“Well, that plan failed spectacularly,” I say, my voice sharp with concern. “I’m extremely worried right now.”
“We’re fine, Zoe,” Rett insists, but there’s a tremor in his hand as he reaches up to rub his temple.
“Stop saying that!” My voice rises, frustration and fear making it sharp. “Stop lying to me! You’re not fine. None of you is fine!”
My outburst is met with silence. Four pairs of eyes stare back at me, varying degrees of surprise and resignation in their expressions.
“How bad is it, really?” I ask, my voice quieter now. “The truth, please.”
It’s Tristan who answers, surprising me.
“It’s bad,” he admits. “Worse than before. Like... before it was a persistent noise. Kind of like a grating tinnitus. Now it’s like someone’s drilling directly into our skulls with a rusty jackhammer.”
“All the time?” I press.
“It comes and goes,” Dane says. “Good days and bad days.”
“Today was a bad day,” Diego adds from the couch. “For all of us, I think. But I’m the one who couldn’t handle it.”
I look at him, at the shame and self-recrimination in his eyes, and my heart breaks a little.
“That’s not weakness,” I say firmly. “That’s just... being human.”
I move to the kitchen, stepping carefully around the broken glass, and fill four glasses with water. When I return, I find they’ve all settled in the living room. Diego still on the couch, Tristan perched on the arm beside him, Dane in an armchair, and Rett standing, his gaze on the city lights.
I distribute the water, then stand in the center of the room, looking at these four men. These powerful, stubborn alphas who are suffering in silence rather than risk making me feel pressured or obligated.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask softly. “About how bad it really is?”
“What would that have accomplished?” Rett asks, turning to face me. “Making you feel guilty? Responsible? That’s not what we want.”
I look at him, at the quiet resolve in his eyes, and I feel a surge of both admiration and frustration. “But you shouldn’t have to ‘manage,’“ I say. “Not when there’s a solution.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize what I’ve implied. That I could fix this. That I could let them claim me again, rebuild the bond that would ease their pain.
The tension in the room shifts, becoming something heavier, more charged.
“That’s not why we’re telling you this,” Rett says, his voice low and fierce. “We don’t want you to feel obligated. We don’t want you to agree to a claiming out of pity or guilt.”
“I know that,” I say. “But?—”
“No,” he interrupts, pushing away from the couch to stand directly in front of me. “No buts. Listen to me, Zoe.” His blue eyes are intense, burning with a conviction that takes my breath away. “I would rather watch this pack fall apart than force you into a bond you’re not ready to choose.”
“We all would,” Diego adds softly from the couch.
I stare at Rett, at the fierce conviction in his eyes, the immovable resolve in the set of his jaw. He means every word he just said. He would rather suffer, would rather watch his entire pack suffer, than have me choose them out of obligation or pity.
They’re willing to endure this. For me. Not because I’m their cure, but because they... love me.
All my doubts, all my fears, they evaporate. Burned away by the sheer, overwhelming evidence before me. This isn’t an arrangement. This isn’t about being their aspirin. This is real.
I take a step closer to Rett, closing the space between us. I stop directly in front of him, looking up into those deep-blue eyes that have haunted my dreams for weeks.
I place my hands on his face, my palms against the rough stubble of his jaw, forcing him to look at me.
“You’re wrong,” I say, my voice shaking but clear. “The choice isn’t yours anymore. It’s mine.” I rise on my toes, bringing my face closer to his. “And I choose you.”
His eyes widen, a flash of disbelief quickly replaced by a burning hope. “Zoe?—”
