Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Jared
The eggs sizzle in the cast iron as I stir them into a fluffy scramble. I’ve gotten good at breakfast since moving in with Emily, and most mornings, she now lets me cook.
It was a small win until the disaster at the market yesterday set us back.
Outside the kitchen window, the sky hangs low and gray over muddy garden paths, and the weather forecast promised more storms all this coming week.
Behind me, Emily sits at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee cooling between her palms. She hasn’t spoken more than ten words since waking, and the silence between us stretches thin, ready to shatter at the slightest misstep.
I salt the eggs, grab a fistful of the shredded cheese Emily always stashes in a glass jar, and fold it in.
The kitchen fills with the smell of coffee, toast, and the stew simmering in the crock-pot.
She threw that together when we got home yesterday, then disappeared behind her crochet for the rest of the night.
Mixie sits in the doorway, tail flicking in agitated arcs. Animals always pick up when something’s wrong.
“Almost ready,” I say, too loudly in the quiet kitchen.
Emily hums in response, the sound noncommittal. On a normal day, at this point, she’d be puttering around gathering glasses of orange juice or hovering behind me to keep an eye on things.
Instead, she traces the rim of her mug with her index finger, round and round, her gaze fixed on some middle distance I can’t reach.
The eggs finish in a flash. I drop them onto the plates, beside toast cut into neat triangles, because that’s how Emily eats it.
She never said a word, but I paid attention.
I always do. The wrinkle between her brows when she’s focused, the nervous hair-tuck, the precise tap-tap of straightening the shakers.
All these small details add up to the woman I’m falling in love with, even as she pulls away from me.
I set her plate in front of her, careful not to let our fingers brush. Since the market yesterday, since Auren, she flinches at my touch. I wish I could smell her pheromones to help gauge her mood, and not for the first time, frustration fills me at my broken senses.
“Thank you,” she says, picking up her fork but not eating.
I sit across from her, the wooden chair creaking under my weight. The table between us stretches wider than its actual four feet, an ocean opening where once there was solid ground.
“How about a warm-up on your coffee?” I offer, rising to fetch the carafe from the counter.
Emily pushes her mug away, her silver hair falling forward to shield her from me. The strands catch the weak morning light filtering through the window, turning them to quicksilver.
Mixie stretches, then pads across the hardwood floor, her claws clicking with each step. She winds between Emily’s legs, rubbing her head against Emily’s calf before sitting back on her haunches.
I fill Emily’s mug first, then mine, before returning the carafe to its warming plate. The coffee’s rich scent fills the air, but even this small pleasure is muted, buried under the weight of Emily’s thoughts.
Her hand drops to Mixie’s head, stroking the cat’s fur, and Mixie leans into the touch, her eyes closing to slits of contentment.
“You should eat before it gets cold,” I suggest, cutting into my own eggs.
Emily lifts a forkful to her mouth, chewing without enthusiasm, her stare fixed on a knot in the wooden tabletop, her thoughts elsewhere.
We eat in silence, broken only by the scrape of forks on plates and the soft patter of rain starting again outside. The cottage creaks and sighs around us, settling in the damp.
When I finish my eggs, I push the plate away and pick up my coffee mug. “Emily—”
“I keep thinking about patterns,” she interrupts, the next line dragging out of her as though each syllable takes effort. “About how easy it is to fall back into them.”
Her eyes lift to mine for the first time this morning, the silver in them dulled to pewter, and shadows bruise the skin beneath.
When I open my mouth to respond, she lifts her hand, palm out. “Let me talk first, please.”
I settle back in my chair, giving her the space she needs.
Mixie jumps onto Emily’s lap, front paws on the edge of the table, whiskers twitching as she sniffs at the remains of breakfast. Emily continues to stroke the cat, her fingers finding the spot behind Mixie’s ears that brings out her purrs.
“After seeing Auren yesterday…” Emily takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling beneath her faded flannel shirt. Her fingers still on Mixie’s fur, and the cat turns to look up at her, sensing the shift in her energy. “I realized how easily I could become just like him.”
The comparison between steady, kind Emily and that snake, Auren, hits so far out of left field I nearly spill my coffee. “You’re nothing like—”
She shakes her head, cutting me off again. “You don’t know how I was with him. What I became.” Her fingers resume their motion on Mixie’s fur, rhythmic, soothing herself more than the cat. “I need you to understand where I’ve been before we can talk about where we might go.”
