Accepting Her Alpha

Hanna

My apprehension spikes at the sight of the house I grew up in. Its bonnet roof with navy tiles for the two triangular shapes transitioning to black tiles over its flat planes brings back memories of playing hide-and-seek, and the flowering plants that hang above the white-painted porch eludes an inviting image.

A man wearing an open red, white, and black flannel shirt over a white tee with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, scuffed jeans, and beaten work boots waits by the driveway. His hair is cropped on the sides and back with more length on the crown, its natural gray ombre giving him a spruced-up look. The dimming daylight casting upon his slim, towering stature hid in the shadows any trace of emotion in a face that bore the hardships of a youth spent in countless missions for survival.

I’m brought back to a memory of his cold, hardened eyes in his younger years. Watching my every move. Seeing more in everything. But never revealing anything beyond what he intended.

Oddly enough, I missed them. The same eyes that accepted me for all I am and showed enough warmth whenever I needed it the most.

As soon as Dean parks along the driveway, the nervousness leaves my body like it’s never lived there. I all but swing the door open and jump out of the car, tears prickling my eyes when I see him raise his arms in a big welcome.

My legs don’t hesitate. For five whole years, I’ve bottled every emotion that longed for him. And now, every single one of those emotion moves my limbs forward and stirs a violent torrent in my chest in search of an escape. My throat chokes up the instant I crash into his arms.

Comforted. Protected. In our own small world of limbs awkwardly clinging to each other, I bite my lower lip to keep myself from wailing and shut my eyes tight to keep the tears at bay. But my body can only handle so much. A sob break through. Hot tears wet my cheeks.

“I missed you … so much” I whisper, forcing the words out of a constricted passage that’s struggling to keep me breathing.

The gaseous scent of motor oil overpowers the stale smell of dark coffee and dried sweat. Just as he’s always been. He rubs my back and squeezes me hard.

“Welcome home. Hanna … you’re back home,” he replies, in a voice laced with heavy emotions. Different from his usual; why I know it runs so much deeper.

Home. It’s a word that’s been suspended for a long time in my mind. Since I left, this place became a graveyard of broken dreams and nostalgia. One I intended to revisit one day like a time capsule to the past only to leave for good once I’ve retrieved the reason for my return.

But I can never tell this to him.

He breaks from me at an arm’s length. Old, veiny hands hold me by my forearms. “Let me look at you.”

Dad studies me swiftly from head to toe, then looks at my face for longer as if trying to find a piece of the teenage daughter he last saw. His eyes soften.

“You’ve—”

He clears his throat to hide the crack in his voice. “You’ve grown well.”

Yes, I have. I had to.

Sucking in my bottom lip, I bite on it hard to remind myself not to speak my mind—that it was hard living without him, that I had to stop myself from calling every single time I needed money and guidance, and that I had to keep her existence a secret.

All those years away from him piled up guilt and remorse, but I can’t imagine how lonely, confused, worried, and hurt he must’ve been. Yet despite all that, he respected my wishes and never came looking for me when we had no contact, and likely eased his woes through our routinely calls that came later on.

Dad smiles then leans down to kiss the top of my head. The rough pads of his fingers wipe my tears. He then pinches my cheeks like he used to, earning him a muffled sound of protest. His dark blue eyes look away from me for a second, moving to the person who drove me all the way back home under the condition that we visit his pack’s borders first—my best friend.

Dean is taller than dad with a lean build and a million-dollar model’s beauty. High cheekbones, sharp jawline, and alluring ice-blue eyes turns heads anywhere he goes. His wavy blonde hair catches the last rays of twilight behind him, bathing him in a shining golden light like an ancient god emerging from the shadows.

“Dean, meet my dad. Dad, this is Dean, my best friend.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he says while extending a hand, charming him with his smile.

My dad shakes his hand firmly. “Jason. Thanks for bringing my daughter back home, young man,” he replies with two loud smacks on Dean’s back.

Warmth swells in my chest. I’ve been anxious since dad called, asking me to return. While this place will always hold a special place in my heart, the memories always end on a painful note. At least I won’t have to return here anymore after this visit.

As I take in the familiar scenery of evergreen trees all around us that seems to reach out to the blue skies and try to match it to my memory, an all too familiar voice speaks from the direction of the house.

“Hanna,” he says, voice laced with a growl forcibly cut off. “Hanna Wells.”

Goosebumps rise all over my skin in an instant. I knew this was bound to happen, but I didn’t expect to meet him as soon as I arrived. I thought I’d steeled myself for this moment, but his sudden appearance strikes my confidence down like lightning.

“Logan,” I breathe out. Softly. Against my will. “Logan Greene.”

It’s a name I hadn’t uttered in years. A man whose face I wished to forget—the Alpha of Evergreen.

--CC_GN--