Page 129 of The Beta's Blind Date

Mine.

I glance around at my garden—our garden—looking between the two beds framing the birdbath, the two beds filled with peony bushes. “I was thinking,” I say, nodding towards the second peony bed, “maybe we could add something in here for your parents, too? Some flowers, or maybe some type of fruit tree…? Whatever you want, and we can nurture it together.”

“I would love that,” she says, pulling her head back to look at me. “It could be a space for our family. Together.”

“Together,” I agree, nodding. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.”

My mouth slants over hers, and her hands fist into my shirt, pulling me closer as we kiss. We mold against each other, a perfect fit, our lips moving in unison as well as our hearts. Every brush of her lips against mine, every time she opens herself up to me and pulls me closer instead of pushing me away, encourages me, tells me I’m on the right path. That our future together is a possibility.

“Did you have anything special planned for us today?” Taryn asks as we break apart, both of us gasping for air.

“I had some ideas, but they can wait for another day if you’re not feeling up to anything crazy.”

“Would you mind if we stayed in today?”

“Netflix and chill?” I ask, winking. She rolls her eyes but cracks a smile. “Kidding, kidding,” I say, kissing her forehead. “But yes, we can do a ‘staycation’ kind of day if that’s what you want.”

She nods and swallows. “I was actually hoping we could talk?”

She holds my gaze, her dark eyes glistening, a mixture of fear and hope. My throat tightens, my heart clenches, and my stomach drops. “Okay,” I say, blowing out a breath. “But I need some more clothes,” I add, hoping if she hears I’m making plans to stay with her after we talk, it will ease her anxiety. “Will you come with me to my apartment so I can grab some?”

“Sure,” she murmurs, taking my hand again.

I grasp her hand with all my might as we walk back to the packhouse, my teeth clenched and my stomach churning. I’m hesitant to take her into my apartment, not knowing how my dad will be when we arrive, but the thought of separating from her for even a second sounds worse than pouring lemon juice on a paper cut. Plus, she needs to know. She needs to know everything about me if I expect her to trust me, too.

When we reach the door of my apartment on the third floor, I stop with my hand on the doorknob, bracing myself, my eyes closing. Taryn rubs my forearm with her free hand, pushing love and confidence to me through the bond, her actions and presence saying more than words could at this moment.

The door swings open, and the stench of alcohol hits us, watering my eyes and burning my nose hairs. I freeze in the entry, my eyes locked on the bottles and cans littering the living area of the apartment, my dad sprawled across the couch like he was the night of my date with Taryn.

She walks straight into me, then pokes her head around my torso. Her eyes widen as she takes in the room, observing the empty bottles and my passed-out dad. Liquid rims her eyes as she turns to look at me, at my stiff and rigid body. Indecision wars within me as I push back my automatic reaction, the response ingrained within me from years of being the parent to my parent.

My teeth grind together and I tear myself away, barreling down the hall towards my room and shoving the door open. I don’t have time for this. For too many years, I’ve put him before me, put his image before my needs. But I have a mate now, and finding her opened my eyes to how much damage he did to my mental and emotional health, as unintentional as it was.

I yank a backpack off the hook on my door and stomp to my closet, standing in front of it, looking inside without seeing anything. The clothing in front of me ripples and warps as water fills my eyes, and my shoulders heave as I try to breathe.

Breathe. Just breathe. In and out. Inhale and exhale.

Long, lithe arms come around my torso, her palms sliding up to rest on my chest, her cheek pressing into my back, and I crumble, my hands gripping the edge of my dresser in the closet, my chin falling to my chest as a tear falls from my eyes.

She holds me, hugging me, her presence the emotional anchor I’ve been missing all these years. No pity, no judgment—just pure and undiluted acceptance, understanding, and love flows to me through her, warm and soothing, like a campfire on a chilly night in the forest or warm fuzzy socks after playing in the snow all day.

“Is he always like this?” she asks.

“No,” I choke out, shaking my head. “But when he isn’t, he has no memory of being like this.”

“Does anyone know?”

“No,” I say again. “I’ve never… I’ve never told anyone. They know he struggles, and Alpha Harrison and Luna Emily have on more than one occasion fed and clothed me on nights when my dad was too drunk to parent me, but even as a kid I played it off as wanting to spend more time with my best friend.”

“Why haven’t you ever told anyone?”

“He would have lost his position. And he loved being the beta. And he was good at it and a good father when he wasn’t—”

“Drunk off his ass and passed out on the couch?” I sigh, and she kisses my spine. “Sorry. I know that is harsh but—”

“No, you’re right.”

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