I swallow my protests. “All right.”
“I need to tell you about us. About what happened.” She swallows hard, her throat working. “About how I lost myself with him, and why I’m so afraid of what’s happening between us.”
The rain intensifies, drumming on the roof in a rapid rhythm that my racing heart matches.
Emily wraps both hands around her coffee mug, her knuckles whitening with pressure. “I met Auren when I was twenty-two at my first real construction job. He was working in the office, handling permits and payroll.”
I sit frozen, afraid any movement might break her confidence.
“He was even more beautiful back then. All the Alphas on site fawned over him.” A ghost of a smile touches her lips before vanishing. “But he noticed me. Brought me coffee. Asked questions about my work. He seemed genuinely interested in what I was building.”
She lifts her mug to her lips but doesn’t drink, just holds it there for a moment before setting it back down, untasted.
“No one had ever given me the kind of attention he did, as though I were the most intriguing thing in the room.” Her thumb traces the handle of her mug. “I was so young. So stupid.”
“You weren’t stupid,” I protest. “You were—”
“Please.” Her eyes flick up to mine, then away. “Just let me get through this.”
“Okay.” I settle back in my chair. “I’m listening.”
“He needed help with rent. Said his roommate had left without notice.” Emily’s shoulders draw inward, her emotions draining away as she distances herself from the memory. “So I offered my couch. Then my bed. Then my bank account.”
Her fingers stroke along Mixie’s spine, the cat arching into her touch, the repetitive motion soothing her as much as the cat.
“He was always so fragile. So delicate. Needed organic or imported food. Custom clothes. Couldn’t work too many hours because it was ‘too stressful.’” She tucks a strand of silver hair behind her ear. “Meanwhile, I took double shifts. Overtime. Weekend work. Anything to keep us afloat.”
Her mouth tightens before she forces the confession out. “You have to understand, I thought I was doing the right thing. An Alpha provides. An Alpha protects. It’s what we’re taught from birth, what society expects. And Auren needed so much.”
Her fingers tighten in Mixie’s fur, and the cat shifts, readjusting her position. Emily loosens her grip, murmuring an apology.
“He said he was better with money, so my paychecks went into our joint account, which he managed.” She swallows hard. “I didn’t realize he’d opened a separate account for himself until after… after everything ended.”
My stomach clenches at the revelation, acid rising in my throat. I want to speak, to curse this man who stole from her, but I force myself to remain silent, letting her words flow.
“The house was in his name because his credit was better. The truck, too.” Her laugh holds no humor, the sound brittle. “Found out later he’d been skimming from the construction company by using his position to redirect funds. His credit wasn’t better; he just had more cash to put down.”
Emily shifts in her seat, her spine stiffening as she continues. “Six years we were together. Six years of working twelve-hour days, coming home to cook dinner for whatever Alphas he’d invited over without telling me.”
Her jaw tightens, and Mixie pushes her head against Emily’s wrist, sensing her distress. “Sometimes, they’d stay a couple of days. Sometimes they’d never leave.”
“Other Alphas?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
Her focus remains fixed on the table. “Yes. Always Alphas. Always ones who could give him what I couldn’t. Connections. Status. Gifts.” Something in her shuts down as she adds, “When I questioned it, he’d say I was neglecting him. I worked too much. If I were home more, he wouldn’t need others.”
The injustice of it boils in my veins, but I keep my face neutral, not wanting my anger to silence her.
“The worst part is, I believed him.” Emily’s thumb rubs over Mixie’s head, finding the spot between her ears, and the cat’s eyes close in contentment.
“I cut my hours. Turned down promotions. Tried to be home more. And still, it was never enough. If I worked less, we argued about money. He wasn’t working at all by then, so everything fell on me. It was a situation I could never win.”
“When did it end?” I ask, careful not to lean forward or crowd her when all I want to do is pull her into my arms.
“Eight months ago.” Her fingers trace Mixie’s simple blue collar, making the silver bell chime with each movement.
“I came home early from a job site, thinking I’d surprise him.
Instead, I found him with two of the other Alphas who had been hanging around more, discussing how they needed a bigger house.
And how I wouldn’t be moving with them.”
My heart twists for her, imagining the betrayal of that moment.