Page 30 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

Mom’s lips press into a thin line, the silence that follows heavy and suffocating. She shakes her head as if shaking off the thought entirely, but I can see the way her hand trembles slightly where it grips her arm. “Just…listen to me,” she says finally. “You can’t trust men like him. Not with this. Not with you.”

“Men like him?” I echo, frustration bleeding into my tone. “What does that even mean? He’s been here a week, Mom. A week. You don’t even know him.”

She doesn’t respond, her eyes darting to Dad as if searching for backup, for him to step in and explain what she won’t. But Dad just lets out a long breath, his shoulders sagging as he rubs a hand over his face.

“Don’t look at me, Sarita,” he says, his tone quiet but firm. “You’re the one who decided she shouldn’t know.”

“I decided?” she snaps, rounding on him. “We decided, Bruce. Together. Don’t put this on me.”

“I’m not putting it on you,” Dad says. “But she’s not a kid anymore. Maybe it’s time?—”

“No,” Mom cuts him off. “It’s not time. It might never be time.”

My pulse quickens, a cold sort of dread curling in my gut. They’re talking about me like I’m not even here, like I don’t have a right to know what they’re hiding. “Time for what?” I demand, my voice rising. “What are you talking about?”

Mom doesn’t look at me. Her eyes are locked on Dad’s, a silent battle waging between them. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “She’s going to find out eventually,” he says quietly. “You know she will.”

“Not like this,” Mom replies, her voice barely above a whisper now. “Not because of someone like him.”

My head spins, trying to keep up with a conversation I clearly wasn’t meant to be privy to. “What does that even mean?” I ask, my voice barely audible. “What are you talking about?”

Mom looks at me then, fear clear on her face. “It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly, too quickly. “What matters is that you listen to me. Stay away from him, Maggie. Please.”

I stare at her, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “I’m not a child,” I say, my voice shaking. “If there’s something I need to know, then tell me. Stop treating me like I can’t handle it.”

Mom’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t say anything. Dad shifts in his seat, his eyes meeting mine briefly before sliding away, like he can’t hold my gaze. “It’s complicated,” he says after a moment. “It’s not something we can just…explain.”

“You could try,” I say, my frustration boiling over. “You could at least try instead of talking around me like I’m not even here.”

“We’re not talking around you,” Mom says, but her voice is strained, like she knows it’s a lie.

“Yes, you are!” I snap, the words bursting out of me. “You’re talking about things I have a right to know, and you’re deciding for me that I don’t need to hear it. That’s not fair.”

Mom’s face softens, but there’s still a stubborn set to her jaw. “Maggie,” she says gently, “there are things you don’t understand. Things I don’t want you to have to understand. Can’t you just trust me on this?”

“No,” I say. “Not if you won’t give me a reason to.”

The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of their unspoken words pressing down on me like a vice. Finally, Mom steps back, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Go to bed,” she says quietly. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

I hesitate, my eyes darting between the two of them, but it’s clear I’m not going to get anything else tonight. With a frustrated sigh, I turn and head for the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest.

As I climb to my room, their voices carry up the staircase, too quiet for me to make out the words. But the tone—the raw emotion in Mom’s voice, the quiet steadiness in Dad’s—rattles me.

I can’t hear them. Not really.

As soon as I close my bedroom door, the weight of the conversation with my parents crushes down on me. The muted sound of their voices still drifts up from downstairs, indistinct but heavy with emotion. My parents never fight; I hate myself for making them do that, even though I know I didn’t do anything wrong…that I’m an adult, that they can’t control me. I lean against the door, my forehead pressing into the cool wood, and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block it all out.

But I can’t.

The guilt in my mom’s eyes, the frustration in my dad’s voice—it’s all looping in my head, tangling with the restless energy already simmering in my body. None of it makes sense. They’re hiding something, something big. I know it.

And yet, they won’t tell me, won’t trust me enough to share whatever secret they’re so desperate to keep.

I didn’t even know my parents had any secrets.

That hurts somewhere deep.

The frustration bubbles up again, and I push off the door, pacing to my bed in a few quick steps. I sit down heavily, my hands gripping the edge of the mattress as I try to calm the whirlwind of emotions spinning inside me. But the harder I try to focus, to breathe, the more my thoughts drift back to him.

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