Chapter 22 - Zane
The rain hasn’t let up. It shows no signs of stopping. It pounds against the windshield in a relentless rhythm, the kind that crawls into your bones and sets your nerves on edge. The wipers scrape back and forth like some kind of cruel metronome, but even at such speeds, they can’t keep up with the wrath of the storm that follows me back east to Rosecreek.
I’m driving on autopilot, barely aware of the road in front of me. All I can hear, over the roar of the rain, over the growl of the engine, over the pounding in my chest, are Maisie’s words.
“I’m pregnant, Zane.”
An impossible word. An impossible reality. The truth of it lodges itself in my mind like a shard of glass, twisting deeper every time I try to wrap my head around it. She’s pregnant. I’m the father. I was her first and only, and now, she’s alone with what I left her with.
The reality of it is too big for me to grasp properly. It doesn’t yet seem real. How does something like this even start to seem like it’s really happening, like I didn’t imagine it? I feel like I’m drowning, suffocating under the burden of it.
She looked at me as she said it, like I’d already failed her.
Maybe I have.
“You don’t get to have me.”
Her raw voice shook as she said it. It was as if she was begging me to believe her, to hear her at all. It was the worst sound in the world. I’ve never heard her like that before, never seen her so broken apart, overwhelmed by sorrow and impossibility.
And I did that. I pushed her to the edge. I was too lost in my head to see I was ripping her apart until I had done it wholly and completely.
And then, when she spoke, I said nothing at all.
I slam my fist against the steering wheel, the sharp pain in my knuckles cutting through the fog in my head.
“Fuck!”
The word rips out of me. The sound of my own voice makes me nauseous.
How do you fix something so broken? How do you take back the damage you’ve done when it’s so woven into the fabric of everything?
With Tessa, I wasn’t the breaker; I was the broken. It was easier, somehow, to let her push me to the brink, only to pull me back from it whenever she thought I might leave, might snap apart. She was always the one apologizing the next morning. When our lives flew off the rails into the chaos she had created, there was nothing I could have done to stop it but leave. So I’ve never had to fix something like this. I was running on autopilot to keep her from demolishing the both of us, but when I left, I left knowing I could never have put us back together.
Maybe all of this, Maisie’s exceptional emergence of talent for this line of work, her dedication and passion, her care for me despite all my fuck-ups—maybe all of it was her way of keeping us from spinning out of control.
And then I drove us off the road.
Lightning cracks across the sky. The empty highway ahead floods momentarily with light, a river into the dark. I push the car faster, the tires skidding on the slick asphalt, but I don’t care.
I just need to get back to Rosecreek. I need to be near her. It’s this primal instinct, this overwhelming need to make sure she’s okay, even though I know she doesn’t want me there. I’m probably the last person she wants to see.
My hands are trembling on the wheel. I grip it tighter to stop the shaking. She asked me to stop, and I couldn’t. I just kept pushing, thinking I knew what was best for her, thinking I could protect her from the world, from everything.
But I couldn’t protect her from me. And now…
I don’t even know what we are anymore—if we’re anything at all.
By the time I pull up to the pack center, the storm has moved on, leaving the sky a thick, smothering gray. First light has revealed the impenetrable night to have been swathed in cloud all along. The rain has slowed, but it still falls in a steady, miserable drizzle.
I park, step out, slam the car door shut, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. My clothes are soaked through again in seconds as I stalk across the road to the bright entryway, but I barely notice. The glow of orange streetlights glints on the wet pavement.
Inside, the pack center is buzzing with a low, tense energy. In the front area, Veronica is treating wounds, stitching Aris’s calf back together.
There are bloodstains on the floor, the sharp scent of antiseptic cutting through the air. Most of the others are slumped against the walls, exhaustion written into every line of their faces.
I scan the room, heart racing, searching for her.
“Where’s Maisie?” I ask, louder than I mean to. The words scrape out of me, jagged and raw.
