Page 43 of Keep My Alpha

“Sit. Down.”

I sit. Not because he’s right, but because my legs are tired and the stool is right there and fine. Whatever. I’m sitting.

Aaron pulls up the other stool, the wobbly one with the paint stain, and drops onto it across from me. Still holding the sandpaper hostage.

“Talk,” he says.

“I’m fine.”

“You have sawdust in your eyebrows. You are the opposite of fine. Talk.”

I take a deep breath, and let it out. All of it. I tell Aaron everything, and it comes out in a rush. The bite, the confession, how Soren cried when he told me how upset he was that the birds stopped.

I stare at the floor. There’s a curl of cherry wood shaving near my boot. “He asked for space.”

“Okay. That’s normal. That’s a person processing stuff.”

“He texted me about easels, Aaron. Easels.”

“Which means he’s still texting you. He’s not ghosting. He’s just not ready for the big stuff yet.”

“He only liked the idea of me.” The words come out so quiet I barely hear them. “The mystery. The fairy tale. He used to talk about the admirer like they were something perfect, and now he knows. Now it’s just me. I walked into a doorframe this morning. I panicked at a panel and ran offstage. I can’t get through a conversation about my own art without bolting.”

“Stop.” Aaron’s voice drops. His serious voice. That means I’m in trouble. “You’re doing the thing.”

“I’m not doing a thing.”

“You are doing the exact thing. Where you take someone who clearly gives a shit about you and convince yourself they don’t because you’re not—what? Interesting enough? Smooth enough? Loud enough?”

I don’t answer.

“Wren. Look at me.”

I look at him. He’s got his serious face on, which on Aaron looks wrong.

“That guy let you bite him,” Aaron says, voice steady. “He let you knot him in his nest. He told you he’s in love with you. And yeah, he asked for space this morning, because you dropped a bomb on him and he’s allowed to have feelings about that. But he’s not gone.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that hiding in your workshop sanding your feelings into sawdust is the same bullshit that had you leaving anonymous birds instead of just talking to him.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You know what your problem is? You think your art is the only good part of you. You think if you stop building things for people, they’ll stop showing up. And that’s bullshit, Wren. It’s always been bullshit.”

I swallow hard. The cherry shaving is still by my boot. I stare at it.

“Also,” Aaron says, leaning back, “Mr. Ellis told me the arts council lady was crying during your panel.”

I stare at him. “He’s not serious.”

“He’s extremely serious. So, you need to get your head right, because that tree is your work and you’re either going to show up for it or you’re going to let this opportunity slip through your fingers. Your call.”

I don’t answer. He’s right about all of it and I hate every word.

“Those guys like you, by the way.” Aaron’s voice goes lighter. “Knox asked me if you were okay. Benji texted me. You’ve got people now, dumbass. Not because of what you make. Because of who you are.”

I didn’t know that. Knox. Benji. Checking on me through my brother because they know I won’t answer my own phone. People I didn’t build anything for. They showed up anyway.

“He’ll come to you,” Aaron says. “Give him a day. And for the love of god, stop sanding shit.”

Soren