Page 33 of Healed in the Alpha's Embrace
“Maybe…,” I said. “Maybe it would be best if Ro and I disappear for a while.”
Heather turned sharply toward me, eyes blazing with a fierceness that shocked me. “You can’t seriously be considering running away again, Zoey. George has been pulling the strings for far too long.”
I bit my lip, feeling cornered by my own fears and Heather’s intensity. George had kept me under his thumb for years, dictating every move until I didn’t know where his will ended and mine began.
“Running won’t change anything,” Heather continued, softening as she saw my inner conflict. “You’ve got to stand your ground this time. Take back control.”
“Zoey, listen to me,” our mother said, a note of steel underlying her words. “You need more than just a locked doorbetween you and that man. I’m talking about protection. Real protection.”
Heather squeezed my hand in silent agreement.
“Like what?” I asked, though in some corner of my mind, I already knew what she was hinting at.
“Something that can give you a fighting chance if it ever came to that. A gun, Zoey.” There was no mistaking the gravity in her tone.
My heart pounded at the thought. It was one thing to run, to hide, to seek shelter. But to confront... to possibly fight back?
I let out a big sigh. “Mom, I don’t know if I can?—”
“Can or can’t isn’t the question here,” she cut in firmly. “It’s about whether your life—Ro’s life—is worth defending. And when you’re ready, we’ll talk. Really talk. I’ve got my own story that might help you understand. Help you heal.”
I clutched Heather’s phone, feeling the gravity of my mother’s offer. Her strength, even from thousands of miles away, seemed to lend me a sliver of courage. I needed to heal, yes, but maybe part of that process was learning to stand up not just for my son, but for myself, too.
I just wasn’t sure I’d be able to live with myself when—not if—I brought trouble to a town that had welcomed me with open arms.
After giving Mom my new number and a promise to call when she could talk to her grandson, we said our goodbyes.
Heather knew exactly what I was thinking, and she gave my hand another reassuring squeeze. “Don’t do it, Zo. I’m begging you not to leave. You are so much safer here with the pack to protect you.”
Thoughts freewheeling, I anxiously bit the skin around my thumb, torn between staying or running. Finally, I nodded. After getting my assurance that I’d still be here in the morning, Heather hugged me and returned to her own bed.
I tossed and turned the rest of the night, replaying my mother’s words in my head, unable to find peace and sleep.
Grateful for the alarm,I left my bed and sought refuge in the shower, using strong-scented body products in the hopes that it would mask the scent of my fear from Ro. I schooled my features into a calm mask, determined to compose myself before I went to the self-defense class. Thanks to George’s abuse, I was accomplished at that. These weeks away from him had been incredible. I had witnessed Ro transform into a more carefree boy, and I was experiencing a newfound sense of fulfillment.
I couldn’t allow George to ruin that for us. I wouldn’t allow that bastard to win.
When class started, the release I had hoped for failed to materialize. The mats felt harder beneath my feet, the texture grating against my palms with every attempted block and strike. I knew the moves—or at least I thought I did—but today they slipped through my grasp like water. My mind was a carousel of worries, spinning too fast to grab hold of anything solid.
“Zoey, remember to pivot your foot on the kick,” Carla called out for the third time.
I mentally rehearsed the moves and tried again, but my limbs moved slowly and with great effort, as if I was wading through molasses.
“Okay, that’s it for today,” Noah said to the class as the clock signaled the end of our misery. Well, my misery. Everyone else seemed invigorated, empowered. As they filtered out, they chatted among themselves while I remained rooted in place, unable to shake off the anxiety. How long would it be before George found me?
“Zoey?” Noah’s presence beside me was a steady warmth. “You okay?”
I kept my gaze fixed on the scuffed mat beneath my feet. “Sorry. I know I should have been paying more attention. I’m just... not all here today.”
Noah crossed his arms, and I glanced up to see the worried crease forming between his eyebrows. “Don’t apologize to me, Zoey. These classes aren’t about me, they’re for you. It’s meant to empower you, but that only works if you’re present. Both in body and mind.”
His mild rebuke stung like salt in an open wound. I bristled. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” he said, his voice softening.
Heather came out of the changing room, her eyes darting between us as she approached.
“It’s okay, Heather,” Noah said. “I’ve got this. Go ahead.”
