Page 42 of The Alpha’s Unclaimed Mate

The cup goes still. She bites her lower lip and stares at a point past my shoulder. “Jared came by yesterday afternoon to see the kids.”

“And?”

“He grabbed at my little one when she wouldn’t go to him.” Rachel keeps her voice down, afraid the kids might hear through the walls. “I got between them. The stairs were right there.”

“And you’re telling me you tripped.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly in a lot of pain. You don’t have to hide it from me.” I take the cup out of her hands so she can’t hide behind it. “Come sit down. Let me look at it.”

“I really shouldn’t, the kids are—”

“They’ll be fine for five minutes. Sit.”

She lets me steer her to the couch, lowering herself with a wince she tries to swallow. I crouch and ease her shoe off. The ankle’s puffed up tight, the skin shiny over the bone, going purple at the edges. That’s no bruise from a fall, and I keep my opinion of Jared behind my teeth for now.

“This needs ice.” I push up. “Do you have insurance? We should get it X-rayed.”

“He took me off his plan, months ago.” She says it evenly, picking at a thread on her sleeve.

I push that aside to be angry about later and head for the freezer. “What are you going to do, then? Are you working?”

“I wait tables at the diner on Fourth.” A small, tired shrug follows me across the room. “Living off savings to make rent here. It won’t stretch forever.”

I wrap a bag of frozen peas in a dish towel and bring it back, settling it over the ankle. She hisses, then sighs as the cold bites in.

“Why aren’t you doing something that pays better?” I sink onto the cushion beside her. “No offense. You’re sharp. You shouldn’t be running plates for tips.”

“I’ve been out of the workforce a long time.” Her mouth twists. “I used to do IT, mostly networks and ticketing. It’s been years, though. Nobody hires the gap.”

“My firm’s hiring.” It’s out before I’ve thought it through, and I don’t take it back. “We’re expanding. Half the building’s empty desks. If there’s an IT seat open, I can put your name in front of the right person.”

She catches my eye, then looks away. “I’ve got the kids. I can’t do nine to five with three little ones.”

“Half our roles are remote.” I nudge the peas higher on her ankle. “Lots of people work from home. You’d be there for school runs and still pull a real salary.”

“And if I had my own paycheck,” Rachel says slowly, half to herself, “he couldn’t hold the rent over me anymore. These days he likes reminding me I can’t afford to leave.”

“That’s the whole point of him doing it.” I top up the coffee I’ve started for us. “The money’s a leash. Cut the leash.”

“I’ll look into it.” It comes out somewhere between a no and a yes, which is further than she’d have gone a week ago.

I hand her the mug and come around to what I’ve really been wanting to ask. “Have you thought about getting out? Leaving town? Go somewhere he can’t drop by whenever he feels like it.”

“I can’t, legally.” She curls both hands around the mug. “Not with the custody mess. I want to file for divorce, but I don’t think he’ll let me go that easy.”

“If you’ve got proof of what he does, you can make him.” I keep my eyes on her. “Build a case.”

“Jared’s a firefighter.” Her laugh has no humor in it. “He hauls people out of burning buildings, and the whole town loves him for it. Who would believe me over him?”

“Get video evidence.” I say it plainly because she needs plain. “All that respect evaporates the second there’s video evidence.”

She goes quiet, turning the mug.

I dig a pamphlet out of the kitchen drawer, the one a women’s center pressed on me my first week in town, and close her fingers around it. “The day we moved in, I put cameras up in this apartment. I don’t sleep right without them. You should think about doing the same.”

“He’d lose it if he found cameras.” Her thumb worries the pamphlet’s edge. “If he ever thought I was putting a case together against him.”