Page 72 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

My tears fell unbidden as he held me. I had spent the last almost twelve years reteaching myself to not cry or to at least hold it back until I was alone. But with him, it seemed all that went out the window. I couldn’t hide my true emotions from him. And part of me didn’t want to.

“What happened?” Wesley asked, his chin resting on the top of my head.

I nodded towards my phone on the counter, my throat too tight to speak. He loosened one arm from me to grab it, then handed it to me and wrapped me up again.

His thumb rubbed my arm as I unlocked the phone and handed it to him so he could read the message. I watched his face in the mirror as he read, his brow furrowing with each passing moment. His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened with his rising ire.

He tossed the phone onto my bag with a noise that was almost a growl. He moved in front of me, and his hands came to my face, tilting my head up towards him as he wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs, and I crossed my arms over my stomach, squeezing myself tight.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” I said in a scratchy voice. “After everything I’ve realized over the last week, it shouldn’t even surprise me or upset me or anything, but—“

“You’re grieving,” he said, stepping as close as my tutu would allow, his brown eyes looking down at me with warmth. “You’ve lost the family you convinced yourself you had and have realized you can’t trust the two people you should trust the most. Of course, you’re hurt and upset. I don’t expect you to get over something like that so quickly,” he murmured, then leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Don’t ever feel bad about crying in front of me. It’s not a weakness,” he added, his lips brushing against my skin.

I nodded at his words. The way he understood my fears, doubts, and insecurities, how he could ease my mind with just his words and his presence and his compassion, was more than I could have ever expected from him.

“It sucks,” I admitted to him, as fresh tears fell out of my eyes. “It’s like they don’t even understand how important this is to me. Or maybe they do, but they just don’t care. I don’t know. I just—I keep wondering why…” I stopped and took in a breath, trying to calm myself and keep my voice from getting hysterical. “Never mind,” I said, shaking my head.

“Why they even adopted you?” Wesley asked, pulling back to look at me in the eyes.

My breath shook, and I nodded, blinking rapidly.

“Do you want me to call them?” he asked, his voice strained and his eyes lit with anger and the promise of defending me. “I can call them and give them a piece of my mind, and—“

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not worth it. They’re not worth it. I need to just cut them out of my life, and this is the perfect time to start that.”

He narrowed his eyes, then gave a reluctant nod. I leaned forward and rested my cheek against his chest, our eyes meeting in the mirror as I continued talking.

“So, now I have these tickets to the premiere on Friday. And I don’t know what to do with them. I’d give them to you, but I know you already bought some. And I don’t want to give them back to the box office because I’d rather give them to someone I know.”

He nodded as he listened to me babble, his gaze turning inwards and thoughtful.

“I have an idea,” he said after a few minutes.

“Yeah?” I asked, brightening a bit.

“Yes,” he said with a small smile. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Definitely. I just need to change,” I said, leaning back and gesturing at my costume.

“I’ll wait outside your door,” he said, then placed another kiss on my forehead before turning to leave.

I stood from the stool, wiped my tears from my face, and then froze. “Um… Wes?” I asked, swallowing as he turned around. “I can’t—I can’t get this off by myself—“

I gestured towards the back of the bodice, where there was a line of about twenty hooks and eyes that I could not undo without help.

“You want me to—?” he asked.

I nodded, and he inhaled, then walked back over to me.

His large hands worked with surprising gentleness as he undid each fastening, taking his time so he didn’t ruin the costume.

I held the front of the bodice to my chest as his hands moved down my back, his fingertips occasionally brushing against my skin. And I don’t think any of the touches were accidental.

“How do you get it on?” Wesley asked.

“I have a dresser,” I said.

His hands stilled on my back, and I felt him tense up a bit. Then his hands started moving again. “Male or female?”

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