Page 71 of Fated to the Alpha

Shane felt a spike of unease in his gut. “She said she loves me?”

Dominic arched a brow. “She didn’t tell you? The way Gage talked, it sounded like all of that was out in the open. But maybe he didn’t understand her right. The guy’s got game, but I wonder sometimes if he really is a woman-whisperer or not.”

Kimberly loved him? Did she still?

If he followed his instincts as Dominic recommended, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved Kimberly in return. But what kind of a man loved a woman the way he did and virtually tore out her heart with just a few words? A man in love wouldn’t knock her down like that. But then, he didn’t always have the best role model. From what little he remembered of his childhood when his mother was still around, it wasn’t rosy. Yelling, fighting, name-calling, posturing, and throwing dominance across the room like missiles played counterpoint against the tender nights he fell asleep in her arms when his dad was away on pack business. He remembered how she cried the night she came in to kiss him goodnight for the last time and left without making breakfast in the morning.

Shane sat in the Prime Alpha’s parlor, realizing he had more than just one cycle to break. He couldn’t be a tyrant to his pack or to Kimberly. And while he couldn’t do anything about the latter, he could do something about the former. He just had to do it carefully.

*

Kimberly had lived so long in dorm housing or apartment buildings that she forgot what it was like to fall asleep and wake up in the countryside. So quiet and peaceful, she naturally awoke with the dawn as it filtered through the gauzy curtains of the upstairs spare bedroom.

She didn’t get up at first but nestled herself under the cloud-like duvet and listened to her parents talk to one another downstairs. They had likely already been up for a couple of hours. Both were of retiring age, but her father worked their small farm, which kept chickens, goats, pigs, a couple of milking cows, and horses tame enough to be rented out for birthday parties or riding lessons. She had heard and smelled them in the distance the night before, but in the stillness of the morning, their noises reached her ears like a gentle alarm clock.

Even after the long talk with her mother, Kimberly didn’t feel like seizing anything. This was her own little vacation, and she would make the most of it while she could.

Therefore, her mother’s light rapping on the bedroom door was not welcome. “Are you awake, honey? We’d like to have breakfast with you if you’re up for it.”

Part of Kimberly wanted to bury herself under the covers and pretend she was still deep in dreamland, but she couldn’t tell that kind of fib to her mom. “Ten more minutes?”

“That’s fine. Still like French toast?”

Kimberly’s stomach rumbled at the very mention of her second-favorite childhood breakfast, after strawberry pancakes. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Your father likes them too.”

That wasn’t something she remembered. Her father always demanded a hearty, meat-based feast for breakfast, fitting for a strong, dominant shifter. He ate a plate that could make any human go into cardiac arrest. Something sweet and not smothered in grease never even made it to his side of the dining table.

Kimberly waited until her mother was down the stairs before she slid from the warm bed and pulled on a pair of socks. She didn’t bother changing out of her pajamas, knowing she would probably dive right back into bed after eating.

The night before, Kimberly made a point of plugging up her phone on the other side of the bedroom. She went to it on the dresser, and her insides knotted as she braced for whatever texts or missed calls may have shown up on her screen. Shane’s number was still blocked, but who else would be desperate to check on her?

A few kind messages came from Erica, Tracy, Kaelyn, Margaret, and Declan. Word traveled fast. She took a few moments to send them all the same vague message.

Thanks for checking in. I’m fine and made it to my parents’ safely. Will be back in a few days.

For a wild, stupid second, she thought about unblocking Shane but shouted down her sore heart. Not ready. Not yet.

Kimberly went downstairs and rallied her courage to face her father. He’d have a cup of coffee and be reading a newspaper or maybe scrolling news articles on his phone, a grumpy scowl on his face while he waited for his breakfast.

Instead, the dining table was empty. Her father, Patrick, was in the kitchen with Stacy. They stood side by side near the stove. Patrick flipped thick slices of French toast in the hot skillet while Stacy coated the bread in an egg batter to prepare them for frying. Two plates sat on the other side of the stove, ready to receive the portions.

Kimberly took a moment to study her father. He stood to his full six-foot-something height, clad in dirty work jeans that had seen better days and a sturdy, tucked-in, button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Besides the touch of gray at his temples that stood out against his dark hair, no one would have guessed his age. He had the strength and poise of a young alpha and dwarfed his wife. Kimberly took more after her mom’s slight frame and lighter features.

Her initial assessment was that he hadn’t changed. That was until his stare, so focused on the skillet before, landed on her. An uncharacteristic emotion flickered behind his dark eyes. The stern lines of his face went slack as he took in the sight of her, but not in judgment. He almost looked … bashful? Sheepish? Like he didn’t know what to do now that his only child stood in the kitchen, just a few feet from him. Oddly enough, Kimberly felt a tiny bit of the same. The only exception was that Kimberly knew what to do. He spent eighteen years making sure she did.

She lowered her eyes and waited for him to speak first before uttering a word.

Stacy leaned over, probably noticing her husband go still in front of the stove.

“Coffee is brewed,” Stacy said. “And tea bags are in the cupboard above the coffeemaker if you want that instead. Make yourself at home and ask if you can’t find something.”

Kimberly’s gaze skidded across the countertops until she found the coffeemaker. Though she could already hear Patrick’s voice chiding her for making tea when there was perfectly good, bold coffee already made for her, Kimberly pulled down a mug and found a worn kettle to fill with water from the sink. But she realized too late that meant she would have to invade her father’s space to use the stove.

She looked up, undecided. Patrick met her gaze, saw the kettle, and then wordlessly turned on a spare eye to warm the metal coil. He left his place at the stove and before she could move away or protest, he gently took the loaded kettle from her. Something like modesty crossed his face before he turned away to set the kettle on the stove eye.

What the hell was going on?