Page 13 of The Alpha’s Unclaimed Mate

I did give him a chance. I went to him. His people turned me away, and that was the end of it. It wasn’t like I’d thrown myself at him or gone out of the way to seduce him. If anything, he got me in bed. So for him to be the wronged one in this, even just in my own head, makes my blood go hot.

And yet. I take a sip of the coffee and close my eyes briefly. The girl he’s raising, that sweet gap-toothed thing, he’s done right by her. So it’s not that he can’t be a father. He can. That’s what guts me.

He is a good father.

To someone else’s kid.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, angry at myself for feeling this way. My daughter doesn’t lack for a father. She has me. She’s always had me. I’ve never once let her go without, not a meal, not a birthday, not a single bedtime story, and I’m not about to start now.

I let out a shuddering breath, sit down at the table, and open the laptop to hunt for jobs back home.

I can’t risk it. I can’t have him finding out about Mia. And he will find out, not today but eventually. I glance at the clock. I have to be at the office by nine, and before that I have to drive to that academy and cancel her enrollment.

I sigh and go back to the screen, knowing exactly how devastated she’s going to be, knowing I don’t have a choice.

I sip my coffee. This will work out. As long as we’re together, it’ll be fine.

“Up you get, baby. Big day.”

Mia surfaces from under her blanket one limb at a time, hair a wild dark cloud, scowling at the light. “Why?”

“We’re going on a little errand, and then I’m dropping you somewhere new while I’m at work.” I pull her uniform off the back of the chair, then stop, because she’s going to need clothes that aren’t a Crestline uniform. “Actually. Wear your jeans. The green ones.”

She sits up slowly, instantly suspicious. “Why not my school clothes?”

I crouch in front of her and busy myself with finding her socks. “Mia. About the academy—”

“What about it?”

“We’re not going to stay in Hemlock Hollow.” I keep my eyes on the sock in my hand. “I’m taking you out of Crestline. I’ll find you another school, a really good one, I promise.”

For a second, she just looks at me. Then her whole face crumples. “But I really wanted to go here.”

“I know you did, baby.”

“You said.” Her voice wobbles up an octave. “You said it was the best school in the whole country. You drove three days. You sold the good couch.”

“I know what I said.”

“They have a real stadium, Mom. With real stands.” She’s fully awake now, sitting up straight, fierce. “Coach said I’m the best he’s seen in years. He said I could play on TV someday, like for real, on a real team. He said if I go here, he’ll see me on TV one day!”

The words make me close my eyes. It feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest. I can’t bear her hurt.

“There are good schools everywhere,” I manage to get out. “I’ll find one with a soccer program. A great one.”

“Not like this one.” Her chin sets in that stubborn line that she doesn’t get from me. “This one’s special. They picked me. You said only special kids get picked.”

I take both her hands in mine, small and warm. “Mia, listen to me. Trust me. This is not a good idea. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have a reason.”

“You always say trust me when you won’t tell me the real reason.” Her eyes go glassy, and she pulls her hands back. “It’s not fair.”

She’s right, and that’s the worst part, so I don’t have a single thing to say. I tug the green jeans off the hook and lay them on the bed.

“Get dressed, please. We have to be somewhere by eight.”

She drags her feet the whole way to the bathroom, and the slam of the door says more than any argument could.

Downstairs, I knock on the manager’s apartment with my heart already in my shoes. Mrs. Okafor opens it in a housecoat, watering can in one hand, frowning before I’ve said a word.