Page 35 of Healed in the Alpha's Embrace
“Zoey, are you listening?” Noah’s question broke through my panicked thoughts.
I blinked, focusing on him. “Yes, sorry. Just... a lot to process.”
“It’s okay to be overwhelmed.”
I smiled, but it felt hollow and insincere. “Thank you for kindness.”
“Being kind is part of who I am, but that doesn’t mean my offer isn’t genuine.”
A laugh, short and devoid of humor, escaped me. “I know. And I appreciate it. But that’s all this is, right? You being the good guy you are.” Even as the words left my mouth, I wantedto take them back. God, what was I thinking for even hinting at what was stirring inside me?
If I hadn’t been watching him closely, I’d have missed it. In the span of a blink, his face shifted from hurt back to that carefully schooled expression of calm.
“That’s what I strive to be,” he said.
“Right,” I said, nodding more to convince myself than to agree with him. Noah was a nice guy doing a nice thing. Nothing more.
Abruptly, I retreated. His hand slipped away, leaving a sudden chill in its wake, and I missed the warmth.
“Thank you,” I said quickly. “For everything.” I didn’t wait for his response; I couldn’t. Turning, I flung the door open and fled the room, my footsteps echoing behind me as I put distance between myself and whatever dangerous comfort Noah offered.
The cool air outside did little to soothe the warmth in my cheeks or the tumultuous emotions churning inside. Much like a shark homing in on the scent of blood, George had a knack for detecting any sign of weakness. If he discovered I was leaning on someone else, he’d find a way to twist that around and use it against me. I couldn’t afford to give him more ammunition or unintentionally put Noah in harm’s way.
It wasn’t just about seeking refuge; it was survival. Sam had been my savior in that regard, offering shelter when I had nowhere else to turn. The pack had put us under their protection. But what Noah offered was something else entirely. It was personal, and George would paint it as a betrayal, giving him yet another excuse to unleash his cruelty. My pulse hammered at the thought.
I told myself to focus, willing the image of Noah’s intense, caring gaze out of my mind. That momentary connection, the spark of something more, had to be extinguished. It was a risk, a liability I couldn’t entertain. I had to remember why I was here.I wasn’t here to make romantic connections but to keep Roland safe and stay out of George’s line of sight.
Getting into my car, I drove home, my mind racing with everything that had just happened. With every mile away from the gym, from Noah, I pushed down the dangerous hope that had begun to unfurl inside me. No matter how much I wanted him to touch me, how much I yearned for the promise of something more, it could be nothing more than a fantasy. For Roland’s sake, and for my own, I couldn’t let it become anything more.
9
NOAH
The crunch of gravel under my boots echoed too loudly in the silence as I approached my parents’ front door. Each step felt like I was trudging through thick mud, intensifying my apprehension of the upcoming conversation with my father. But I needed to do this. After talking to Zoey and hearing her fear, something had shifted inside me. A protective urgency that I couldn’t shake.
The warmth of the kitchen welcomed me as I entered. “Hey, Mom.”
She turned from the stove, her apron dusted with flour. I was immediately transported back to when the comforting scent of cinnamon and vanilla embraced me.
Her smile offered some comfort, but it couldn’t ease the tension coiling inside me. I brushed my lips against her cheek—a greeting and a silent plea for forgiveness in anticipation of the impending argument with my father. As much as I wanted to remain in the kitchen’s nostalgic atmosphere, I couldn’t ignore the reason I was there.
“Is he in his office?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“Where else would he be?” she replied, with the exasperation only decades of marriage can produce.
“Thanks, Mom.”
My fist hovered in front of the door, and for a moment, I considered walking away. Then I remembered the fear etched on Zoey’s face, a terror that no person should ever have to confront. It solidified my determination.
“Come in,” came the gruff command before my knuckles could rap against the wood.
“Father,” I greeted him, the formal title a line drawn between us.
He didn’t look up from his papers. “Noah,” he said in a deep rumble.
The carefully rehearsed conversation had vanished from my memory at the very moment I needed it the most. My mind was completely blank.
“I want to speak to you about Zoey Lester,” I said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled over us. I masked any traces of the chaos churning in my stomach, instead projecting a steady and controlled tone. “Sam Crew’s stepdaughter. She’s in trouble.”
