Page 77 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

“I said I was sorry!” I laughed, scooting back to be against the couch and his side. “Plus, you were the one who hugged me first!” I reminded him.

He shrugged. “True, and I don’t regret it.”

“It’s your letters,” I told him, opening it up and pulling them all out. “See?”

Our eyes met over the top of the papers, and for a moment, I was nine years old again, waiting at the window, watching for the mail to be delivered, or coming home and running down to the mailbox to yank it open and see if he’d replied to me yet. For a brief second, I was that little girl, sitting in her private bedroom, scratching out a quick P.S. in the middle of the night because I’d remembered something urgent I needed to tell him that couldn’t wait until morning.

I looked back to the papers and settled closer against him, nestling into his warmth and his strength. His arm came back around my waist, holding me securely, and my head leaned on his chest as I read the first one out loud, with my music box playing in the background like a soundtrack to a movie.

“‘Dear pen pal,

Hello.

My name is Wesley. I am twelve years old, and I am in sixth grade at Crescent Lake Elementary in Northern California.

I’ll be honest, I am only writing this letter because my teacher said we have to. She said if we don’t, we’ll get an F—’”

“Let’s skip that one,” Wesley grumbled, grabbing it out of my hand and tossing it behind the couch. “Fuck, Haven, why did you even keep that one?” he groaned, leaning his head back and rubbing his hand over his face.

“For proof.”

“Proof of what?” he mumbled into his hand.

“That assholes can turn out to be nice guys sometimes,” I said, getting up and grabbing the paper from the floor behind us. “And because of this.”

I turned it over and handed it to him, showing him my original response. The one I wrote in the heat of the moment, the one I never sent to him.

The one where I called him a big, ugly, meanie.

His eyes scanned over the words written in red crayon, his lips pursing as he held in a laugh. “Big, ugly meanie, huh?” I nodded, and he shook his head and handed the letter back to me. “You should have sent me that one. Not that your other response wasn’t effective. This one just hits differently.”

I put the letter back in the folder and tossed it on the coffee table as I sat back down next to him. “I didn’t want to get in trouble. Troublemakers got moved around more often. I was just starting to feel at home with Jack and Shirley, and I was afraid of losing that.”

“Why didn’t you tell them? About your adopted parents flaking on you? Or any of the other things you told me about?” Wesley asked.

I curled my legs up into my body as I thought about my response. I was so close to telling them, to spilling everything to Jack and Shirley, but at the last second, I changed my mind. Instead of being honest, I opted to tell a little white lie, not mentioning the actual reason I had those extra tickets.

They probably knew I was lying, but it didn’t matter. The point was to keep it from them. I didn’t want them to find out.

“I was protecting them,” I admitted as I looked up at him.

His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. His breathing deepened, and I felt his heart pounding faster. He held me more firmly as he growled out, “Haven—“

“Not Matthew and Melissa,” I said, bringing my hand up to his heaving chest.

We both glanced down at where I touched him, where underneath my palm, his heart rate returned to normal, and his breathing slowed, just as it had in my dressing room earlier. His hand came up to cover mine, keeping it in place over his heart, his thumb stroking small circles into my skin.

“I couldn’t care less about protecting them. I’m not giving any more energy to them. They’re not worth it. But, Jack and Shirley,” I clarified, looking back into his eyes, watching as his darkened, almost black gaze returned to his normal chocolate brown. “I know… I’m sure they already feel—“ I pressed my lips together and gripped his shirt in my hand. “They don’t need to know…”

I shook my head. The words I tried to say to him wouldn’t come out. I just hoped he would understand what I was trying to say. That I didn’t need to add to the guilt I knew they already felt for how everything happened.

He pulled me closer to his body, letting go of my hand so both arms held me. I pressed my forehead into his chest to hide the glistening in my eyes.

I knew we needed to talk about it. Jack and Shirley and me. And Scott. I knew that needed to happen at some point. But I wasn’t ready yet. I wasn’t ready to open up those old wounds. I wasn’t ready to confront those emotions or deal with any of that. I was content just being happy and reconnecting with them. It would happen eventually, when I was ready.

His hands rubbed my back, and he held me, waiting for me to speak again, and my cheeks heated as I realized how often this seemed to happen when I talked with him.

“I’m sorry!” I groaned into his shirt. “This is ridiculous. It seems like every time we’re together, I end up confessing something super emotional to you, and you end up comforting me when I’m crying.”

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