Page 92 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

Keeping her hands behind her back, she tilted her face up to me. I lowered mine to hers, but instead of kissing her, I murmured, “What’s in the envelope?”

“A letter,” she replied, her warm breath fanning my lips and making my dick twitch in my jeans.

“To whom?”

“My pen pal,” she teased.

“He must be a special guy,” I chuckled, my lycan preening as her body gave a little shudder at the deep sound.

“He’s all right,” she said breathlessly.

Her eyes fluttered down to my lips, and I decided to put both of us out of our misery and closed the last bit of distance between us.

The sweet taste of her mouth sent my lycan into a frenzy, urging me to put my hands on her and turn her so her back was up against my truck.

Throwing caution to the wind, I did just that, using the distraction to slip that envelope out of her hands. A gasp left her mouth as her back hit the truck, and I caged her in with my arms, my body covering hers and blocking her from the view of any passers-by.

My lips pressed to hers one more time, then I pulled the envelope between us, opening it and reading it while still keeping her trapped between my body and my truck.

To My Pal,

Eleven and a half years have passed since our last letters to each other, and yet, somehow, at times, it feels like no time has passed at all. I can still remember how I would feel checking my mailbox for an envelope with your handwriting, how my heart would leap inside my chest when I would see my name scrawled across the front and the return address from California. I can still remember the excitement of dropping my purple envelopes off at the post office or in our mailbox, knowing that in a few days you would be opening it, reading it, and writing back to me.

Who’d have thought that all these years later we’d be more than just pen pals?

Well, apparently Jack did, but we’ll pretend for the sake of this moment that he didn’t.

When I read the letters you wrote to me while Jack was in the hospital and you didn’t know if I was okay or mad at you, I think a part of me already knew that you were not the one to blame for our abrupt halt in communication. And then, after talking to Melissa, I knew something fishy was going on, and I should give you a chance.

But I was being stubborn. I had blamed you for so long, had made you out to be this big, bad guy. The villain. And I didn’t want to let that go. I didn’t want to change the narrative.

I would have forgiven you, even without Sebastian doing what he did. But it would have taken longer. I won’t lie about that. So, I guess we should probably thank Sebastian someday. Eventually. Maybe in a few years, so his head doesn’t get TOO big.

What I wanted to do with this letter was answer your spring break letter as if I was still nine-year-old Haven. But I can’t. It’s too hard for me to go back to that time, that moment, those weeks when Jack was sick, and after, when they took me away and threw me into a new family just as I had finally accepted Jack and Shirley as my parents.

So, instead, I’m just going to answer them as now me. I figured you wouldn’t mind.

I don’t get a spring break anymore. However, we do have layoffs occasionally between runs. That’s when we have a week or two with no rehearsals or classes or anything. But we still have to do training on our own to stay in top condition and keep our technique.

Camping at the beach sounds amazing. I’ve never been camping, as Melissa and Matt didn’t really like to leave Salt Lake unless absolutely necessary, and I’ve also never been to the beach.

Your town’s spring festival sounds fun. Do you still do that? I hope you do because I would love to attend it with you.

Okay, this letter is getting way longer than I intended. I am going to wrap it up now because I know I’m going to be seeing or actually talking to you soon, anyway.

All my best,

Twinkle Toes

I had to fight back against the tightness in my chest as I finished the letter. The wave of nostalgia that hit me while reading was unexpected and overwhelming. I remembered the same anticipation of waiting for her letters, the same problem of remembering something important I needed to tell her and rushing to get it into my most recent letter before I sent it off.

But there was one thing in the letter that stuck out to me even more. “Wait, you’ve never been to the beach?” I asked, my brow wrinkling as I stepped back from her body in shock.

“Really? That whole letter and that’s what you take away from it?” she asked with a scoff, putting her hands on her hips.

“But have you really never been to the beach?” I repeated.

“No, never.” She shrugged, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her sweater and crossing her arms. “You forget I’m from Colorado, and then I lived in Salt Lake. Other than going to NYC for the Youth America Grand Prix, I’ve never even seen the ocean.”

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