Page 11 of The Alpha's Grave Secrets

We were only kids, but he knew how to be there—how to sit with me silently and how to stay there even when it seemed like I didn’t want him to.

“Damn!” Ezra cusses as he clatters to the ground with a heavy thud; glass shatters, and a handful of batteries skitter across the wood floor.

In the darkened room, I watch Ezra sigh heavily, pushing himself up to his feet, careful to avoid shards of glass from the broken face of the clock he’d tripped over. He glances at me, disappointment written across his face, before he walks to the windows and pulls all the curtains open.

I pull the throw blanket on the couch over my eyes as the late afternoon light floods the room, burning my eyes.

“Elara, honey,” he sinks into the sofa cushion beside me. “Maybe it’s time for you to see a professional.”

It’s only been a few weeks since the worst experience of my life, and he’s already ready to send me off to be someone else’s problem. I don’t even want to humor the idea, so I keep my mouth shut tight.

“I’m not trying to offend you. It’s just,” he sighs again, “you know how much help you’ve been to others. Maybe it’s time for someone else to be that help to you. You can’t do everything on your own all the time. There is no shame in asking for help.”

I know there isn’t hell, but I preach that to my clients constantly.Still, my stomach twists, and I roll my eyes from under the blanket. A part of me wants to clap a hand over Ezra’s mouth to shut him up.

After a moment of silence between us, I finally croak out, “I already know what they will say.”

“If you don’t talk to me about what happened to you, you need to talk to someone. You can’t go on living like this—or not living like this. You need help!” His irritation mingled with desperation. I could feel his gaze on me burning a hole through the blanket, but I refused to look at him.

Burrowing further into the cushion, I carefully turned my back to him while keeping the blanket fixed over my head. He sits with me in silence for another minute before standing up and heading back into the kitchen.

It isn’t long before aromatic onion, garlic, and the scent of sizzling olive oil drift into the living room. My stomach churns, and I swallow back saliva along with the urge to vomit.

How much time has passed before Ezra enters the living room and sets a bowl of food beside me on the coffee table before he heads back to the kitchen to sit at the breakfast bar and eat alone? I don’t know.

A routine we’ve fallen into over the past few days. I might not even have a therapy practice after this, how long will it take for my clients to decide they can’t wait for me and find another permanent therapist? I don’t know.

I can’t help but think about how different things would be now if it were Kato here with me instead of Ezra.

Kato would never let me disappear into myself like this. He’d know exactly how to bring me out from under the blanket in time. He wouldn’t eat alone in the kitchen.I hate myself for the thought, but even my self-loathing can’t make it any less true.

Still, I know Ezra is right. I should talk to someone. He’s my boyfriend; we live together, for Goddess’s sake. I should be able to speak to him, but I can’t.

I don’t even want to.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to breathe under the blanket. My face is slick with sweat, and pieces of frizzy, unwashed hair cling to my cheekbones. Still, I don’t dare pull my head out from under the blanket.

Hours later, when I hear Ezra stalk upstairs and begin his nighttime routine, I pull the blanket off my head. He showers, brushes his teeth, and wears his striped cotton pajamas. The same thing every night.

The hallway light glows dimly, lighting up the living room from behind me. He does this every night, hoping that I’ll eventually find my way back up to bed and lay down beside him. We both know I won’t be doing that.

I must have dozed off for a while because I didn’t hear Ezra cleaning up the broken clock and scattered batteries, but they are gone now. The curtains have been drawn shut once again, and my untouched dinner has been removed from the coffee table.

I am the absolute worst. I can’t go on like this. Life won’t go on like this without inevitably crumbling down around me.I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I need to stop shoving the memories of what happened to me away and pretending that nothing happened.

As I often tell my patients,the only way out is through.It’s time for me to stop hiding under this blanket and remember everything. Then I can talk to someone and have a reason to talk to him… Kato.

Chapter 7

Kato

‘Nothing Here’ is undoubtedly in a nondescript building that, from the outside, looks more like the entrance to an office park than a bar. If it wasn’t for the raucous laughter and folks teetering side to side, faces hidden by thick puffs of smoke, that’s exactly what I’d think it was. The sign above the door is even sprawled out in graffiti, which could be easily missed by the undiscerning eye.

Inside, however, is a whole other ball game. This place is excellent. When this case is said and done, I might find myself here drinking away thoughts of Elara. She’s been quiet lately on her end of the bond. I want to check on her, but I don’t want to overstep her boundaries. After all, she didn’t choose me, and it was only by dumb luck that she was forced to be around me again.

What if it wasn’t dumb luck? What if it was something more?

I shake the thoughts out of my head. There’s no time for this right now. Leafing through the stack of photos in my hands, I take a deep breath and glance around. The others are already fanned out across the bar, chatting up patrons, everyone except for Callie.

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