The Alpha’s Pen Pal (Crescent Lake Book 1)
The Alpha’s Pen Pal: Chapter 16

HAVEN

My phone buzzed against the wooden floor near the mirror of the dance studio. Again. I’d lost track of how many times I’d heard it go off.

I knew who it was. A small twinge of guilt flickered through me as I ignored it, but I kept at my cool-down stretches without moving to check it, and pushed the negative feeling to the side.

I was alone in the studio. Class was over, and the few dancers who had attended had already left, making their way back to their apartments or heading out for a late breakfast with other members of the company.

They had extended a courtesy invitation to me, as always, and as always, I turned it down.

I didn’t come to California to make friends. I came to dance, to improve, to boost my chances of becoming a principal somewhere, eventually. Plus, forging connections and making friends remained hard for me, even as an adult. It didn’t help that the one and only friend I’d made as a child had hurt me, kicking me when I was already down.

I swallowed back my anger and grabbed my things, heading out of the studio without even taking my ballet shoes off. This was the last class for this pair anyway, since they were now broken through, so I didn’t care if they got ruined by the cement.

I knew I should feel bad about standing Wesley up, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Once the shock of seeing him wore off, I remembered. I remembered that man had once been the boy I thought was my friend. I remembered how I had reached out to him when the dust had settled, and he’d shut me out. Given me the cold shoulder.

I owed him nothing. Least of all a cup of coffee at a cafe, where I’d have to sit across from him at a tiny, intimate table and stare at his handsome face and listen to his deep voice the whole time. No. That would not happen.

Because, as angry as I was, I also couldn’t deny the instant attraction I’d felt when my eyes landed on him. Or the way my body responded when he grabbed my hand. Or how my core had clenched when my eyes landed on his biceps, straining against the sleeves of his T-shirt. Or…

“Oh my god, stop it, Haven,” I muttered under my breath, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “He’s an ass. He proved that to you eleven years ago.”

I stopped when I reached the door of our apartment building, and played with my keys for a second, biting my lip as I glanced down the street. I could just pop down there for a minute, tell him what I really thought of him, and then…

I shook my head and opened the door to the building, then headed up the stairs.

The sound of raised voices greeted me—Maya’s higher-pitched mezzo voice overlapping with a deep, growly baritone. A voice I had heard only once, but I knew without a doubt who it belonged to.

Wesley fucking Stone.

I squared my shoulders and turned the corner as he said, “Just let me talk to her, Maya.”

“For the millionth time. If she was here, I would let you,” Maya retorted, her arms spread in the doorway to block Wesley from entering.

At his feet was a small brown box, and his hands rested on his hips, his hair slightly tousled, and his face wearing a scowl.

I’m not sure how he knew I was there, but he turned to look at me before I could even make my presence known.

His eyes traveled over my body. Twice. The first time, he was clearly checking to make sure I was all right, and then the second time, his gaze went slower, lingering on my exposed shoulders, arms, and my neck.

I held back a shudder at the warmth in his eyes when they returned to my face and locked him with a steely, ice-cold glare.

Maya’s eyes darted between the two of us, her arms falling to her sides, her hair bouncing with each switch of her head. Wes’s lip curled into a smile, and then he glanced at Maya. They engaged in a silent battle of wills, and then Maya flinched a bit.

“Right, well, I’m going to go get the groceries we need. I’ll see you later, Haven!”

“Wait, what?” I asked.

My hand reached out to grab her as she passed, but she sidestepped me and kept walking like she had a fire under her ass.

“Maya!” I called after her, but she just threw a little wave at me over her shoulder without looking back.

And that’s how I found myself alone with Wesley Stone. Wesley fucking Stone.

I stood there as he stared down at me, his gaze intense and burning into me. But I stared right back. He did not intimidate me.

Sure, he cut a large and imposing figure as he stood in the small, narrow hallway, and sure, he had to be at least half a foot taller than me, if not more. And sure, those broad shoulders and muscular arms pulling at the fabric of his dark green polo might have been scary to others. But I wouldn’t let him affect me. Or, at the very least, I wouldn’t let him know he was affecting me.

Because, damn it, he was. But not in an intimidating way. In a very, very different way.

I looked at the open door and back at him and then sighed. Unfortunately, I needed to put my polite hat on. Invite him in. Hear what he had to say. He was already in my building, so might as well go the whole way.

My cheeks heated at that thought, and I ducked my head and mumbled, “I guess you can come in.”

