Alpha Kyle’s Mate

Mirella POV Nothing new on my social media feed. That meant I didn’t need to bother checking the others. If nothing was happening on this app, chances were nothing was happening anywhere else either. No notifications from the deadbeat through the parenting app, thank goodness. I refused to unblock the piece-of-s**t ex-husband. Making that mistake once had been more than enough. Opening my email, I found no updates from the bank about refinancing the roof repairs or transferring the house title into my name. No news from my book contract either. No income. No calls from doctors. No updates from the courts. Nothing. Moving to my text messages, I scrolled through reminders, family group chats, and messages from friends. Pretending my life was wonderful was exhausting. Especially when some of the people in my family group chat had overstayed their welcome years ago. Or were cheating death at this point in my life. I needed a break. I needed to breathe. The problem was that I didn’t know when life would finally let me. Glancing through the windshield of my Buick van, I noticed the oil change reminder glowing back at me. I closed my eyes and groaned. “Of all the things going wrong in my life right now, an oil change is seriously not what I need to worry about.” The moment I finished complaining, the rear door slid open. In came my favorite person in the entire world. Ethan. My smile disappeared almost instantly. He looked bruised. Worse, he was flinching away from touch. That wasn’t normal. Ethan was one of the friendliest children I knew. Before I could ask what happened, the BCBA assistant walked toward the passenger-side window. I pressed the button to lower it. She handed me a clipboard with several papers attached. As another caretaker member helped Ethan get seated and buckled into his booster seat, the assistant spoke in a tone that immediately irritated me. “Ethan got into an altercation with another student and was injured. These are the incident reports. We just need your signature acknowledging what happened today.” I stared at her. Confused. Angry. Ethan wasn’t a violent child. Not unless someone pushed him far beyond his limits. And judging by the terrified look on his face, something had happened today. Something they weren’t telling me. Nobody had called. Nobody had texted. Nobody had informed me of anything until they were shoving paperwork into my hands. It felt less like they were explaining the situation and more like they were trying to rush me into signing something. As if being a single mother meant I should simply accept whatever version of events they gave me. “I’m sorry,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “But this doesn’t sound right. You’ve worked with Ethan for two years. You know he doesn’t go looking for fights.” The woman didn’t even blink. She looked more annoyed than concerned. “Look, I’m just doing my job. Ethan got hurt after hurting another child. We need to explain what happened to the other student’s family, they have a busy schedule with the military and your cooperation would be appreciated.” There it was. The unspoken rule. The military family mattered. The single mother was expected to fall in line. I didn’t regret divorcing a military man. I regretted not doing it sooner. Because Ethan didn’t deserve to be treated like a problem. And he sure as hell didn’t deserve to be blamed before anyone even bothered asking what really happened. Taking my phone, I snapped pictures of every page before handing the documents back to the woman. I didn’t sign them. Once Ethan was safely buckled into his booster seat, the BCBA assistant continued insisting that I needed to sign the paperwork. What she lacked in understanding was that I didn’t need to sign anything. I needed proof. Proof that her statement was true. Proof that Ethan had actually started a fight. Proof that my son, who could barely tell me what happened because he was nonverbal, had suddenly decided violence was a good idea. And she didn’t seem interested in providing any of that. Taking pictures of the documents was my right. Questioning them was my right. Fighting them was my right. I was Ethan’s primary legal guardian. Just because Ethan was nonverbal didn’t mean I was. Knowing I was going to need help, because my online books certainly weren’t paying lawyer money these days, I pulled out my phone and called my mother on video chat using the hands-free setting. The call barely rang once before she answered. “There she is,” my mother greeted with a smile. Normally, I would have smiled back. Today wasn’t one of those days. “Oh, ow. What got you upset, Ella?” Hearing the concern in my mother’s voice made me let out a heavy sigh. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, I pulled away from the front of the ABA center round. “The ABA center is claiming Ethan started a fight.” That was all I had to say. “What?” Mom’s voice came through the speakers loud enough to make me wince. “The same Ethan that apologizes to chairs when he bumps into them?” I snorted despite my irritation. “That Ethan.” “Oh, hell no.” I glanced at Ethan through the rearview mirror. He was staring out the window while clutching his favorite fidget toy. The bruises on his arms made my blood boil all over again. “They handed me paperwork saying he got hurt after hurting another child first.” “And they expect you to believe that?” Apparently. “They’ve worked with him for two years, Mom. They know he doesn’t randomly pick fights.” “Exactly! The child would probably offer the other kid a snack before punching him.” A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. The situation wasn’t funny. Mom was. “I took pictures of everything.” “Good.” “They kept trying to get me to sign.” “Of course they did.” I rolled my eyes. “What she doesn’t seem to understand is that I don’t need to sign anything. I need proof.” “Damn right you do.” I reached the first stop sign and waited patiently for my turn to make a right. The vehicle beside mine was also waiting. At least I assumed they were. Mom continued talking through the speakers. “Don’t sign a thing until you know exactly what happened. Being nonverbal doesn’t mean Ethan doesn’t deserve someone speaking for him.” My grip tightened on the steering wheel, I saw the battery was going low, I stretch for the cable as I started to take my turn while talking to mom. “That’s exactly what I—” Traffic cleared. It was finally my turn. I pressed the gas. The vehicle beside me moved too. Only one of us was paying attention. The other driver suddenly cut into my lane. “Are you seri—” CRASH! Metal slammed into metal. My van jerked violently. “Ethan!” Mom screamed through the speakers. The world seemed to stop. My heart dropped into my stomach as I immediately looked into the rearview mirror. “Ethan!” Nothing else mattered. Not the ABA center. Not the paperwork. Not the military family. Not the oil change. Not the bank. Not the courts. Only Ethan. Ethan had hit the window. He was now screaming in pain from the back seat. At the same time, a sharp pain shot through the left side of my rib cage where the impact had thrown me against the door. “Shit.” My entire body protested as I tried to move. Before I could even reach for the handle, my door was suddenly pulled open from the outside. A man dressed in a mechanic’s uniform crouched beside me. A really hot man. Life truly had a sense of humor. He had dark hair, broad shoulders, and the kind of face that made women make bad decisions. His hard gaze quickly scanned me for injuries before settling on my face. “Are you alright?” he asked. Then he grimaced. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I got distracted.” I blinked. “Distracted?” His expression somehow became even more uncomfortable. “I was staring at your angry expression.” For a second, I simply stared at him. Then another wave of pain shot through my ribs. “You crashed into my van because you thought I looked angry?” His jaw tightened. “When you say it out loud, it sounds worse.” From the back seat, Ethan let out another cry of pain. The mechanic’s entire demeanor changed instantly. The apology disappeared. The embarrassment disappeared. The man moved. Fast. “Mom!” I shouted toward my phone. “I’m here!” my mother screamed through the speakers. “What happened? Why did I hear a crash?” The mechanic grabbed my phone from where it had fallen. Unfortunately for him, that meant he was now holding a device with my mother still on the call. “Who are you?” she demanded. The poor man looked genuinely startled. “Uh…” “Why are you touching my daughter’s phone?” “Mom!” Ignoring her completely, he carefully helped me out of the van and guided me toward the sidewalk. Once he was sure I could remain seated, he immediately turned toward Ethan. The screaming hadn’t stopped. And for the first time since the accident, I noticed something strange. The mechanic wasn’t acting like someone who had just caused a crash. He was acting like someone who had handled emergencies before. Many times before.