The Alpha’s Pen Pal (Crescent Lake Book 1)

HAVEN

We ended up staying at Jack and Shirley’s for dinner, and by the time we made it back to my apartment, it was late evening.

“Did Shirley tell you what was in this box?” Wesley asked as he shut the apartment door with his foot.

“She said it was some stuff from my old room,” I said. “They kept it all just in case.”

“Did you want to look at it now?”

“In a minute? I was going to change first,” I said, jerking my thumb over my shoulder at my bedroom.

“Don’t change too much.” He winked. “I like you the way you are.” I scrunched my nose up at him and narrowed my eyes. “You’re right, that was super cheesy,” he admitted.

I laughed and shook my head. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where do you want this?” Wesley called after me as I closed the bedroom door.

“On the coffee table!” I replied.

I quickly changed out of my dance clothes into leggings and my old, too-big Salt Lake City Ballet sweatshirt. I grabbed a pair of fuzzy socks, then paused, remembering how Maya always complained about my ballerina feet.

So, instead of just throwing the socks on, I ducked into my bathroom and washed my feet. Then I brushed my teeth too. Just in case.

When I came back out into the living room, Wesley was waiting for me on the plush gray couch, his arm slung over the back and one leg crossed over the other.

I walked around him to the other end of the couch. But before my body could sink into the cushions, his arm grabbed me and pulled me to his side.

“Maya—“

“Isn’t here,” he murmured, his hand resting on the smallest part of my waist.

I looked up at him. “How do you know?”

“She messaged me when you were changing at the theater, asking if you were with me because you hadn’t come back. Then she told me she was going home to her dad’s for dinner.”

I swallowed and nodded, then turned to the small box in front of us. I saw Wes pout out of the corner of my eye, but he let go of me so I could scoot forward and look inside.

The first thing I pulled out had been stored in thick bubble wrap. I held in a gasp as I unwrapped it, revealing the small white and gold music box Wes had gotten me for Christmas almost twelve years ago.

He sat up straighter as I opened it, but his face held disappointment when he realized it was empty.

“What was in it?” he asked.

“Nothing. It was always empty,” I said. “I never had any jewelry special enough to put in it.”

He nodded, then took it from my hands, turning it so he could wind up the music. As he set it down on the coffee table, the sound of “The Waltz of the Flowers” filled the room, and I looked in the box on the table again.

“Oh, my god!” I squealed, lifting out the glittery purple folder sitting on top.

I ignored everything else in the box. Nothing was as important as that folder. That folder held every letter Wesley had ever sent me in chronological order on one side and all the envelopes on the other.

“Look!” I exclaimed, angling my body to show it to him.

“It matches the glitter from your costume you got all over me,” he teased, gesturing at his black shirt as he leaned back into the cushions.

“I said I was sorry!” I laughed, scooting back to be against the couch and his side. “Plus, you were the one who hugged me first!” I reminded him.

He shrugged. “True, and I don’t regret it.”

“It’s your letters,” I told him, opening it up and pulling them all out. “See?”

Our eyes met over the top of the papers, and for a moment, I was nine years old again, waiting at the window, watching for the mail to be delivered, or coming home and running down to the mailbox to yank it open and see if he’d replied to me yet. For a brief second, I was that little girl, sitting in her private bedroom, scratching out a quick P.S. in the middle of the night because I’d remembered something urgent I needed to tell him that couldn’t wait until morning.

I looked back to the papers and settled closer against him, nestling into his warmth and his strength. His arm came back around my waist, holding me securely, and my head leaned on his chest as I read the first one out loud, with my music box playing in the background like a soundtrack to a movie.

“‘Dear pen pal,

Hello.

My name is Wesley. I am twelve years old, and I am in sixth grade at Crescent Lake Elementary in Northern California.

I’ll be honest, I am only writing this letter because my teacher said we have to. She said if we don’t, we’ll get an F—’”

“Let’s skip that one,” Wesley grumbled, grabbing it out of my hand and tossing it behind the couch. “Fuck, Haven, why did you even keep that one?” he groaned, leaning his head back and rubbing his hand over his face.

“For proof.”

“Proof of what?” he mumbled into his hand.

“That assholes can turn out to be nice guys sometimes,” I said, getting up and grabbing the paper from the floor behind us. “And because of this.”

I turned it over and handed it to him, showing him my original response. The one I wrote in the heat of the moment, the one I never sent to him.

The one where I called him a big, ugly, meanie.

His eyes scanned over the words written in red crayon, his lips pursing as he held in a laugh. “Big, ugly meanie, huh?” I nodded, and he shook his head and handed the letter back to me. “You should have sent me that one. Not that your other response wasn’t effective. This one just hits differently.”

