Chapter 14
Emery
I wake up to the sound of someone slamming a door.
Not gently, but the kind that says, “I don’t give a fuck who’s sleeping.
” The entire wall shudders, and my fairy lights flicker like they’re about to short out.
I lie in my nest for a minute, half-dreaming that I’m still at finishing school and the drama outside is just another omega sobbing about her failed baking project.
But the voices in the hallway are low, angry, and at least one of them is Ranier’s.
I pull on my warmest hoodie and crack the door open.
A fresh wave of smoke and ozone hits my nose, which is wrong, because none of the alphas actually smoke and I’m pretty sure the house is up to code.
Down the hall, Ranier is pacing in a pair of black sweats and a t-shirt with a faded boarding school crest. He’s on the phone, gesturing with the hand that’s not gripping his hair.
At the far end, Wyatt sits on the bottom step of the main staircase, hunched over, phone glowing in his lap.
I can’t see Bastion.
My stomach does a slow backflip. I step out into the hall and the floor is cold, almost wet, under my feet. The thermostat is set for “polar research station.” I shiver, drawing Wyatt’s attention. He blinks up at me, eyes ringed in red, like he’s been up all night.
Wyatt doesn’t say anything right away, just looks at me and then at the hoodie I definitely didn’t steal to add to my nest while the alphas were busy. The gaze lasts for a long moment before he’s staring back at his phone again.
I almost retreat to my room and pretend I don’t exist. But I’m stubborn and, also, I need to know. So I go down the hall, avoiding Ranier, and sit on the bottom stair next to Wyatt.
It’s clear something with Bastion has happened, but whether it’s him or one of his family members, I’m unsure.
“Is he dead?” I whisper jokingly. It’s too early for subtlety.
I mean it as a joke, but Wyatt looks at me sideways with a slow blink that’s almost a wince. “No. Bastion’s at City Hospital. Broke a lot of things, but nothing you can’t duct tape together.”
Wyatt scrolls his phone. The screen is open to a private group chat, and from the few words I catch, the phrases “totaled” and “stupid fucker” are being thrown around a lot.
My heart sinks. Oh my god. “What happened?”
It’s like the entire world just sags under a fresh layer of gravity.
For a second, my hearing fuzzes out, and all I’m aware of is the damp cold biting through the hem of my pajama pants and the dark, gnawing pit opening up at the bottom of my stomach.
I don’t even like Bastion half the time.
He’s a walking ego trip with a gambling problem and the emotional intelligence of a houseplant.
But in the weird, non-optional way of pack life, the mere thought of him being really hurt—city hospital, “totaled,” the tone of Wyatt’s voice—makes my palms get clammy and my brain short-circuit.
It’s not just fear. It’s the creeping sense that something bigger is at work, that the fragile web the Starlings and I have been tap-dancing around all week is about to snap in a way nobody can ignore.
My body goes into hyperdrive, every sense kicked to high alert.
Something in my muscles wants to run, or scream, or do something constructive, but all I can manage is to clutch the banister and try to breathe without making it obvious I’m panicking.
Wyatt scratches the back of his neck. He smells like ocean rain and old sweat. “Midnight race. Bastion lost control. The other racers pulled him out before bailing from the scene, but he walked to the hospital on his own.”
I don’t even know where to start processing all of that information. Midnight street racing. Walking hurt to the hospital. “Why was he racing?”
Wyatt shrugs, but it’s clearly a stand-in for something else like guilt or exhaustion. “Because it’s what he does. He gets pissed off, he drives. Sometimes he comes back quickly and unhurt, even in the same car he left in. Sometimes he doesn’t.”
We sit there in silence. Ranier is still on the phone, his voice tight and clipped, talking to someone about Council spin and “damage control” and “we’ll need to get ahead of this.”
Classic.
I realize, with a sick little thump in my chest, that I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
Am I supposed to make coffee? Bake a casserole?
Is there a guide for this in the omega etiquette book?
I try to imagine how my mother would handle it.
She’d probably call the hospital and offer to donate blood, even if they didn’t want it.
Or maybe she’d just hug everyone until it got weird.
Wyatt’s foot taps the floor, restless. “He’ll be home later. They said he can leave after x-rays.”
“Do you want to go see him?” I ask. I expect him to say no.
Wyatt is quiet for a long time. He looks at the glow of his phone, then at Ranier, then back at me. “No. He’ll hate that. He’ll hate anyone seeing him like that.”
