Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Diego
“No,” I whisper, the word torn from my throat like a piece of my soul.
The doctor’s words hang in the air between us. A broken heart. A bond starving to death. The marks fading forever.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think past the image of Zoe lying in that hospital bed, her skin burning with fever, her body fighting a battle she shouldn’t have to fight. A battle we caused.
“There must be something we can do,” Rett says, his voice sharp with desperation. “A treatment. A procedure. Anything.”
The doctor shakes her head. “Mr. Sterling. It’s a bond issue. The only treatment is to address the root cause.”
“Which is what, exactly?” Dane asks, his voice tight.
“Her belief that she is unwanted,” the doctor says simply.
The words hit me hard. Because that’s exactly what we made her think, isn’t it?
“But that’s not—” Rett starts, then stops, his jaw clenching.
“Not what?” The doctor prompts, her gaze steady.
“Not all she is to us,” he finishes, the words coming out rough and strained.
The doctor’s expression softens slightly.
“Then I suggest you find a way to make her believe that. And quickly. Her condition is stable for now, but the marks are continuing to fade. I’ve never seen anything quite like this, but based on the rate of progression.
..” She hesitates, glancing at her tablet.
“You have a few days at most before the bond fades completely.”
A few days. The words echo in my head like a countdown. A ticking clock. A deadline for something that should never have an expiration date.
“We’ll give you some privacy,” the doctor says, signaling to the nurse to follow her. “Call if her condition changes.”
The door closes behind them with a soft click, leaving us alone with Zoe. My gaze shifts to her. She’s still pale, and the only movement is the slight rise and fall of her chest with each shallow breath.
The silence stretches like a wire about to snap.
I’m the one who breaks it.
“This is our fault,” I say, my voice low and hard in a way it rarely is. “All of us. We did this to her.”
No one contradicts me. They can’t. The truth is written on all our faces, in the haggard exhaustion of sleepless nights, in the fear that’s eating us alive.
“We can fix this,” Rett says, but the usual commanding certainty is missing from his voice. “We just need to make her understand that she’s more than—”
“More than what?” I cut him off, heat rising in my chest. “More than our medicine? More than our fucking aspirin?” My voice rises with each word, the control I’m known for slipping through my fingers. “We never told her she was more! We never gave her a reason to stay beyond the static!”
Rett’s eyes flash, alpha to alpha. “I know that, Diego! Don’t you think I know that? We all know we fucked up!”
“Knowing isn’t enough!” I shout, my fists clenching at my sides. “We’ve been knowing for days! And what have we done about it? Nothing! We let her walk out that door thinking she was disposable!”
“We didn’t know this would happen,” Tristan says, running a hand across his face. “How could we?”
“It shouldn’t have taken this,” I gesture toward Zoe’s still form, “for us to realize what she means to us!”
My chest is heaving, my accent growing thicker with emotion as my control slips further. I rarely lose my temper. I’m the peacemaker. The one who smooths things over. The one who makes sure everyone is fed and comfortable while my alpha brothers handle the important decisions.
But not this time. Not with our bond with Zoe hanging in the balance.
“You’re right.”
The quiet admission comes from Dane. He stands by the door, his pale eyes fixed on Zoe. “We’ve been cowards.”
Tristan makes a noise of protest, but Dane silences him with a look.
“We have,” he continues, his voice flat. “We’ve been hiding behind excuses. Too afraid to admit what was really happening.”
“And what’s that?” Rett demands, his voice a low growl.
Dane turns to him, his eyes cold and clear. “That we’re in love with her. All of us. And we’re fucking terrified of it.”
The words land like a bomb in the center of the room. No one speaks. No one breathes.
Love.
It’s a word we don’t use in the Sterling pack.
“Shit,” Tristan says finally, dropping into a chair and burying his face in his hands. “He’s right.” He looks up, his dark eyes bright with a realization that seems to both thrill and terrify him. “I don’t give a shit about the static. I want her.”
The admission seems to break something open between us, a dam that’s been holding back a flood of truth we’ve all been too afraid to face.
“Her laugh,” Dane says quietly, the words clearly difficult for him. “The way she challenges everything. The way she isn’t afraid of us.”
“The way she looks at art,” Tristan adds, a soft, genuine smile touching his lips. “Like she’s seeing something no one else can see.”
“Her kindness,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “The way she cares about people. The way she looks out for everyone but herself.”
We all turn to Rett, who’s standing rigidly, his back to us, his shoulders a tense line under his rumpled shirt. For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, so quietly I almost miss it:
“Everything. I love everything about her.”
He turns, and the look on his face nearly breaks me. Our pack alpha, always so controlled, so certain, looks utterly wrecked. Raw.
“And I let her walk away,” he says, his voice a ragged whisper. “I let her think she was nothing to me but a cure for the noise in my head.”
“We all did,” I remind him, my earlier anger softening in the face of his obvious pain.
“So what do we do now?” Tristan asks, looking from one of us to the other. “How do we fix this?”
A sense of purpose begins to fill the room, replacing the despair of moments before. We are alphas. We are a pack. And our beta—our mate—is in danger.
“We show her,” Dane says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We prove to her that she’s not a temporary solution. That she’s everything.”
“How?” Rett asks, and the fact that he’s deferring to Dane, asking for guidance, shows just how desperate the situation is.
“We do it her way.” Dane’s eyes never leave Zoe. “With art and books and all the things she loves.”
Rett’s expression shifts, the despair replaced by a fierce, focused determination that I recognize. It’s the look he gets when he’s about to close a deal, to win a battle, to claim victory against impossible odds.
“We bring her home,” he says, his voice regaining its strength. “We heal the bond. And this time, we make sure she knows exactly why we want her to stay.”
“And if she still says no?” Tristan asks, voicing the fear we all share.
“Then we respect her decision,” Rett says, though the words clearly cost him. “But we don’t give up without a fight. Not this time.”
Dane nods once, decisive.
Tristan pulls out his phone, already making lists, his brain shifting into high gear. “We need to get her out of here and back to the penthouse as soon as she’s stable.”
“I’ll coordinate with the doctor,” Dane says, already opening the door. “Get a full briefing on her condition, what to expect, how to monitor the marks.”
Rett nods, then turns to me. “Diego—”
“I’ll make sure the penthouse is ready,” I say before he can finish. “Stock the kitchen. Get her favorite foods. Make sure everything is perfect.”
He looks at me for a long moment, then nods. “Good. I’ll handle the security aspects. Make sure there are no leaks about her condition. The last thing she needs is PackTrackr camping outside our door.”
I nod. But as the others file out, I find myself lingering, unable to tear my eyes away from Zoe’s still form.
Rett pauses at the door, looking back at me. “Diego?”
“I’ll be right there,” I tell him, not turning around. “I just need a minute.”
He hesitates, then leaves, the door closing softly behind him.
Alone now, I move closer to my mate. Our mate. I brush a finger across her jaw, hating how hot her skin still feels and hating even more the reason why.
“Lo siento, carino,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the words. “I’m so sorry.”
She stirs slightly, as if she can sense my presence.
“I’ll make this right,” I vow.