He bent to pick up the box at his feet and then followed behind me, and I tried not to imagine his eyes looking at my ass in my leotard. Tried and failed.

He set his box on the small table in the dining nook, and I went into my room without a word, crossing my fingers that he’d stay put. I tossed my bag on my bed, grabbed my oversized off white cardigan, and threw it on over my black halter leotard and black skirt.

Even though the ballet skirt came to my mid-thighs, it was sheer, and I knew it hid little. And I’d seen the looks he’d given me both at the lake and in the hallway.

I sort of liked them, sort of enjoyed the little flips my stomach did when he gave me them. But I’d never admit that to anyone. Ever.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him as soon as I walked out of my room.

“Why didn’t you come to coffee?”

“I had class.”

His head tilted to the side, and he shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

I gestured to my attire, my bun, and my pointe shoe-clad feet. “Really?”

“I mean, I clearly see you just came here from a dance class,” he said.

He pressed his fingertips on the top of the table, making the veins in his forearms bulge and drawing my attention to the tattoo on his left bicep I hadn’t noticed before. I squinted at it, trying to make out what it was, but his voice drew my attention back to his face.

“But I don’t buy it as your excuse. You told me you had class last night, but then you said it was optional and agreed to meet,” he continued. “So, I can only conclude that, for some reason, you decided you didn’t want to see me after all. So tell me, Haven, why didn’t you come to coffee?”

My jaw ticked and my eyes itched. How dare he. How dare he come to my home and demand to know why I didn’t want to see him. As if he didn’t know. As if he wasn’t the one who pushed me away all those years ago.

The fire inside me burned hotter than I’d ever felt it, and something pushed forward, something I could no longer hold back.

“What makes you think I would want to spend any time with you?” I spat in anger.

He flinched back in shock at my vitriol. “We-we were friends. I—“

“Friends?” I said with a sarcastic laugh. “Friends? God, if we were friends, then I’d hate to know how you treat your enemies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Fuck you!” I yelled. “How can you stand there and ask me what I mean? You know exactly what you did to me!”

His brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth, then closed it as he looked at me in confusion.

I took a deep breath and tried again, explaining it to him slowly like I would to a child.

“You abandoned me,” I said, my voice raspy and weaker than I wanted it to be. “I had no one left except you, and then you were gone, too. I was alone, with new parents, a new life, one I didn’t even want because I had been JUST FINE where I was, and I didn’t even have the one person I knew I could lean on, either.”

“If I had known how to reach you, I would have written,” he said, his voice almost shaking. “I tried. They wouldn’t give us any information about where you’d gone, about the people who adopted you,” he added, taking small, slow steps around the table.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s bullshit, and you know it,” I replied. “I wrote to you. I gave you my new address. And then I waited. And waited. And fucking waited for you to reach out to me. And you never did.”

“Haven,” he murmured as he continued walking closer to me, shaking his head, his hand reaching out to me.

Only then did I realize I was crying, that hot tears fell from my eyes. I held my hand up, and he stopped in his tracks, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he held himself in place in the middle of my apartment.

I wiped my eyes in a frenzy, turning away from him, intent on rebuilding my carefully constructed walls before I looked at him again. I couldn’t let him see me cry. I wasn’t that girl. The girl who cried in front of people. And especially not him. Not after what he did to me.

“I never got a letter,” he said from behind me. “I never… I would have written to you. If I had known where to send it, I would have written to you, Haven.”

I glanced at him, and he was watching me, and I couldn’t understand his expression. “When did you send it?” he asked.

“After I was adopted,” I told him. “I had your address memorized. I showed the letter to my mom—Melissa—and asked her for a stamp. She said she’d take it to the post office for me.”

I crossed my arms and fidgeted with the sleeve of my sweater, hiding my hands so Wesley wouldn’t see them shaking.

“I swear to you,” he started saying, his voice low but sure. “I swear to you, Haven, I would have written back to you. I never would have let you think you were alone. I never… I never got a letter.”

I watched him out of the corner of my eye, and he looked around the apartment, a longing, wistful look on his face. When his eyes landed back on me, he sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll-I’ll go.”

I nodded and swallowed, and continued to watch him from my spot with my back mostly turned on him. When he reached the doorway, he paused and pointed at the box. “I brought those for you. You can… you can do whatever you want with them.”

Then he left. And I cried. I cried harder than I had in a long time. I covered my mouth with one hand as the other used the wall to keep me from collapsing to the floor, somehow feeling even worse than I had when I thought he’d ignored me.