Everyone looks up at me. There is a single expression on each upturned face: exhaustion, discomfort, and an utter lack of desire to talk to me.
Someone’s hand wraps around my arm. I flinch, yanking away, but it’s Rafael, suddenly at my side by the door, a serious look on his face. His gaze is penetrating, and I see something in his eyes—a kind of serious, discomfited sympathy that makes my stomach drop.
“Come on, Man,” he mutters, and pulls me back outside, kicking the doors closed behind us.
We stand under a shaded covering beyond the doorway, shielded from the rain as it drums on the roof high above. In the coalescing light, I see an impressive black eye growing on Rafael’s face. It’ll be a ripe, dark shiner soon.
His hand leaves my arm, and he folds his, shoulders squared as if I might punch him. Maybe I will, I think, depending on what he says next.
“She’s not here, Zane,” he says after a moment. “You need to go home.”
Hot, dark rage spikes in my stomach.
“What do you mean she’s not here?” I snap, my voice rising. “Where is she?”
“She went back to her apartment above the clinic,” Rafael explains, watching me closely. “Veronica patched her up, but… she’s asked that you not be allowed to see her. Not yet.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of me. My chest tightens and my mind whirls. Everyone must know. And knowing the pack, no matter what I do, I won’t be able to reach her.
And she doesn’t want me. She wants me gone.
“I need to see her,” I growl, stepping toward him, desperation clawing at my insides. “I need to talk to her. You can’t just—”
“She asked,” Rafael cuts in sharply, his voice quiet but firm. “She doesn’t want to see you right now, Dude. You need to respect that.”
Respect that? Respect that she won’t even let me try to fix what I broke? That she’s shut me out completely? I stare at him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, my body running with a current that feels like electricity but must, in reality, be panic.
Instead of swinging for him as I might have once upon a time, I stagger back a step and slum against the wall, dropping my head into my hand. I’m unraveling, coming apart at the seams. I don’t know why it feels like I can’t breathe.
You don’t get to have me.
The sound of the rain is maddening. Every inch of my body is on fire.
Something rests on my shoulder. I don’t have to look up to know it’s Rafael’s hand. It’s a simple gesture, but the weight of it is sturdy and reassuring.
“It’ll work out, man,” he says, his voice quiet but steady. “It’ll work out.”
I shake my head, saying nothing. I don’t know what Rafael’s been through, but I know I can’t argue with him. Whatever experience he’s speaking from, it clearly wasn’t easy.
Soon, the moment breaks. I mutter my thanks and straighten, pulling away and stalking back out into the rain.
***
The rain has slowed to a persistent, wet mist by the time dawn begins to creep across the sky the following morning, a dull, muted light barely breaking through the thick clouds.
I haven't slept. I spent hours yesterday at the lake, parked up, staring out at the dark water until the storm finally started to wane. Halfmoon Lake was half-obscured in the fog, an endless stretch of dull gray all the way out to the wreck of Attlefolk, reflecting the heavy clouds above. It did nothing to calm me. I was, and still am, a mess.
I couldn’t think of anything I could possibly say to her. No solutions. No words to fix what I’ve done. Nothing that could make it better.
I imagine sneaking to the clinic, getting past whoever the team has stationed to guard it from me. Maybe I could make it to her window. I could say all the right things. I could make her believe me when I tell her I’m never leaving her again.
Rafael’s words echo in my mind: You need to respect that.
I know I can’t force it. But God, do I want to force it.
When I arrive at the pack center, the bloodstains on the floor have been mopped up, but the air still smells faintly of antiseptic. Nobody, not even the townsfolk going about their business on the bottom floor, is smiling.
Inside the meeting room, the room is already filled with voices, urgent and serious. I slip in like a shadow and sit silently at the end of the table, arms folded, head low. Keira and Olivia are speaking to each other in low voices nearby, the stolen drives from the Haverwood pack spread out on the table before them, their faces set in grim determination. Aris and Bigby are seated nearby, bandaged but alert, discussing something quietly but urgently. Rafael leans against the wall on the other side of the table, arms crossed. His eyes are sharp despite the bruising still darkening his face.
