Isla
“Are you okay?” Mom asked me.
I beamed at her.
The smile must have looked as fake as it felt because Mum’s brows immediately knitted with concern.
I’d hoped that, since she’d been on a roll about her wedding plans when I arrived two hours ago, a few well-timed ohs and wows would be enough to keep her too absorbed in herself to notice how absent-minded I was.
I was completely fixated on thoughts of Jason.
Every day away from him cemented the fear that he might be gone forever.
But Mum had picked up on my absent mindedness anyway.
“You know you can tell me anything,” she said, closing the binder of the mood boards her wedding planner had carefully curated, after listening to her rough vision for the wedding.
Mum was supposed to pick one of the three gorgeous boards, which was why I’d been enlisted.
Her searching eyes held mine, “I’m always here to listen, opal,”
But you aren’t always here.
We live in different houses now and soon you’d be answering a different last name.
I’ve never hidden anything from my mother, big or small; she was my go to emotional support.
A year ago, at her prompting and the way she concentrated her eyes on me, I’d be spilling my guts to her already.
But now, not only do I not want to turn a moment that was supposed to be about her, into a chit-chat about my love life—or the apparent absence of it, there was also the fact that I could already predict her response if I told her about Jason.
It was the same line she gave me when she realized how bothered I was by the repeated “you look nothing like your mother” comments, even though she was aware that with her willowy figure, long legs, and blonde curls, she was the beauty standard.
It was also the same line she repeated when in the 11th grade she had all but pushed me into entering the local festival queen pageant, one she had won when she was my age, insisting that it could be our tradition.
I’d not even passed the screening round not to mention making it to the stage lineup.
She’d tell me that I was better off without whatever had rejected me.
In this case, with Jason she’d tell me that any man would fall on his knees to have me.
She’d lie sweetly to me because that was what mothers were expected to do and I’d have to pretend to believe her words because that’s what daughters do.
So I met her eyes and lied.
“When have I ever hidden anything from you?
You’d be the first to know if I’m not okay,” I added, forcing a small smile that I hoped was better than my last attempt, before lifting the porcelain cup of tea to my lips so I wouldn’t bite my lower lip.
It was my tell.
Mum was still looking at me unsure, but thankfully the sound of the front door opening took her attention from me as Alpha Reid stepped in.
Just like everything else in the house—huge door, huge sprawling mansion, huge widows that showed off cliff-top sea view—the man was also huge.
He must be returning from his morning run given the shredded state of his shirt and the fact that his eyes had been golden a second before he blinked and it was back to brown.
Apart from the eyes, he was the spitting image of what an older Ryder would look like, a silver fox: handsome, brawny, and forever charming.
“Isla,” he beamed.
“I hope your mum didn’t wake you up.
I kept insisting she wait until it was fully dawn before she consulted you.”
Mum left the room and returned with a glass of water within seconds.
He sipped it and gave her a little smile.
I smiled good-naturedly in response, while watching their affectionate display as mum lightly smacked his chest because of his question and he flashed his teeth playfully at her.
She had sent me a long rambling paragraph by 4:00 am —so not quite dawn.
But given how exuberant and enthusiastic I’d found her, I mean, she’d even been giggling, she’d shown some self restraint.
Mum left the room again with the empty cup and the smile on Alpha’s Reid face suddenly disappeared.
“How is he doing?”
I already knew that the he was Ryder since Alpha Reid had texted me almost immediately after Ryder and I had hurriedly left yesterday.
He had sounded worried.
Given Ryder’s admission on how much of a good father Reid had been before he had shifted, I could already tell that despite the incompatibility of their wolves they both were hurting and missed each other.
“Fine,” I whispered.
At least he had looked fine the last time I’d seen him; he had been sleeping so deeply, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, lips slightly parted.
I might have brushed a strand of blonde hair off his face and stared for at least five minutes, like a creep.
“But I think you need to call him.
If you miss him, say it.
Fix it.
I’m very sure he must miss you too and be feeling just as helpless as you are.”
My eyes flashed with brief indignation, remembering how hurt Ryder had looked, and before I could stop myself, a reprimand slipped past my lips.
“Best intentions that aren’t vocalized can be harmful and misconstrued.”
Mum returned right in time for Alpha Reid to smile and look at her, “You’ve raised a truly remarkable young woman, Fiona.”
Mum beamed at me.
“I had no hand in all that goodness.
I apparently lucked out in the child lottery.”
I couldn’t meet either of their eyes—Mum’s especially.
I wondered if she’d still think she was lucky if she knew what her “child of goodness” had been doing and saying to her future stepbrother just yesterday.