Page 10 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

I didn’t have the time for perfection. I needed to get the words that were in my head onto a piece of paper before I forgot them. This wasn’t the time for perfection. This was the time for honesty, for messy and chaotic, and all the things I was on the inside.

When the letter was done, I stretched my arms above my head, wiggling my fingers to release the tension from writing so furiously for so long. Then I climbed out of my chair, leaving my room and heading downstairs to the kitchen for dinner.

It was a Thursday, and on Thursdays, we ate in the kitchen at the counter, and we always had pizza. Most people had pizza on Fridays, but Jack insisted Thursday was the better pizza day, because since everyone else did it on Fridays, it was less busy at the pizzeria on Thursdays. So, we would get our pizza faster, and it would be better quality. I did not know if there was any truth in his theory, but I enjoyed our Thursday night pizza nights and looked forward to them every week.

I grabbed two slices of pizza—one veggie and one ham and pineapple—and took my spot on the middle bar stool, in between Jack and Shirley. I made sure to put my square plate so it sat within the perimeter of four of the square tiles on the countertop, just as I always did when I eat at the counter.

I didn’t pay attention to Jack and Shirley’s conversation, my mind still back in my room, thinking about the letter sitting on my desk, waiting to be put into an envelope, stamped, and sent off into the world. But in order to do that, I needed to ask for help.

I looked between Jack and Shirley, observing the people who had made me feel more at home than anyone else ever had. They had shown me more love and care in one year than I had ever felt in the rest of my years combined. If I could give Wesley, a boy who accidentally hurt me, a second chance, shouldn’t I be able to give two people who had only ever tried to help me a first chance?

I cleared my throat, sitting a little straighter on my stool, readying myself. “Um… Mom? Dad? I need to mail a letter,” I said.

I’d never understood the saying “silence is louder than words” until I let those two words slip out of my mouth. Both of them froze mid-action, their eyes wide and glistening. Jack—Dad—swallowed thickly. His gentle green eyes with the small wrinkles at the corner met Shirley’s—Mom’s—over the top of my head.

He blinked a few times, his surprise clear on his face, before he spoke to me, his hand covering mine on the counter. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, sweetie. Whatever you need.”

He smiled at me, his face a mix of hope and joy, and when I looked at Mom, she wore a matching expression, although she had a few small tears escaping her blue eyes.

She said nothing, though. She just tucked a stray hair behind my ear, then slipped around the island into the kitchen, opening the freezer and taking out a tub of my favorite chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

She didn’t need words to tell me how she felt. I could see it in her actions, and in the way she kept looking over at me, her warm gaze putting another crack in the crumbling walls around my heart.

CHAPTER 5

DearWesley,

I already told you in my first letter to you that I forgive you. I know you didn’t mean what you said, and I know you didn’t mean to hurt me or whoever got your letter. I know you’re just a kid.

Shirley, my foster mom, always says it’s not about the mistakes that you make, but whether you learn from those mistakes. It’s about what you do next. That’s what is important. That’s what makes you a good person or not.

I am willing to give you a second chance. I need a friend. Like I told you before, I don’t really have many friends. I’ve moved homes too many times. My social worker says I shut people out too easily to make many friends. So, you’ll be my first one.

All right. Since we’re making this a fresh start, I’ll go first. Starting over. Pretend we’ve never met. Or written.

Hi. I’m Haven Kenway. No middle name. That was the name stitched on the blanket wrapped around me when they found me in front of a fire station when I was only a few days old.

I’ve never met my birth parents. I don’t even know if they are alive anymore, or what their names are, or anything about them. The social workers were never able to find any information about either of them. I’m the most confusing case of an abandoned baby they’ve ever had.

I am a foster child. I’ve lived in nine different homes since I was a baby. The family I live with right now is the best family I’ve been with in my life, and I hope I stay here longer than my current record for staying in one home, which is one and a half years.

I remember in your letter you mentioned a brother, Sebastian. Is he older or younger? Do you have any other siblings? What’s it like to have a brother? Or a sister, if you have one?

I have no siblings. Well, that I know of, anyway. I guess, my foster parents have two children, but they are both grown and moved out of the house. I’ve met them several times, though, and they’re both really nice people.

I guess, also, I’ve had siblings in my previous foster homes, but most of the time they were much younger or much older than me, and with how often I moved families, I never really had much time to form any sort of bond with them.

I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel sorry for me. I know my life is different and maybe even weird to someone who has grown up in one home with a complete family. But this is my normal. This is what I’m used to.

I’ll admit, though, that I really hope I don’t have to leave Jack and Shirley soon. Those are the names of my foster parents, if you couldn’t figure that out. It’s really nice being the only foster kid in their home. This is the first time that’s happened.

Jack and Shirley are really kind people. They take great care of me, and not just by doing the minimum. They definitely go above and beyond with what they do for me. They even told me I could call them “Mom” and “Dad,” but I haven’t done that yet.

I think I’m afraid of doing that and then being taken or sent away to another family. I know they say they don’t want or plan to stop being my foster parents, but nothing is ever set in stone. Anything can change that plan.

All right, that is enough about me and my life. I want to know about you.

When is your birthday? What is your favorite color? Favorite animal? Favorite food? Favorite sport or hobby? Tell me everything, please!

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