Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Rett
My alpha is raging, demanding I cross the room, that I reclaim what was ours, that I do whatever it takes to stop this agony. But I push it down. Bury it.
Instead, I force myself to my feet. My legs feel like they’re made of water, my entire body trembling with the effort of remaining upright as the static shrieks through my skull. Sweat beads on my forehead, trickling down my temple.
“Diego,” I grit out, my voice a raw, pained rasp that barely sounds human. “Get a cool cloth for her head.”
Diego looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, his own face contorted with suffering. With visible effort, he pulls himself up, using the edge of the bed for support.
“Tristan,” I continue, each word a battle against the pain. “Water.”
Tristan winces and nods once, pushing himself away from the wall where he’s been leaning.
Dane’s pale eyes meet mine across the room. He doesn’t need instructions. He’s already positioning himself by the door, his body rigid with the effort of remaining standing as the static tears through him.
I turn back to Zoe, forcing my features into something that I hope resembles calm concern rather than the screaming torment that’s trying to claw its way out of my throat.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, the question absurdly normal given the circumstances.
Zoe
I can’t tear my eyes away from them.
“Are you hungry?” Rett asks, and the sheer mundanity of the question in the face of what’s happening makes me stare at him in disbelief.
His face is pale, his forehead beaded with sweat. A muscle jumps in his jaw from the effort of clenching his teeth against the pain. But his eyes are steady on mine, filled with genuine concern.
“I’m...” I begin, unsure how to answer. The fever is receding, the burning heat replaced by a strange, hollow coolness. My throat feels dry, my limbs weak. But compared to what they’re experiencing, my discomfort seems trivial. “I’m okay. But you’re not.”
He ignores my observation, reaching for my wrist instead. His fingers press against my pulse point, counting silently. His touch is cool against my skin, and I notice the slight tremor in his hands.
“Your pulse is stronger,” he says, but his voice is strained. “That’s good.”
“Rett,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “The static. It’s back, isn’t it?”
Before he can answer, Diego returns with a damp cloth. The short trip to the bathroom and back seems to have drained him completely. His usual warm, golden complexion has a grayish cast, and there’s a light sheen of sweat on his brow. His hands tremble as he passes the cloth to Rett.
“Here,” he says, the single word sounding like it’s been torn from his throat.
Tristan appears a moment later, a glass of water in his hand. His usual easy grace is gone, replaced by a stiff, controlled movement. He sets the glass on the nightstand, not quite meeting my eyes.
“You should drink,” he says, his voice tight. “You’re still dehydrated.”
I look from one to the other, a sense of unreality washing over me. This can’t be happening. They can’t seriously be acting like nothing is wrong, like they’re not in the grip of some unspeakable agony.
“Stop,” I whisper. “Just... stop this. All of you.”
Rett pauses, the cool cloth halfway to my forehead. “Stop what?”
“This,” I gesture at all of them. “Pretending you’re fine. Pretending nothing’s happening. I can see you’re in pain. I can see the static is back.”
A heavy silence falls over the room. The four of them exchange glances.
“It doesn’t matter,” Rett says finally.
“It doesn’t—” I cut myself off, incredulous. “Of course, it matters! Look at you! All of you!”
“Your recovery is what matters,” Dane says from his position by the door. His voice is flat, but I can see the tension in every line of his body. “The rest is irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant?” I repeat, disbelief coloring my tone. “You’re in agony!”
“It’s manageable,” Rett lies, the strain in his voice betraying him.
I look around at the four of them, these stubborn, ridiculous alphas who are determined to suffer in silence rather than admit they need help. A wave of emotion washes over me.
“This is insane,” I mutter, pushing myself up further against the pillows. The movement makes my head spin, reminding me I’m not fully recovered yet. “You need to... I don’t know, take something. Do something. This can’t be good for you.”
“We’ve lived with it before,” Tristan says, attempting a casual shrug that looks more like a spasm of pain. “We’ll adjust again.”
“But it’s worse now, isn’t it?” I press. “Worse than before?”
None of them answers, which is answer enough.
I sigh, reaching for the glass of water Tristan brought. My hand shakes slightly, and before I can get a firm grip, the glass starts to tilt.
Four pairs of hands move at once, all of them lunging to catch it before it can spill. It’s Diego who gets there first, his large hand steadying mine around the glass.
“I’ve got it,” he says quietly.
Our fingers brush, and for a split second, I swear I feel... something. A ghost of the connection we once shared. A faint, electric tingle that races up my arm.
From the way Diego’s eyes widen slightly, I think he feels it too. But then it’s gone, leaving only the smooth, cool glass between our hands.
He helps me bring the water to my lips, his touch impossibly gentle despite the obvious strain he’s under. I drink deeply, suddenly aware of how thirsty I am.
“Thank you,” I murmur when I’ve had enough.
Diego nods once, taking the glass and stepping back. But I notice he stays closer to the bed now.
“You should eat something,” he says. “I could make you some more soup. Or toast, if you prefer.”
The thought of food makes my stomach turn, but I nod anyway, touched by his concern. “Toast would be good,” I say. “But only if you sit down first. All of you. You look like you’re about to collapse.”
None of them moves. I narrow my eyes, channeling every ounce of my inner stubborn beta.
“I mean it,” I say firmly. “Sit down, or I’m getting out of this bed and making my own damn toast.”
I start to push the covers back, as if I’m really going to follow through on my threat. It’s a bluff. I’m not sure my legs would hold me. But it has the desired effect.
