Page 85 of Possessive Alpha

The day I have to say goodbye to my little sister comes far, far too soon.

She’s not a baby, and she’s not moving to the other side of the world. I know those things. But they do nothing to stop the agony of saying goodbye.

Ty’s arm around my shoulder as his scent envelops me helps, as does the memory of what he did for Clara and me yesterday evening.

As I watch Clara say goodbye to the people who, over the last month, have become my packmates—become my family—I think of yesterday.

Regan told us yesterday morning that Nathan Blackshaw would make the drive down from Hardin to collect Clara. That left us with a day to pack, prepare, and say goodbye.

It hadn’t seemed like nearly enough time to say goodbye to someone I love so much.

Ty said he had plans for us in the evening.

He took Clara and me back to that plot of land where we would build our cabin, and he had a green blanket on the ground and a basket of food waiting for us.

I asked him what this was, and he turned to me and grinned. “This is a memory.”

I hadn’t understood what he meant until Ty led Clara and me to the blanket and pulled plates and containers of food from the basket.

As the sun set in the distance, we sat on a blanket, ate chicken, salad, and fresh fruit as Ty told us about his pack—only the good stories—and Clara and I told him about ours.

And I understood what he was doing.

I hadn’t thought I could love him any more, until I suddenly did.

Between bites of delicious food, laughter, and conversation, I looked at my little sister and did everything I could to hold on tight to the memory in a place where Ty and I would build a life for ourselves. Because I knew she would always be a part of it—a part of us—no matter where she might build a new life for herself.

“You’re crying and smiling, sweetheart,” Ty whispers, returning me to the present.

I slide my arm around his waist and smile up at him. “I’m thinking about memories.”

He thumbs a tear from my cheek. “Good ones?”

“The best kind.”

He kisses the top of my head and Clara, finished saying her goodbyes, looks at Regan. “Didn’t you say he would be here at eleven?”

Regan frowns, pulling out her cell phone from her back jeans pocket, though we all know he’s late. Clara overslept, and I couldn’t stop hugging her in our room, so we didn’t carry her bag out until half past.

And Nathan Blackshaw still isn’t here.

“He sent me a text to say he wasn’t far from town,” Regan says.

Jackson peers down at the phone in her hand. “At ten. He should have been here by now. Town is only a fifteen-minute drive away.”

We stand outside the house, at the foot of the front porch, looking at each other, and we wait.

“Maybe call him,” Ty suggests.

“Did that,” Jackson responds. “He didn’t answer.”

So we wait some more, the frown on Jackson’s brow deepening as Regan calls him again.

His phone rings out.

“I can try Dayne. Maybe he had car trouble or something,” Regan says.

Regan is dialing when the phone in her hand vibrates. She breathes out a sigh of relief as she answers the phone. “It’s Nathan. Hey? Where are?—”

---