Page 28 of Alpha Varsity

Monday morning, I find myself out of bed before dawn. I yank open the top drawer to my dresser and shove aside my socks. I pick up the last envelope that arrived addressed to me in my dad’s handwriting. It came about six months ago. Inside, there was no note. Just nine crisp one hundred dollar bills wrapped in a torn piece of notebook paper with scratches that look a lot like bets on them.

He’s probably cage fighting. Or stealing again–who knows.

The last envelope came eight months before this one. There’s no rhyme or reason to when they come or how much he sends. He’s never sent a letter with it. But he never was the kind of dad to say anything nice.

I guess I should be grateful he remembers he has a son.

Even before my dad got kicked out, he wasn’t much of a father figure. Now, because my mom refused to leave with him when he was banished, he’s completely out of touch. He doesn’t call or text or Facetime. We have no idea where he lives or what he does.

My mom refuses to take any of the money–she’s too pissed at my dad for what he did. She says the cash is probably dirty, and it’s for me anyway–his form of child support–so I can do what I want with it. I try to stretch it as long as I can, chipping in to buy us groceries, pay my own expenses, and buy my mom nice birthday and Solstice presents.

I crack the envelope open now. There are three hundreds left. I don’t know why I’m looking. Why my thoughts are connecting money to Lotta. Like I’m going to use it to court her. Or show off to her. Or provide for her.

As if.

Beneath the envelope is a slender chain with a thin crescent moon pendant made of real gold.

I pick it up now and bring it to my nostrils as if it might still hold Lotta’s scent after all these years. It doesn’t, but it helps me conjure that sweetness, anyway. Jasmine, honey, and the mouth-watering scent of her feminine arousal make my head swim.

I give it a rough shake.

I shower and get on my motorcycle, beating my mom to Wolf Ridge Sweet Treats. The scent of freshly baked croissants fill the alleyway where I park my motorcycle. Mrs. Angelson is already working inside, unwrapping a stick of butter to throw in the churning mixer.

Her wrinkled face lights up with a smile when I come in the back door. The rest of the town may think I’m a hoodlum, but Mrs. Angelson has always treated me like I was special. In fact, if she hadn’t stood behind my mom when my dad got kicked out of the pack, I’m not sure my mom and I would have even been able to stay in Wolf Ridge. She found extra hours to give my mom after my dad left even when she didn’t need the help. Even when making ends meet was a strain for her, too.

“Good morning, Asher. You’re up early. I thought your suspension was over today.”

I lean down and press my cheek to her wrinkled one to give her a kiss. “It is. But I came to take care of your morning deliveries.”

“Aren’t you sweet? They haven’t come yet. Why don’t you get the coffee urn filled with water.” She points to the three-compartment sink where the urn has been filling with filtered water. I pick it up and carry it to the front of the bakery where I plug it in and add the fresh coffee grounds. I turn it on to brew, so people can self-serve when they come in for their morning pastry.

My mom unlocks the front door and stares at me in surprise. “Asher! I thought you were still home in bed. What are you doing here? You have school today, you know.“

“I couldn’t sleep. I came to see if I could be of use.”

My mom‘s concerned face softens into affection. “You are asweet boy.”

“You’re the only person on this planet who thinks I’m sweet,” I say with a grin.

Not true,” Mrs. Angelson calls from the back.

“All right, the two of you, then.” I walk into the kitchen, pick up a chocolate croissant from the tray she just pulled out of the oven, and take a giant bite. “Mmm. Delicious.”

Mrs. Angelson pokes me. “You just came here for breakfast, didn’t you?”

“Mmm. It’s absolutely perfect, Mrs. A.” The flaky pastry melts in my mouth, dark chocolate oozing over my tongue.

My mom comes into the kitchen and puts an apron on. She falls into work beside Mrs. A without being told what to do. “I can see it going either way with you,” she says, picking up the dropped thread of conversation.

“Oh, boy,” I mutter. She lectured me all weekend about the fight at school, and it seems she’s not done yet.

My mom doesn’t know I’m in a class taught by our nemesis Carlotta James. Which means she also doesn’t know she was the teacher responsible for getting me suspended. If she knew, she’d be even more upset, and I don’t like to upset my mom. She went through four years of depression after my dad left, even though he wasn’t a fated mate, and she’s barely recovered from it now.

“You have the capacity to be an alpha, but you won’t get your shot at leadership if you don’t straighten up, Asher. You can’t go around breaking wrists and smashing noses at school and expect anyone to think you’re alpha material. It takes more than big muscles and a deep growl to command respect. In fact, your size may work against you when it comes to this town. People are afraid of a big wolf who carries bitterness in his heart.”

Bitterness in my heart?It seems like a strange thing to say.

“Fates, Mom,” I mutter. “Isn't it a bit early in the morning for you to be lecturing me about the state of my heart?”

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