Page 65 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

Tomorrow. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.

23

MAGNOLIA

The walk back to my family’s house feels strange, like I’m stepping into a place I no longer fully belong. Everything looks the same—the golden light of the setting sun spilling over the yard, the soft creak of the porch steps—but I feel different. Changed. I left the den yesterday with a plan, certain of what I wanted to do. But I didn’t plan for everything that’s happened since.

I didn’t plan for Colt.

And I didn’t plan to mark him.

I can still feel him, even now—his tension, his stress, and beneath it all, his need to be close to me. It tugs at something primal in me, making me want to turn around and run back to him. But instead, I steel myself and push open the front door, knowing that what waits for me inside is going to be even harder to face.

The scent of fresh bread and chamomile greets me as I step into the kitchen, warm and familiar. My mom stands at the counter, kneading dough with her usual steady, practiced rhythm. She looks up when she hears the door, and her eyes meet mine. There’s no yelling, no sharp words—just the weight of her gaze, heavy with worry.

She says nothing.

And that’s how I know she’s upset. Really upset.

I clear my throat, stepping further into the room. The sound of my boots on the wood floor feels too loud in the quiet. “Hi, Mom,” I start, keeping my voice soft. “I’m sorry if I worried you. I didn’t mean to?—”

“You didn’t mean to,” she echoes, her tone quiet but firm. Her hands keep working the dough. “You didn’t mean to leave without telling anyone where you were going? You didn’t mean to spend the night outside the den without so much as a word?”

I wince. “I left a note,” I say, though the words feel weak even as they leave my mouth.

She exhales, her hands pausing on the dough. “Magnolia,” she says, her voice carrying more weight than volume. “You’ve never been reckless before. Never. Why now?”

I hesitate, my chest tightening under the pressure of her gaze. “It wasn’t reckless,” I say carefully. “I knew what I was doing.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Did you?” she asks, her eyes searching mine. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you went off with a man we barely know into a world that’s anything but safe.”

I square my shoulders and hold her gaze, even though every instinct in me wants to look away. “It wasn’t reckless,” I say again. “I was with Colt. He’s not?—”

“Not what, Magnolia?” she interrupts. “Not dangerous? Not a risk? You don’t even know him. You think a man like that just shows up at a den like ours for no reason?”

My jaw clenches. “He’s been helping us,” I argue. “He’s fixing the projector, he came to the classroom to help out, he hasn’t done anything to?—”

“Helping with a few odd jobs doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy,” she snaps, her hands gripping the edge of the counter now instead of the dough. “You don’t know what men like him are capable of. What they’ll take if you let them.”

Her voice cracks just slightly, and it stops me short. I blink at her, thrown by the raw edge of emotion in her words. “Mom,” I start carefully, “I’m not a kid. I can take care of myself.”

Her expression hardens, her mouth pressing into a thin line. “You don’t understand,” she says quietly. She shakes her head, her eyes narrowing as they meet mine again. “You don’t understand the danger out there. The kind of men who’d see someone like you and think they have the right to?—”

She cuts herself off, turning back to the counter like she can’t bear to look at me. Her hands tremble as she picks up the dough again, kneading it with a force that has nothing to do with baking.

“Someone like me?” I echo, my voice rising despite myself. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She whirls around to face me, her eyes blazing. “It means you’re an omega, Magnolia,” she says, her voice tight and trembling with barely contained emotion. “Do you have any idea what that means out there? Do you know what they’ll do to take you? To claim you?”

I take a step back, her words hitting me like a punch to the gut.

My mom’s chest rises and falls like she’s run a marathon, her hands gripping the counter so tightly her knuckles are ashen. I can see her trying to keep it together, to wrestle back whatever emotion is threatening to spill over, but it’s like watching someone struggle to hold a door shut against a storm.

She turns away from me abruptly, her back stiff as she faces the counter again. “I can’t…I can’t do this right now,” she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands move mechanically, pressing the dough into the counter as if she can knead her feelings into submission. “Bruce, talk to her.”

I didn’t even know he was down here, but I look over to see my dad standing in the doorway to the front hall, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression is guarded, but there’s a softness in his eyes that’s missing from my mom’s glare.

“Maggie,” he says gently. He pulls out a chair from the kitchen table and sits down, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Let’s talk.”

---