Page 71 of The Alpha's Broken Oath

“Deacon? It wasn't him. He couldn't have started the fire.”

“You are defending him?”

Aggression leaks into Jake's voice, and I cover my wobbling lips, pressing back the sob of surprise.

“No. He couldn't have started the fire because he was with me that night! He was with me, Jake. He was your best friend. He would never—”

“Never do what, Winter? Stay with you in the woods so he could have an alibi? Have enough power to send people to our house to torch us up?”

It doesn't make sense. Deacon is a lot of things, but I saw the surprise in his face that night when I found my parents murdered.

“Why? Why would he…if he did what you are accusing him of? Why would he do that?”

Jake runs his hand in his hair, chuckling like crazy before his dead, cold eyes find mine.

“Did he tell you he found out you were his mate first? Did he tell you he wanted you to be his as soon as you turned eighteen, but Mom and Dad refused, saying you needed to find love on your own? I also warned him to never lay a finger on you. Being the Alpha's son by then, I guess he took me, Mom, and Dad as threats. He tried to eliminate us to get you for himself.”

That doesn't make any sense at all.

I want to hate Deacon. I want to blame him for everything wrong that has happened in my life. But this? This doesn't sound like him.

“Jake, I don't—”

Jacob steps forward, the space between us being as narrow as a thread. To another person, he would be scary. To me he is the same brother who taught me how to climb a tree, ride a bike, and everything I needed to know about my future wolf.

“Seven years later, and you still put Deacon Cross on a pedestal, Winter. You don't believe me? Ask him. Go to him and ask him what happened that night. If your so-called mate fails to look you in the eye when he tells you his version of the truth, you'll know he is lying. Then, you'll know the father of your kids is nothing more than a killer.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DEACON

She left a white piece of paper on my desk, drawing the proverbial line in the sand on where we stood.

I didn't sign the damn resignation letter because this wasn't the end for us.

There never will be an end to us, not while I still live and breathe.

The skyscrapers in Bracken City dazzle in a dramatic abstract of neon from where I'm standing.

Looking at the city from behind my glass wall makes me want to smash another glass of scotch against the floor.

This city was supposed to bring me and Winter together. It was supposed to pave the way for the happiness I never allowed myself to have when it came to my mate, but instead, it's done nothing but drive a bigger wedge between Winter and me.

I take a chug of the scotch from the glass in my hand, the burn that scratches my throat doing nothing in quenching and filling that pit inside my chest that bottoms out all the way to my gut.

I hold the glass in one hand and my phone in the other.

Breathing out a resigned and somewhat hopeful sigh, I repeat the same fucking drill I've been doing since Winter Cavanaugh and my boys walked out of my life without so much as a backward glance.

I dial her number.

With bated breath and the instant hammering of my heart against my ribs, I wait for her to pick up.

I wait to hear her voice as the sound of her phone ringing from the other side echoes in my empty apartment.

I've called her almost ten times, and somehow, longing and desperation have me thinking that maybe she'll pick up the phone this time around. Maybe she'll hear me out. Maybe she'll finally pick up the phone and call me a bastard, and I'll be here to take the brunt of her words, grateful she’s even speaking to me.

You have to pick up the phone, baby.

---