face illuminated with the unmistakable glow of triumph.
“Did I win?” he asked me.
I lifted his gloved hand, and another cheer erupted. His eagerness made me chuckle. “Yeah, kid, you won.”
