“Parker.” I close my eyes and swallow, trying to collect my thoughts even as they continue to slip away from me. “Parker, did you say that he’d been researching alphas for months?”
“At least,” Parker snorts. “His entire search history was full of it.”
“What . . .” I keep my eyes closed, thinking. “What exactly was he searching?”
“Um, I don’t know . . . Alpha traits, alpha horror stories, alpha regulations in the workforce . . .”
I have to really focus, something that doesn’t come easily to me right now, but I take a deep breath to try anyway—some memory floating at the edge of my mind just begging to be remembered. It’s . . . it’s only been a little more than a month. Since someone turned Noah in. If Dennis truly was jealous of Noah . . . why would he have been searching about alphas for months? I think back even harder, desperately reaching for whatever it is that my brain wants me to remember, feeling like my fingertips are just there, brushing along the edge of it.
And then it hits me.
That day. The day I had gone into heat. The conversation that Parker and I had been having, the one that I had convinced myself Dennis couldn’t have overheard. How could I have forgotten about it?
I snort under my breath. I know the answer to that. Three days of sex like Noah and I had is enough to make you forget a lot of things. I think back to the way Parker and I had practically been yelling, how Dennis had popped up just after, only seconds between what we’d said and his presence, and could he have overheard?
If Dennis . . . if Dennis is the one who turned Noah in . . . If he wanted Noah’s job that badly—what would he do if he found out that Noah’s and my relationship was fake?
I blink, and then I gasp, warring with the possibility of hope and the fear of learning it’s all for naught. I stare blankly at the wall as I consider what to do, if I should do anything at all, because what if I’m wrong? What if the thing between Noah and me had really just run its course, and he doesn’t feel anything for me?
What if Noah actually had just wanted out?
I think that deep down, there’s really only one choice for me, no matter what the outcome.
“Parker,” I say, coming to a decision.
He pauses with his drink halfway to his mouth. “Hm?”
“How hard would it be to remote-access someone’s computer?”
He frowns, not catching on. “Not hard? Why would you—”
I’m already slipping off my stool, slapping my cheeks to help collect myself before grabbing for my coat. “Come on,” I tell him. “We’re leaving.”
Parker looks dumbfounded, watching me shove my arms through my coat sleeves and start toward the door. “Where are we going?”
“Back to the hospital,” I toss over my shoulder.
“Are you sticking me with the tab? Hey!”
I’m sure he’ll be griping about that for a while, but I can’t stop.
Not until I know for sure.
26
Noah
“—and another thing,” my mother is saying. “I am so tired of hearing about your life from Regina, of all people. It’s embarrassing, Noah. If it weren’t for that daughter of hers being as gossipy as her mother, I wouldn’t know anything! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you put in your resignation. Were you just going to hop over to New Mexico without even saying good-bye?”
Given the way that my mother has been grilling me for the last ten minutes, I decide it’s probably a bad idea to tell her that, yes, that’s likely what I was going to do. Mostly to avoid a conversation like this while I’m still nursing my Mackenzie-related wounds.
“It all happened very fast,” I tell her, trying to placate her a little. “It’s been a bit of a whirlwind.”
“You still could have made time to pick up the phone,” she tuts. “We could have thrown you a going-away party.”
Definitely not in the mood for a party right now.
“It’s fine, Mom. Really. You can come visit when I’m settled.”
“You’re damn right, I will,” she snorts.
“Language,” I remind her, earning myself another curse.
“And what about Mackenzie? What happened to trying for more?”
I wonder if there will ever be a time when thinking about her doesn’t make my chest hurt. I pause from folding my shirts, taking a deep breath. “It didn’t work out.”
“?‘It didn’t work out,’?” she echoes blandly. “That sounds like a crock of shit to me.”
I shut my eyes, sighing. “It wasn’t a real relationship, Mom.”
Will I have to have this conversation with everyone in my life?
I’m suddenly very grateful that my personal circle is very small.
“Don’t give me that,” Mom says with accusation in her tone. “We both know there was more to it than that.”
“Yeah, well.” I throw the shirt I was folding onto the couch, using more force than I need to. “That’s how it goes sometimes.”
“You can talk to me, you know,” she says more gently. “You’re never too old to lean on your mother.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I just have a lot to do before the move.”
“Was the hospital sorry to take your resignation?”
“They did offer me a significant raise to stay, but I think this will be a better opportunity.”
Another lie. There is no better opportunity for me that doesn’t include Mackenzie.
“I just hate that you’re moving so far away. You’re going to be all on your own.”
“I’m used to it,” I mumble.
“Well, you shouldn’t be,” she sighs. “I worry about you so much, son. You’re nearing forty, and you still have no one to come home to. I don’t want you to work yourself into an early, lonely grave.”
My mother can’t possibly know how much this conversation is making everything I’m feeling a hundred times worse, and I’m struggling to keep my emotions in check. If she finds out how badly I’m doing right now, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Really, Mom. I’m fine with the way things are. I like my life.”
Fucking liar, I think miserably. You only thought you did.
“Well. I’m just saying, you could—”
A knock at my door means that I miss the rest of what she’s saying, stepping back to peer down the hallway warily. There isn’t a single person who comes to mind who would be coming to visit me, save for maybe Paul—but even that seems unlikely.
“—someday you’re going to look back and wish that you—”
“Just one second, Mom,” I mutter into the phone.
I don’t think she actually hears me, because I can still hear her ranting even when I hold the phone away from my ear and start down the hall. There’s another knock as I approach, one that is more insistent than the first, and I glance at the clock on the wall to notice it’s nearly ten o’clock, so even a package delivery doesn’t make sense. Not that I was expecting one. I reach for the handle just as a third knock sounds, one that’s practically a fist beating at the wood, pulling open the door and nearly dropping my phone entirely when I see who’s standing there.