She's exhausted. Not just tired, but bone-deep weary. The kind of exhaustion that comes from carrying too much for too long. I've seen it in her since she got back. The way she holds herself, like she's bracing for the next hit. The shadows under her eyes. The forced brightness in her voice when she's trying to pretend everything is fine.
Nothing about this is fine.
"I can't afford a month of hotel rooms," she says quietly, and the defeat in her voice makes me want to punch something. Preferably Callum. "I don't have any money. Callum froze our joint accounts."
Of course he did. Because Callum is exactly the kind of man who would use money as a weapon. Who would make sure she had no way out, no resources, no options.
I've known him since we were kids. Played football with him in high school. Got drunk with him at graduation parties. Stood by while he dated girl after girl, discarding them when they stopped being shiny and new.
I told myself Jessica was different. That he loved her. That the way he acted around her, the possessiveness and the control, was just him being protective.
I was an idiot.
"You don't need a hotel," I say before I can stop myself.
Her eyes open, hazel and confused. "What?"
"The packhouse has a guest room. Ground floor, its own bathroom, completely separate from the rest of the house." The words come out in a rush, tripping over themselves. "You could stay there while I do the repairs. It's empty anyway. Just sitting there. Waiting."
Her expression shifts. Closes off like shutters slamming over windows.
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because..." She waves her hand vaguely, like she's trying to catch the right words out of the air. "It's complicated."
"Everything is complicated right now."
"Exactly." Her voice rises slightly. "And staying in a house with four alphas would make it more complicated, not less."
Four alphas. The way she says it makes my alpha sit up and take notice.
"Is that what you're worried about?" I take a step toward her, drawn by some magnetic pull I can't resist. "Us?"
"I'm worried about everything." Her voice cracks, and I can smell the spike in her scent. Peaches and honey turning sharp with stress. "I just kissed you in my flooded bedroom at four in the morning like some kind of romance novel disaster."
"Is that what we are? A disaster?"
"Maybe." She meets my eyes. "I don't know anything anymore."
I should back off. Should give her space. Should remember that she's vulnerable and scared and the last thing she needs is pressure from me.
But I can't stop thinking about the way she kissed me back. The way she whispered "don't stop" like she meant it.
"Stay with us," I say again, taking another step closer. "Not because of... whatever this is." I gesture between us, at the spacethat still smells like both of us mixed together. "Because you need somewhere safe."
Her breath catches. "You know about that?"
"Pedro told us. After your appointment." I pause, watching her reaction. "He was worried about you."
"So he shared my medical information with the whole pack?" There's anger in her voice now.
"He shared it with his brothers," I correct gently. "Because we care about you. We always have, Jess."
She's quiet for a long moment. The water drips from the burst pipe, a steady rhythm that fills the silence. Her scent is everywhere, mixing with the smell of wet carpet and old house and my own sandalwood and sawdust until I can barely think straight.
"I need to think about it," she finally says.