I get that. If there’s one thing an omega understands it’s not wanting anyone but her pack seeing her in a vulnerable state. “Do you want anything? Coffee, tea, something sugary and bad for you?”
Wyatt almost smiles, but not quite. “Coffee, please. Black. And, uh, thanks.”
I stand and pad to the kitchen. There’s a window over the sink, and the city beyond it is just starting to bleed a little orange into the navy sky. I flick on the coffeemaker and lean against the counter, arms folded, breathing in the scent of the beans and trying to decide if it’s okay to cry.
I haven’t known Bastion that long, but the idea of him broken up in a hospital bed is like someone telling you your favorite painting was stolen then run through a shredder. It doesn’t make sense, and it makes you angry, and then it makes you sad.
The coffee gurgles. I pour two cups, one for Wyatt and one for me, because I don’t trust myself to face Ranier before I’m fully caffeinated.
When I get back to the staircase, Wyatt has moved. He’s at the window, looking out, phone held loose in his hand. He takes the cup and cradles it, inhaling the steam like it might give him back some kind of control.
“Thank you,” Wyatt says, and then, after a long moment, “Are you okay?”
The question floors me. I want to laugh, or tell him I’m invincible, or make a joke about finishing school training me for this. Instead, I nod and then shake my head, which is so dumb it almost counts as an answer.
Wyatt watches me, quiet and careful. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
I want to ask what he means, but I already know. “I just—” I start, then stop. “He was really angry last night. Before he left.”
Wyatt sips his coffee. “He’s always angry. The trick is figuring out who it’s at.”
We watch the sunrise for a bit. The sky turns gray, then pink, then a weird shade of peach that looks fake. I sip my coffee and try not to think about what’s waiting for us at the hospital. I want to help, but I don’t know how. I want to fix things, but there’s nothing to fix.
Ranier’s phone call ends. He stands there for a moment, hands on his hips. “They said he’ll be out by noon. They’re prepping a statement for the press. I want both of you on lock. No comments. No interviews. We don’t need another scandal.”
Wyatt mutters something under his breath, but Ranier ignores it.
I muster my best finishing school smile, the one that says, I’m not about to have a breakdown. “Do you want coffee?”
“No,” Ranier says. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, Grey.”
I bristle at the use of my last name. “You know, you can call me Emery.”
Ranier doesn’t answer. He just turns and leaves, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the tile.
Wyatt sighs. “Ranier’s scared. That’s why he’s like this.”
I nod. “I know.”
The coffee is getting cold. I dump the rest in the sink and rinse the mug, hands shaking a little, but not enough that anyone would notice.
Wyatt lingers at the window. “They’ll both be fine. They always are.”
I want to believe him, but I know better. People break all the time, even if they don’t show it.
I go back to my room. The nest is still warm. I crawl inside and pull the blankets over my head, phone clutched in my hand, and stare at the crack in the ceiling until my eyes blur.
I should sleep, but instead I scroll through the news feeds and socials, watching as the story spreads: ROYAL ALPHA CRASHES CAR. SUSPICIONS OF GAMBLING TIES. FAMILY REFUSES TO COMMENT.
I close the app and set the phone on the pillow next to me. For a while, I just listen to the house breathe. There’s something comforting about the hum of the old radiators and the distant drone of Ranier’s voice as he makes more calls.
I wonder what Bastion is doing. Is he alone in his hospital room? Is he awake? Does he care that we’re waiting for him to come home?
I pull the covers tighter, and for the first time since I got here, I let myself cry. Not the big, movie-style sobs, but the kind that sneaks out in hot, wet streaks and leaves your face feeling raw.
When I finally stop, the sun is up. I wipe my eyes, blow my nose, and get dressed. I put on my best dress, the one that makes my hair look like a cotton candy explosion, and I decide that when Bastion comes home, I’m going to be there for him. Not because it’s my job, but because I want to.
I go to the florist two blocks down and buy the most ridiculous bouquet they have. I get a balloon shaped like a wolf and a stuffed bear that says, Get Wrecked. I pack up some sketchbooks and markers, and I put together a care package that would make my mother proud.
When Ranier’s car pulls up to take us to the hospital as he’s apparently changed his mind on not visiting, I’m already waiting on the curb.
Wyatt smirks when he sees the balloon, but he doesn’t say anything.
Ranier sighs. “You really going to bring that in there?”
“Yes.”
Ranier shakes his head. “You’re impossible.”
I smile. “You have no idea.”