Right Love, Wrong Alpha
And my brain raced through the blurred memories of Nate’s parents frantically calling mine for help several years ago, of how my dad reached with a few men but he was late.
“That doesn’t mean…” I started, then stopped. My mouth felt dry.
“That doesn’t mean he caused it.”
“No,” Nate agreed. “It doesn’t.”
Relief flickered for just a second within my eyes at that line. However, it was short lived.
“But it does mean,” he continued, voice steady, “that when my parents’ pack was bleeding, when they were begging for support, he had the authority to step in.”
“He could have helped, he could have recovered the money without bloodshed,” Nate said softly. “And he chose not to.”
Sikat na Kabanata