I put the letter back in the folder and tossed it on the coffee table as I sat back down next to him. “I didn’t want to get in trouble. Troublemakers got moved around more often. I was just starting to feel at home with Jack and Shirley, and I was afraid of losing that.”

“Why didn’t you tell them? About your adopted parents flaking on you? Or any of the other things you told me about?” Wesley asked.

I curled my legs up into my body as I thought about my response. I was so close to telling them, to spilling everything to Jack and Shirley, but at the last second, I changed my mind. Instead of being honest, I opted to tell a little white lie, not mentioning the actual reason I had those extra tickets.

They probably knew I was lying, but it didn’t matter. The point was to keep it from them. I didn’t want them to find out.

“I was protecting them,” I admitted as I looked up at him.

His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. His breathing deepened, and I felt his heart pounding faster. He held me more firmly as he growled out, “Haven—“

“Not Matthew and Melissa,” I said, bringing my hand up to his heaving chest.

We both glanced down at where I touched him, where underneath my palm, his heart rate returned to normal, and his breathing slowed, just as it had in my dressing room earlier. His hand came up to cover mine, keeping it in place over his heart, his thumb stroking small circles into my skin.

“I couldn’t care less about protecting them. I’m not giving any more energy to them. They’re not worth it. But, Jack and Shirley,” I clarified, looking back into his eyes, watching as his darkened, almost black gaze returned to his normal chocolate brown. “I know… I’m sure they already feel—“ I pressed my lips together and gripped his shirt in my hand. “They don’t need to know…”

I shook my head. The words I tried to say to him wouldn’t come out. I just hoped he would understand what I was trying to say. That I didn’t need to add to the guilt I knew they already felt for how everything happened.

He pulled me closer to his body, letting go of my hand so both arms held me. I pressed my forehead into his chest to hide the glistening in my eyes.

I knew we needed to talk about it. Jack and Shirley and me. And Scott. I knew that needed to happen at some point. But I wasn’t ready yet. I wasn’t ready to open up those old wounds. I wasn’t ready to confront those emotions or deal with any of that. I was content just being happy and reconnecting with them. It would happen eventually, when I was ready.

His hands rubbed my back, and he held me, waiting for me to speak again, and my cheeks heated as I realized how often this seemed to happen when I talked with him.

“I’m sorry!” I groaned into his shirt. “This is ridiculous. It seems like every time we’re together, I end up confessing something super emotional to you, and you end up comforting me when I’m crying.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “That’s what a boyfriend does.”

I jerked back and stared at him, my mouth gaping open, an incredulous laugh spilling from my mouth. “Pretty presumptuous of you to think—“

He cut my words off by pressing his lips to mine, his hand moving to the back of my neck to hold me in place. I melted into his body and into his kiss. It was both strange and yet natural how comfortable we were together, how instinctively my body responded to him. My hands moved to his face, trying to pull him closer, my fingers scratching through his beard to hold on tighter.

The kiss after our dinner had been tender and sweet and was the culmination of not only our date but the buildup of the connection we had forged as kids. But this kiss had a hint of heat behind it and a touch of possessiveness in it that did delicious things to my insides.

“Wesley,” I breathed as he broke away from my mouth and trailed light kisses along my jaw.

“Haven…” he replied, my name on his lips like a prayer.

His voice was low and gravelly, and his mouth moved against my skin as he spoke, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my whole body.

“I-I…”

I forgot what I had wanted to say to him. The capability of forming coherent words had left me. All I knew was him and his touch and his kisses on my neck and jaw. His breath tickled over the trail of kisses his mouth made, and I whimpered, the noise escaping me before I could even stop it. Then his mouth was back on mine, our lips tangling together in desperation.

I scrambled to get closer to him, almost climbing into his lap to close the distance between our bodies. The heady combination of his kisses, his touch, his sexy voice, and his sweet, spicy, woodsy scent had me in a haze. I was ready to give in, to let it envelop me and let my desires take the lead. But before I could act on it further, he pulled back from me, moving me so I was no longer attached to his body, holding me at arm’s length.

The same lust swirled in his eyes, and I could sense his reluctance as he put distance between us. He cupped my cheek and stood up from the couch, moving until I was sitting, and he stood in front of me.

“I should go,” he muttered, even as he stayed in place and stared down at me, his other hand mirroring his first on my face. “You need to rest. You have an important night coming up,” he added.

I nodded, even though I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted him to stay, even though I knew it was much too soon for us to take that step together, no matter how strong our connection was or how deep my feelings for him ran. But I wouldn’t deny I wanted it. I wanted him so badly it hurt. I wanted to be his in every way.

He bent down and kissed my forehead. “Good night, Twinkle Toes,” he said, then he walked around the couch and showed himself out.