Page 30 of Healed in the Alpha's Embrace
The screen doorcreaked as I nudged it open, the familiar scent of jasmine and lemon cleaner wafting toward me. It was quiet, the only sound being the distant hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the clock on the mantle.
“Mom?” My voice sounded loud in the stillness of the house.
“In here, honey!” she called back, bright as sunlight, shouting from the kitchen.
I shuffled through the living room, my boots scuffing lightly against the worn wooden floor. There she was, apron-clad and elbow-deep in a bowl of dough, her cheeks dusted with flour. She looked up, and her eyes lit up like stars at twilight.
“Noah, this is a nice surprise.” She wiped her hands, then opened her arms.
“Hey, Mom.” I stepped into her embrace, the press of her body against mine both comforting and guilt-inducing. I pulled back just enough to see the lines of worry that seemed to have deepened since I’d last seen her. “I’m sorry I haven’t come around.”
She brushed off my apology with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”
I sighed. “I should’ve come by sooner.”
She cupped my cheeks, holding my gaze with unspoken understanding. “Life happens, Noah. You’ve had your hands full.”
I knew when she said “hands full,” she meant more than just the upcoming ceremony where I’d take the alpha oath. She knew how much boxing meant to me, and how hard it had been for me to retire.
Zoey’s arrival in Boldercrest had stirred up more than just my protective instincts, but I wouldn’t get into that with my mother. Not now. I was here to make up for lost time.
“Is he out?” I asked, nodding toward the golf trophies that lined the mantle, hoping my memory hadn’t failed me.
“Like clockwork,” she replied with a small smile. “Every Wednesday without fail.”
“Good.” I exhaled, glad my father was still predictable. “Have you eaten? How about I take you out for dinner?”
“Nothing would make me happier.” Her smile grew, crinkling the corners of her lips—her smile lines, she called them. “Let me just finish up here. I’m making your father’s favorite cranberry apple pie. Something must have told me you were coming, though, because I made cookies.” She chuckled. “Why don’t you have one while I get the pastry rolled out?”
I perched on the edge of a chair, watching my mom glide the rolling pin over the dough. I picked up one of the cookies she’d laid on the plate. Memories from childhood assaulted me. Afternoons, sitting at this very counter after school, eating her cookies while Nate was with Dad, learning how to be a good alpha.
“Mom,” I started hesitantly, “about Dad...”
She paused, a knowing look crossing her face. “Things are tense between you two. I get why you haven’t come to visit.”
Her words should’ve eased the guilt that had coiled in my stomach, but they didn’t. “That’s not how I want things to be,” I admitted.
“Your father...” She trailed off, then shook her head and offered me a hopeful glance. “What’s on your mind, Noah?”
I wanted to tell her about Zoey, but decided against it. “Wednesdays,” I said, the idea surfacing like a lifeline. “You and I could have dinner together. Every week, just us.”
Her expression brightened instantly, the lines of worry smoothing out. “I’d love that.” She washed her hands, then pulled off the apron, and we walked out the door. I offered her my elbow and escorted her to my car. Once she’d settled and pulled her seat belt on, I asked where she wanted to go for dinner.
“You need to ask? Have you been away that long?” Mom asked, pretending to be shocked.
“The Odyssey it is.” It was good to know something as long-standing as my mom’s favorite restaurant hadn’t changed.
Silverware clinked softly against the plates, and the low hum of other diners’ conversations filled the restaurant. I glanced across the table at my mom, her features softened by the warm glow of the overhead pendant light. The quaint Italian bistro felt both cozy and distant from the tensions of home.
“It’s been too long since we’ve had a night out like this,” she said, smiling as she twirled spaghetti around her fork. “Thank you for this, Noah.”
“Of course, Mom,” I said with a forced smile, poking at my own food.
She tilted her head, a familiar crease forming between her brows. “What’s bothering you, darling? You seem distracted.”
I took a deep breath, the words I needed to say lodged in my throat. “There’s someone,” I began. I met her gaze, searching for understanding. “Her name is Zoey.”
“Zoey?” Recognition sparked on her face. “Sam Crew’s stepdaughter?”
