I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing despite the stabbing pain in my ribs with each inhale. I can’t tell them. Can’t make them feel obligated to take care of me.
They’ve made their feelings crystal clear to me. Or at least Kieran has. I won’t trap them with guilt or pity.
“Thank you,” I whisper instead. “For coming.”
The rest of the day passes in a medicated blur. Nurses come and go, adjusting my IV, checking my vitals. The doctor visits, explaining things I can barely comprehend through the fog of pain and drugs.
Drake and Rowan remain constant presences, taking turns helping me sip water or broth through a straw, adjusting my pillows as best they can without moving me too much. Theyspeak in low voices when they think I’m sleeping, words full of worry and anger that I can’t quite make out.
At some point, a nurse adjusts something in my neck brace, allowing me to turn my head slightly from side to side. A small mercy, but one that makes me feel marginally less trapped.
I drift in and out of consciousness. Sometimes when I wake, it’s Drake beside my bed. Other times, Rowan. Once, I think I see Elias in the doorway, his glasses reflecting the hallway lights, his face drawn with concern, but I slip back under before I can be sure.
When I wake again, the room is dimmer. Night has fallen outside the small window. The pain has settled into a constant, dull throb throughout my body, punctuated by sharper stabs when I breathe too deeply.
I can move my head a little more now, and my gaze falls on a figure sitting in the chair across from my bed. Kieran.
He’s sitting absolutely still, like a statue carved from granite. His ice-blue eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my heart race. He’s been sitting there for hours.
I’ve never seen him look so... undone.
His usually perfect hair is disheveled, his jaw dark with stubble. The crisp suits he always wears have been replaced by a rumpled t-shirt and jeans.
Our eyes meet, and for a long moment, neither of us speaks. What is there to say? The last time I saw him, he was loading my suitcase into my car, telling me he never wanted to see me again. And now he’s here, watching over me like I still matter to him.
“You don’t need to be here,” I finally say, my voice stronger than before but still rough with disuse.
“I want to be here,” he replies, his deep voice filling the quiet room. “This is my fault.”
I frown, confusion cutting through the haze of pain meds. “You didn’t crash into my car.”
“If I hadn’t rejected you, you would’ve been safe,” he says, each word heavy with regret. “This would never have happened. You would have been safe.”
If he hadn’t thrown me out, I wouldn’t have been driving alone, distracted by my grief and the shock of the pregnancy test. I would have been in his home, surrounded by his pack.
I nod slightly, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through my neck and shoulders. Tears well up again, spilling over before I can stop them. I’m so tired of crying, but my body seems to have no other way to process the overwhelming combination of physical pain and emotional devastation.
The door to my room flies open, and Carmen bursts in, followed closely by Lena. Their faces are pale with panic.
“Francine!” Lane cries, rushing to my bedside. Her eyes take in the casts, the monitors, the tubes connecting me to various machines. “Oh my god, look at you.”
Carmen looks over at Kieran, and her expression hardens into a glare. “What is he doing here? Franny, do you want him here?”
Even through my tears, I can see the protective fury in my sister’s eyes. It feels nice that she knows everything now. Part of me wants to let her kick him out, to watch him feel even a fraction of the pain I’ve experienced.
But I’m so tired of anger. So tired of people hurting each other.
“It’s okay,” I croak out. “He can stay.”
Carmen looks like she wants to argue, but Lena’s gentle hand on her arm stops her. Lena moves to my other side, carefully taking my hand where it extends from the cast.
“We’re here now,” she says softly. “We’ll take care of you.”
The nurse brings in a fresh cup of soup, and Carmen immediately takes over, shooing Drake away from his post by my head. She’s in full mama-bear mode, testing the temperatureof the soup before offering me small spoonfuls through the straw. The four alphas leave to give us privacy.
“Not too much at once,” she instructs, as if she’s the medical professional here. “Small sips, Franny.”
I turn to the nurse after taking my first sip. “Excuse me, Nurse, but I took a pregnancy test yesterday, and it tested positive. Did this accident affect the baby in any way?”
