The Alpha of Mountain Ridge

CHAPTER ONE

Despite spending five years apart, Amelia and Charlie Treviano carried out their morning routine as if they had done their exact actions the day before — the small kitchen that often overflowed with a thick silence was once again filled with the clinking of dishes as the pair of them ate their breakfast.

Both were aware of the awkwardness that hung above the room like an ominous storm cloud, but because who they were as people, neither of them chose to acknowledge it. Amelia had always enjoyed her coffee black, inwardly rejoicing as the bitterness would burn at the back of her throat — but as she sat in the silence that seemed to stretch on for days, she found herself longing for anything sweet.

Finally, after spending several minutes inspecting the crust on her toast and doing everything in her power to avoid making eye contact with her father, Amelia looked up at the man who sat across from her and smiled feebly at him. Five years stood between them, but her father looked just as she remembered — shadows of stubble still traced up his jaw, his brown eyes were sharp, his ever-present police badge was pinned to his chest, his wedding ring still on his left ring finger, flashing in contrast against his tanned skin. In fact, Charlie Treviano had changed so little in the past five years that Amelia almost felt like she was dreaming; that she was imagining him as she had last saw him.

But, unfortunately for the both of them, Charlie, along with the awful silent breakfast, was very real.

As their eyes met inside the kitchen that had been decorated decades before, Charlie hesitated before offering a tight-lipped smile in return, as always, the warmth of his gesture dwelling in his eyes. They sat there for a few seconds, a ghost of a smile on each of their lips, before Charlie returned his attention the morning newspaper. Although abrupt, the end of their somewhat affectionate moment didn't bother her, Amelia's relationship with her father was like a sandcastle, despite the strong foundation it was constantly crumbling around her. She was used to Charlie shutting his emotions down when he felt the slightest bit of uncomfort, a nasty habit she had inherited at a young age and it was something she couldn't shake, no matter how hard she tried.

"You picked a hell of a time to come back."

As he spoke, Amelia's eyes swept across the walls of her childhood home — every inch was covered with papers from his current cases, taped hastily to the faded flowery wallpaper. The MISSING PERSON posters stood out amongst the sea of clutter, the bold red letters flashing in the early morning light. Amelia had lived her entire life in Arcadia, but nothing like this had ever happened; seven people disappearing into thin air sounded like a podcast about an unsolved mystery from the 70's, not something that was happening in her own backyard. As she looked at all the information her father had haphazardly strewn about her home, Amelia couldn't help but chance another glance at her father, fighting down the urge to ask : how did you let this happen?

Her childhood had been painted with her father filling their living room with cases — as the town police chief, Charlie tended to blur the line between his profession and his personal life to the point of nonexistence. He would come stomping in through the backdoor, grabbing the tape dispenser off the kitchen counter, and set to work covering their living room walls with his papers. That was how he operated, like his daughter, Charlie functioned best while under pressure and completely surrounded with all the facts. He would spend hours squinting at the case files, shuffling the papers into categories only he understood — once he had even connected all the push pins together with red yarn, creating a zig-zag pattern that had grown too complicated for even him to decipher. Charlie would always solve every case, too.