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Today was fucking hard.
Having to listen to everything Alpha has been through while trying to cope with my own emotions was physically and emotionally taxing.
I am utterly exhausted.
I know Alpha wanted me to stay with him tonight, but the guilt is overwhelming.
I need space.
I need to clear my head.
I need to make a plan.
Luckily, Dr. Whitehead came out to check Fajita and said she has a general case of the flu. Poor old thing. I segregated Fajita from the rest of the drift until she’s better, from which the doctor expects her to make a full recovery. At least, that’s one problem off my mind.
I sit on my laptop by my window in the loft, the moon shining brightly in the Los Angeles sky, while I type frantically, trying to find a solution to my epic problem.
I need to get Poppy out of The Nest.
I know there’s no escape for me, but I donotwant to be responsible for leaving Poppy in The Nest and for her going through the same shit I did, especially if there’s a way for me to get her out. I can’t go on allowing Alpha to believe his daughter is dead. I just can’t, it’s too fucking cruel.
I continue typing, trying to figure out any avenue I haven’t thought of, but then something crosses my mind.
Who ordered the hit on Alpha in the first place?
Who the hell wants him to suffer before his death like this?
Hasn’t he suffered enough?
Moving at lightning speed, I launch into full research mode for the rest of the night. I don’t want to waste a single second if I can figure out who the hell it is who’s responsible and behind all this.
I have to help Alpha.
Thatandonlythatis my new primary mission.
The Next Afternoon
My eyes are heavy after pulling an all-nighter. I’m in desperate need of caffeine to keep me going after coming up empty on my attempts at finding a plan to help Alpha last night.
But I amnotgiving up.
I have no leads, but that doesn’t mean I’m throwing in the towel just yet. It just means there are avenues I haven’t thought of.
I must keep digging.
Now that I have done all my chores with the animals today, I need to go and place some orders for their feed and supplies, then I can spend more time on my laptop in my loft.
But first—coffee.
Making my way to the kitchen, I run into Clover as she sits on the kitchen bench next to Navy, who is mixing up something that smells delicious in a bowl. “Hey, Haven,” Clover chimes happily while snapping pictures on her cell, probably for her social media followers.
“Hey, Clo. How’s school going?” I ask, stepping up to the coffee machine.
She rolls her eyes, lowering her cell to the counter. “Maverick says I need to finish school no matter what, but I don’t know. I feel like I’m just no good at it.”
Navy glances at me, subtly telling me to choose my words carefully. I follow her lead. “Okay, tell me why you feel like you’re no good at it,” I ask, grabbing my cup and walking over to stand beside her.
She huffs. “It’s stupid.”
