Page 36 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
“Then we respect that choice and support her however she’ll let us.” I climbed into my truck, already planning the specialized teas and oils I’d prepare for her continued recovery. “But something tells me she’s ready to stop carrying all this alone.”
Just as I was about to start the engine, my phone buzzed with a text from Willa.
Would you both mind staying a bit longer? I could use the distraction from feeling terrible.
I looked at Wes, who was checking his own phone. “She wants us to stay,” he said, sounding surprised but pleased.
“Good,” I said, getting back out of my truck. “She needs the support, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.”
We found Willa back on her couch, looking slightly better than when we’d left. The scent cloth was still pressed to her face, and some of the worst tension had eased from her shoulders.
“I’m sorry. I feel like I’m being a bit ridiculous. Thank you for coming back,” she said quietly. “I know you both have other things to do, but sitting here alone with my thoughts wasn’t helping.”
“Of course,” I said, settling back into the chair I’d occupied earlier. Wes took a seat on the other end of the couch, careful to maintain distance while still being present.
“I keep thinking about what you said,” Willa continued, looking at me. “About suppressants dampening other omega instincts, not just heat cycles.”
“What specifically?” I asked gently.
“I went to an omega arts night last week. Kit invited me.” She glanced between us, as if checking our reactions. “It was the first time I’d been in a creative space with other omegas in over a year.”
“How did that feel?” Wes asked.
“Terrifying. And wonderful. And like I’d been holding my breath without realizing it.” She adjusted the scent cloth, breathing deeply. “I told them a little about my background. About what I used to do before I moved here.”
“What kind of work?” I asked, though I kept my tone casual, not wanting to pressure her.
Willa was quiet for a long moment, clearly debating how much to share. “Wildlife photography. Professional conservation work. I used to travel documenting endangered species, habitat restoration projects, research initiatives. Work that actually mattered for environmental protection.”
I saw Wes go very still beside her. Wildlife photography was right in his wheelhouse, something he’d understand and value in ways most people wouldn’t.
“That sounds incredible,” he said carefully. “And important work.”
“It was,” Willa said, and I could hear both pride and pain in her voice. “Until my ex-alpha decided it was too unpredictable, too time-consuming. He wanted me to focus on ‘practical’ photography. Pack portraits, corporate events, things with guaranteed income that kept me close to home.”
Sterling. I watched the way her jaw tightened when she mentioned her ex. He took something she loved and convinced her it was selfish.
“How long had you been doing wildlife photography?” Wes asked.
“Five years professionally. Since I graduated college.” Willa’s fingers tightened on the scent cloth. “I had clients, regular assignments, relationships with research organizations. I was good at it.”
“I’m sure you were,” I said gently. “That kind of work requires incredible patience and skill.”
“Sterling used to say it was self-indulgent. That real omegas create things that serve their pack, not art that nobody wants to see.” Her voice got smaller. “By the time I left him, I couldn’t even look at a camera without hearing his voice telling me I was wasting everyone’s time.”
The pain in her voice made my alpha instincts flare with protective anger. Whatever else Sterling had done to hurt her, convincing her to abandon work she loved and was skilled at felt particularly cruel.
“Sterling was wrong,” Wes said firmly. “Conservation photography serves something much bigger than any individual pack. It serves entire ecosystems.”
Willa looked at him with surprise, like she hadn’t expected him to understand the significance of her work.
“You think so?” she asked.
“I know so. I’ve seen what good environmental photography can do for conservation efforts. The way the right image can make people care about protecting habitat they’ve never seen, species they didn’t know existed.” Wes leaned forward slightly. “Your work wasn’t selfish. It was essential.”
I watched Willa process his words, saw something tight in her expression begin to ease.
“At the arts night,” she continued, “Kit asked if I’d ever consider picking up a camera again. I said I didn’t know if I remembered how.”
