Page 68 of Fated to the Alpha

Her mother was grateful for the call earlier that day when Kimberly finally took her up on her offer to come home. But she made it clear that it was just for a few days, maybe less. Kimberly gave as few details as possible. She just wanted an evening and a night to digest what happened. She wanted a place she could let go, a place less complicated. A place away from Shane, Gage, and everything. Just for a while, she wanted simple, and she told her mother as much. That meant her father needed to give her a wide berth. She couldn’t handle hearing Shane’s words echo in her father’s usual criticizing lectures.

Before she could knock, Stacy swung open the door, dressed in a pair of high-waisted jeans and a simple shirt, and rushed forward to hug her. Kimberly returned her hug but was still too numb to do so with the same level of gusto to match her mother. Stacy hugged her daughter as if something seriously terrible had happened to drive her back home.

Her mother pulled back and looked at her short hair for the first time.

Her mother gave her a sad, regretful look and feathered her fingers against Kimberly’s temples. “Oh, baby … Your hair.”

She shook her head. “Long story.”

Stacy nodded as if she understood and led Kimberly inside. “We have plenty of time. How was the drive?”

“Uneventful.” Kimberly breathed in the scent of her mother’s special spaghetti sauce recipe.

The smell of the meal nearly smothered the undertone of a burning lavender candle from somewhere else in the house.

Her mother, the expert interior designer, remodeled the whole house in vintage farm chic. The mismatched, reclaimed furniture looked as if it had been painted and then distressed to give it an older look. The walls were decorated with stenciled plaques, rusted farm tools, and landscape paintings edged in gold-gilded frames.

Stacy took Kimberly’s bag from her hand and set it at the bottom of the stairs across from the front door. “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve got garlic bread in the oven.”

Kimberly allowed herself a small, grateful smile. “That sounds great. I’ll wash up.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall to the right.”

Stacy disappeared through a doorway that must have led to the kitchen and dining room, and Kimberly made her way down the hall, weathered floorboards popping as the women moved through the house.

The theme of the bathroom was chickens, with rooster plates hung on the walls and chicken wire across the faces of the cabinet doors under the sink.

Kimberly refused to look up as she vigorously rubbed soap into her trembling hands. She didn’t understand why she was so nervous to come back to this place. There were few memories in this home, too few to matter. Maybe it was the thought of facing her father for the first time in nearly ten years.

She shut off the water and dried her hands, and then she looked up at her reflection. Dark skin hung under her tired eyes, giving her a sickly, bruised look against her ashen complexion. She looked just how she felt. Beaten. Worn down. Lost.

Kimberly forced herself to stare and face what the day had done to her, what she believed Nathan and Shane had done to her. Her reflection inspired nothing but disgust for who she was and how far she had fallen from the woman who was on the mend after struggling for months.

Apparently, she had been in the bathroom for a while because Stacy came to check on her.

“Honey, are you … Oh, baby.” Stacy hugged her again, this time out of motherly sympathy for what her daughter silently endured. “I wish you had told me how bad it was.”

Kimberly shook her head as her mother pulled away and brushed her thumbs to wipe away the tears she didn’t know had fallen.

“I thought I could handle it,” she began to babble through her sobs. “I thought I was over it. I thought I was over all of it.”

Coming tears choked off her words, and Stacy shushed her down.

“Let’s get some food in you, and you can tell me as much as you’re ready to tell me.”

They shuffled out of the bathroom and down the hall, walking at a snail’s pace. Her mom always knew when Kimberly needed gentle care, when she was most fragile.

“Where’s Dad?” Kimberly asked, holding in the urge to sniffle. Her dad never liked it when anyone cried within earshot of him.

“I told him to get lost tonight. He’s probably at the bar with some friends. I said I’d call when you were in bed.” Stacy’s grip tightened on her daughter’s arm. “He will be here in the morning. You know he can’t stay away for too long.”

“I know.” Kimberly eased herself into a creaky dining chair at the round, oak dining table. “I just knew it’d be easier if he wasn’t around until I was settled.”

Stacy rushed to the old stove and the steaming metal pot, her special spaghetti pot. She cooked the noodles and sauce separately, but always mixed it in this specific, thick metal pot that had to be a family heirloom.

Her mother scooped out noodles onto a scalloped-edged plate. “I understand, honey. Believe me, I do.”

Kimberly heard and recited the rest of that sentence from her childhood. “But he’s my father.”