THE REJECTED ALPHA

4.ENSTRANGED

CHAPTER FOUR

IVY’S POV

ENSTRANGED

I look at the man sitting across from me and have to resist the urge to laugh. For a man in his mid-forties, he looks completely f*****g exhausted. Not tired in the way someone looks after a long day at work, either. No. He looks like life has been personally kicking his ass for the last twenty years, and he's finally run out of energy to fight back. His hair is slightly disheveled, there's a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, and the lines around his eyes are deeper than I remember.

Then again, I'm not sure I actually remember what he looked like. It's been six years since I've had any real contact with the man sitting across from me. And now I'm supposed to call him Dad.

Cute.

Mum dropped me outside his house less than an hour ago with two suitcases, a backpack, and absolutely no preparation before driving away without so much as a goodbye. Mother of the year, right?

I watched her car disappear down the street until I couldn't see it anymore. She didn't even look back. My father had been standing on the porch the entire time. He hadn't moved or even bothered calling after her. Hell, he hadn't even looked angry. He'd just watched the car disappear with this strange, defeated expression on his face, as though he'd been expecting that exact moment for years.

Then he'd picked up one of my bags and carried it inside without saying a word. For the past thirty minutes, the only thing he's managed to offer me is tea. I accepted because it's f*****g freezing outside, not because I suddenly want to bond with my long-lost father over a warm beverage.

He hasn't said much since. Neither have I. Honestly, what exactly is he supposed to say?

Hey, Ivy. Sorry I haven't been part of your life for the last six years.

Sorry I missed birthdays and school events and every stupid little thing that happened while you were growing up.

Sorry you stopped remembering what my voice sounded like.

There are probably a thousand things he could say. Instead, he keeps looking at me when he thinks I'm not watching. Every time I catch him, his gaze drops. It's starting to piss me off.

“You don't have to keep staring at me.”

His head jerks up, “I wasn't.”

“You were.”

“Sorry.” There it is again.

That word. He says it like it's become a reflex.

I narrow my eyes, “What are you sorry for?”

He goes completely still. For a second, something flickers across his face.

Pain? Guilt?

Something I can't quite place. Then it's gone.

“Nothing.”

I scoff.

“Right.”

His fingers tighten around his mug. The porcelain gives a faint click against the saucer. He looks down at it instead of at me.

“I arranged a room for you upstairs,” he eventually says.

His voice is quiet, “I tried to make sure you had everything you needed.”

I almost laugh, “You tried?”

He flinches. It is tiny. Barely noticeable. But I see it.

“I mean...” He clears his throat. “I wasn't sure what you'd like.”

“Because you don't know me.”

The words come out sharper than I intended. But then again, he deserved it. His eyes finally meet mine.

“No,” he says quietly. “I don't.”

There's something about the way he says it that takes the bite out of my anger for half a second. He is just sad. He looks toward the staircase.

“I should.”

I don't know what to say to that. So I don't say anything. His gaze drifts toward the hallway, where a framed photograph hangs on the wall. Me. At least, I think it's me. I'm maybe seven years old, missing one of my front teeth and grinning at the camera while sitting on his shoulders.

I stare at it. He notices.

“I kept those.”

My eyes move across the wall. There are more photographs. Birthdays. Christmas. School pictures. Things I haven't seen in years. He kept all of them.

I swallow, “You could've thrown them away.”

His jaw tightens, “I couldn't.”

The answer comes too quickly.

Almost painfully.

I look at him again.

For the first time since I arrived, he doesn't look like a stranger. He looks like a man who has spent six years living with something he doesn't know how to fix. He looks down at his hands.

“I should have fought harder.”

My breath catches.

“What?”

He shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

“No. What did you mean?”

His eyes lift to mine, and for one strange moment, I think he's actually going to tell me. Then whatever courage brought the words to his mouth disappears.

“It's complicated.”

I laugh bitterly, “Of course it is.”

He looks like he wants to argue. Instead, he simply nods.

“I'm sorry, Ivy.”

This time, I don't snap back. Because I suddenly realize something. He's just apologizing. Like he's been waiting six years for the chance to say it. He clears his throat and changes the subject.

“It's the last day of school before the Christmas break. Your cousin will be here later. If you want, he can show you around town.”

I lean back against the sofa.

“Anything is better than being stuck in this hellhole.”

His mouth twitches.

“This hellhole has a name.”

“Woodcave.”

“Yes.”

“Still sounds like a place where people disappear.”

A quiet laugh escapes him. It's the first genuine reaction I've gotten from him since I arrived. Then his expression changes again. For just a second, his eyes drift toward the photograph of me as a child. And I realize his smile isn't reaching his eyes. Maybe because he isn't looking at the little girl in the picture. Maybe he's looking at everything he missed after the picture was taken.

I look away first.

“So, when is this cousin of mine coming?”

“Soon, hopefully.”

“Does he know I'm here?”

He nods, “Everyone probably knows you're here. Norman is quite the blabbermouth but he has a good heart,”

I groan.

“Great. Exactly what I wanted.”

He almost smiles again.

But this time, he catches himself. Outside, snow continues falling over the quiet street, burying everything beneath a layer of white. My father stares through the window for a long moment.

“You'll hate it here at first,” he says.

I already hate it here. First chance I get, I’m out of here.