The conversation doesn’t halt upon my entrance, though I can tell everyone knows I’m here. No one is going to ask me about Maisie; I already know. No one has to. They all know.
“Glad you could join us,” Olivia says finally, breaking from her conversation with Keira. Her voice is tight but not unkind. “We’ve got a situation.”
I nod silently. A few seats down, my brother catches my eye, then looks away, a strange look on his face. His eyes flick to Olivia, who is bigger by the day now. Only two or three months until Byron is a father.
I feel unwell. I’m not sure what to do with the feeling.
Moving around the table, Keira flips through a series of files, the light from her laptop casting a faint glow across her face.
“We managed to extract a lot of data from the raid. And now that we know Zane took out their second-in-command…” She pauses, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. There’s no judgment there, just the cold reality of what’s coming. “…We’re certain they’re going to retaliate. They know who we are now.”
A knot forms in my stomach, but I nod for her to continue.
Olivia picks up where Keira left off. “They’ve been planning an assault for a while. They want Rosecreek—its resources, its position in the region, everything. And this…” She gestures vaguely toward the table. “The theft, the infiltrations, the spying? This is the excuse they needed. They’re out for blood now. We thought we could hold them off long enough to surprise them and catch them off-guard, but that’s no longer possible. This means outright war.”
“How soon?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.
Keira exhales, shaking her head. “It’s hard to say for sure, but given the way they’ve been mobilizing… I wouldn’t be surprised if they attack within the week. At best, we’re looking at a fortnight.”
Aris stands, and the room falls deathly silent. In his hands, in his entire body, he seems to hold the true power of his position, the overwhelming authority of a leader’s presence. I understand for the first time why he’s their Alpha.
When he speaks, his voice is low but resolute. “We’ll be ready. We’ll fortify the perimeter, put all our energy into intelligence, and evacuate all those we can. But we need to be on high alert. This isn’t just some territorial skirmish—they’ll be coming hard. They’ll want us—” He gestures around the room. “—Dead. All of us. We can’t afford a single mistake, or Rosecreek falls.”
Ado makes a soft, affirmative noise. “Byron and I can handle artillery and strategic defenses.”
“We’ll start preparing for evacuations today,” Olivia says. “I can already think of a few places where we can make sure people are taken care of until it’s safe to return. But we need to be discreet. We need to handle this carefully so as not to tip them off.”
I swallow hard, nodding along with the plan as others chip in, making plans and suggestions. Maisie will leave even if I have to drag her out of this town. She and the baby… they have to be safe. Whatever happens, I can’t let anything happen to them.
We lay out a solid strategy. I contribute as much as I can; I know dirtier tricks than the rest of the team, not having come from the military, and while nobody seems thrilled at the prospect of setting traps and subterfuge, all my ideas are noted gratefully. I promise to reach out to my contacts in the criminal underworld. I’ll pull every favor I’ve ever earned.
We have a plan. We’ll work out a way to make sure everyone gets out alive.
As the meeting winds down, Keira catches my eye. “We’ll meet again tonight. Make sure you’re ready, Zane.”
There is a double meaning to her words, of course.
I nod. I’m already half out the door, restless energy building in me again. Don’t panic. My hands curl into fists, and I have to remind myself to breathe, to focus. I can’t lose control, not now.
There’s an entire team at my back, but somehow, it feels as though if I fail, everything will fall apart. I don’t know how, even now, I manage to feel alone with these people who allowed me in even when I truly didn’t deserve it.
It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll fight for Rosecreek. I’ll protect the pack. I’ll do whatever it takes.
I make a promise to the gray horizon: even if I can’t have her, I’ll do anything to keep her alive.
And now, I need to make some calls.