“Maybe I should try it with ice my first time,” he says.
“You don’t want to get used to the numbing effects. But for me and my family, it’s a nice way to unwind at the end of the day. My parents used to sit and have a glass of whiskey every night, talking to each other. When we got older, my sister and I joined them. It’s something that I miss about home, and I’d like for you and I to start talking at the end of the day. It will give us a chance to talk through anything that came up that you may have concerns about, questions about, or we can just use this time to talk,” I say, pouring another glass for me and grabbing a couple cubes of ice from the mini–fridge in the office. I put the ice in his glass and sit across from him, sipping my whiskey.
He looks in his glass, swirling the amber liquid around the ice. I wait, letting him decide if there is anything he wants to say.
“I’m not sure how to pull myself out of this grief,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t think it works like that. Grief doesn’t just go away. I think it fades over time, gets easier to manage, but you don’t pull yourself out of the trenches of it, not when it consumes you like it is,” I say.
“But I should be able to, right? Other Alphas who lose their parents figure it out,” he says.
“Well, not every Alpha loses both parents within days of each other. Not every Alpha is sixteen when they suffer that loss, and not every Alpha was just starting to learn how to be an Alpha when his parents died. I don’t think you should compare yourself to others. Your situation and theirs are different in any number of ways. I think what
one
you should focus on is taking day at a time. Get through each day. Accomplish the goals you set for yourself or that we set together and start finding ways to succeed again. Then, one day, you’ll realize that you’re going through the motions without having to think about them and you’ll realize that your grief, while it will always be there, doesn’t have the hold on you that it has now.”
He finally looks up at me. “How do you know all of this?”
I shrug and take a sip of my whiskey. My mom says I learned this behavior from my father. I use my drink to give me a minute to collect my thoughts. After she pointed it out to me, I realized she was right.
“I am lucky to have come from two very intelligent, very passionate Alphas. They not only raised me to be the Alpha I am today, but they also raised me to become the leader that I became at the Academy. Even with all of that, the Academy was hard, really hard. It breaks you down physically, mentally, and emotionally. But then it builds you back up again, stronger than you were before. I say that because a lot of what I learned, of who I am today, is because of my time at the Academy. It’s hard to explain it unless you’ve lived through it and in two years, you and I will hopefully be sitting here talking about how different you are after you return from the Academy.”
He takes a tentative sip of the whiskey. “This is better,” he says, once he swallows it down.
“My mother would agree with you.”
“You want Enya to go to the Academy, don’t you?” he asks.
“I do, for more reasons than one. I’m not sure how much she’ll let me in over the next few months, but at the Academy, like I said, they to you down to your core. It would give her a chance to work through her grief over the death of your parents. Enya seems like she will be a tough nut to crack. I’m not sure she’ll trust me enough to let me help
her. If I can get her to agree to go to the Academy, she won’t have a choice.”
“How long before she has to make a decision?” he asks.
“We have some time. I won’t rush her decision, but I am going to strongly encourage her to attend.”
He finishes his drink then stands. “I like the idea of sitting and talking every night. I don’t know if it will help me to sleep, but I do feel more calm than I have lately. Thank you, Christian.”
“You’re welcome. We’re going to get through this, Shane. We’ll do it together. I won’t let you fail,” I tell him sincerely.
“I know you won’t. I can already tell you’re a man of your word.”
“That I am,” I say. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he says before walking out.
