Page 24 of Fighting the Alpha

He grins, wide and real and beautiful. “Yes, Dylan. That is exactly what I want.”

Epilogue: Dylan

One year later, Saint-Breignac

“Why is everyone here so small?” I ask, leaning in close to Levi and dropping my voice so no passersby can hear me. Even though we're in France, I have the sneaking suspicion everyone understands me while I understand absolutely nobody, and it's setting me on edge.

I’d rather not offend anyone before I’ve even put my bags down.

“They are not small, you are just huge,” Levi says back, munching on some kind of sticky pastry. He insisted on buying me one too when we stopped off in the small bakery outside the airport, but my queasiness from the flight, then the train, then the bus, still hasn’t worn off. So he’s currently halfway through mine.

I learned pretty early on into our relationship that Levi has an insatiable sweet tooth; the post-rut cheesecake should have been my first clue. The first time he told me he loved me was when I brought an enormous snickerdoodle back to his apartment one evening; he’d dropped the three words in typical Levi style, letting me deal with the emotional fallout while he stuffed his face with the cookie and stared at me smugly, like his telling me he was in love with me was the most obvious thing in the world.

I suppose, in hindsight, it sort of was. We’d barely spent a day apart since he started training at The Foundry, and just a few days before the snickerdoodle incident, he’d threatened to knock out a YouTuber who called me a pussy. Which, for Levi, is practically a love letter.

Our bags clatter on the cobbles that run down the high street, and I nearly trip over my feet more than once because I’m squinting against the warm sun at the old, heat-weathered stone buildings and the ocean glittering on the horizon. It’s not a flashy place, but it’s quietly beautiful, the opposite of the backdrop of skyscrapers and concrete that I grew up in.

“Look where you’re going,mon loup,” Levi grumbles through a mouthful of pastry. “Please don’t kill yourself before we get tomamon’s.”

Which is the other reason for my nausea: this is the first time I’m meeting Levi’s mom, Sylvie. By all accounts, she sounds wonderful, but we don’t share a language and it’s only really in the last year that I’ve realized that there might actually be more to life than boxing, so my social skills are lacking. The nerves feel justified.

“On est lá!”Levi chimes when we finally arrive at a modest house at the top of a steep incline, a small field stretching out behind the property.

Before I can even smooth my hair down, the front door flies open, revealing a petite omega woman wrapped in a cardigan that matches her eyes, the same brilliant shade of green as Levi’s. Levi has dropped his bags to the ground before I can draw a full breath, throwing his arms open to envelope his mother in a fierce hug that lifts her clean off the ground as they both let loose a rapid-fire torrent of French. I take a second to adjust my t-shirt, trying not to get emotional on Levi’s behalf and blaming the sudden prickle behind my eyes on the long journey.

“Bonjour,” I say, cringing at my clumsy attempt at a French accent. It sounded a lot better when I practiced in my head.

But Levi’s mom beams, waving me down to her height so she can take my face in both her hands while Levi smiles like a loon behind her. They have the exact same smile, and it makes my heart flip.

“Tres grande,” she laughs airily. “Tres bonne, Levi.” And then, in heavily accented English, “Handsome. Very nice. Hello, Dylan.”

Her house is small but lovely, smelling faintly of lavender, beeswax, and a rich, simmering garlic broth that instantly makes my mouth water and instantly dissolves my nausea.

While Levi carries our bags upstairs, Sylvie takes me firmly by the arm and guides me straight into the kitchen. The language barrier is obvious, but she doesn't seem to care.

When I try to sit awkwardly at the small wooden table, she clucks her tongue, shoves an apron into my hands, and points toward a mountain of green beans waiting to be snapped. By the time Levi walks back into the room, we’re already working in a steady rhythm, with Sylvie patting my arm approvingly every time I finish another handful.

He stops short in the doorway, his chest swelling and his warm scent flaring deeply as he watches us, before Sylvie recruits him in the food prep too, chattering away in French.

Sylvie is clearly already familiar with exactly how much a heavyweight alpha eats, because she piles both our bowls high with stew and fresh bread, gesturing wildly for us to finish it all.

I’m pleased to find I can understand fragments of conversation, although Sylvie speaks so much faster than the study tapes I’ve been listening to at the gym. But Levi translates for me where he can, and it turns out Sylvie’s is just as quick-witted as her son. I don’t stop smiling the entire evening.

When she finally stands up to retire, she presses a soft kiss to my cheek, leaving me and Levi standing in the warm kitchen, feeling more at home than I have in years.

We walk down to the beach after Levi’s mom has gone to bed. It’s the middle of June, so the days here are long and the sun is only just setting, the orange glow reflecting off the still water and casting the sand in a warm haze.

Grains of sand settle in between my toes, still hot from the sun, and I realize I can’t remember the last time I took a vacation.

Families and couples are dotted along the beach despite the late hour, but no one gives us a second glance when Levi slips his hand into mine and bumps my shoulder with his. He’s told me before that France is more lax about dual alpha relationships—not that it’s common, but that they can exist here more easily. I almost didn’t believe him when he said it, mostly because I just couldn’t imagine what that would look like, but I think maybe I can see what he means.

I feel like I can breathe a little easier.

“When I was fifteen, I got drunk and tried to fight a barracuda on this beach,” Levi says, breaking my train of thought.

“What?” I laugh.

“Someone said there was a giant barracuda in the water here, and my friends dared me to fight it.”