“Alright. Alright,” Rett says. He sinks into the armchair beside the bed. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” I say dryly. I look at the others. “You too.”
Diego hesitates, then perches on the edge of the bed. Tristan drops into the window seat. Dane remains standing, but he does lean against the wall, some of the rigid formality going out of his stance.
“Better.” I nod. “Now, someone tell me what’s going on. And don’t say ‘nothing’ or I swear I will scream.”
Another loaded silence as they exchange glances. It’s Rett who finally speaks, his voice level despite the strain evident in every line of his face.
“The bond broke,” he says simply. “The static returned.”
“I figured that much out,” I say, my hand going unconsciously to my throat. No evidence remains of the claiming that changed all our lives. “But it’s worse than before, isn’t it? That’s why you all look like death warmed over.”
“It’s...” Rett pauses, searching for words. “Intense.”
“Understatement of the century,” Tristan mutters from the window seat.
“Is it permanent?” I ask, looking from one to the other. “Or will it fade back to... whatever normal was for you?”
“We don’t know,” Dane says quietly. “This isn’t exactly a common situation.”
I absorb this, the weight of it settling in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the words inadequate but sincere.
Diego’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with surprise. “You’re sorry? Carino, no. This isn’t your fault.”
“Well—” I start.
“If we hadn’t let you think you were just a convenient solution to our problem,” Rett interrupts, the words underpinned by a low, frustrated growl he can’t quite suppress. “If we had been honest about what you really meant to us, you wouldn’t have left.”
“And what do I mean to you?” I ask quietly, the question that’s been burning in my mind for weeks finally spoken aloud.
The silence that follows is heavy, charged with everything unsaid between us.
“Everything,” Dane says from his position against the wall. The single word is soft, but it lands with the impact of a thunderclap.
Tristan laughs, a short, pained sound. “Leave it to Dane to say in one word what the rest of us can’t manage in a thousand.”
I look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
He gestures vaguely, wincing at the movement. “All of this... the static, the marks, the bond. It was never about finding a cure. I mean, it was at first, sure. But somewhere along the way, it became about... you. Just you.”
“What Tristan is trying to say,” Diego cuts in, his voice gentle, “is that we fell in love with you. All of us. And we were too stupid, too afraid, to tell you.”
Love.
The word hangs in the air. I stare at Diego, trying to process what he’s just said. My gaze moves to the others, searching their faces for confirmation, for denial, for any clue to help me make sense of this revelation.
Tristan is watching me with an uncharacteristically serious expression. Dane’s pale eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes me shiver. And Rett... Rett looks away, his jaw clenched, as if the admission has cost him something vital.
“You... love me?” I repeat, the words feeling strange in my mouth.
“Yes,” Diego says simply.
“All of you.”
Four nods, varying in enthusiasm but unanimous in conviction.
I lean back against the pillows, suddenly overwhelmed. This is... this is not what I expected. Not what I prepared for. I was ready for them to confirm my worst fears. That I was nothing more than a biological band-aid for their condition. I was prepared to feel used, disposable, replaceable.
I was not prepared for love.
“I don’t...” I start, then stop, unsure what I’m even trying to say. “This is a lot.”
“We know,” Rett says, his voice softer now, some of the command leached out of it. “We’re not asking you for anything, Zoe. We’re not expecting you to... to fix this.” He gestures vaguely at his head, indicating the static. “We just wanted you to know the truth.”
I study him, really look at him, for what feels like the first time.
Beyond the powerful alpha, beyond the CEO, beyond the commanding presence, I see the man.
The vulnerability in his eyes, the slight tremble in his hands that he’s trying so hard to hide, the way he’s sitting just a little too stiffly to mask the pain he’s in.
And then I look at the others. At Diego, his warm brown eyes filled with a gentle hope despite the suffering etched into his face.
At Tristan, his usual restless energy contained in a tense, rigid posture that must be costing him dearly.
At Dane, his pale gaze never leaving my face, as if memorizing every detail.
These four men, these powerful, arrogant, frustrating alphas, love me. Me. A beta gallery assistant with a secondhand couch and a collection of art history books.
“You should rest,” Rett says, mistaking my silence for exhaustion. “We’ve tired you out.”
“I’m not tired,” I argue, though it’s only partly true. I am tired, but it’s a different kind of tired. The kind that comes from having your entire worldview shifted in an instant. “I’m just... processing.”
He nods, understanding in his eyes despite the pain I can see he’s fighting.
“We’ll go,” he says, starting to rise. “Give you some space.”
“No!” The word is a raw, guttural sound, ripped from my throat with a force that surprises even me. All four of them freeze. “No,” I repeat, softer this time. “Stay. Please.”
Rett sinks back into the chair, relief and confusion warring on his face. “Zoe...”
“I don’t know what this means,” I say honestly. “I don’t know what happens next. But I don’t want you to go.”
A cautious hope dawns in Diego’s eyes. “You don’t?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t.”
Rett’s throat moves as he releases a slow breath. “Then we’ll stay,” he says simply.
I nod, suddenly exhausted, the emotional weight of the last few minutes catching up with me. I sink deeper into the pillows, my eyelids growing heavy.
“Rest,” Rett says. “We’re here.”
As I drift off, I’m aware of them settling around me.
Diego, moving to sit at the foot of the bed once more, his hand resting lightly on my ankle.
Tristan, stretching out on the window seat, his eyes not focused on the view of Sweetwater below, but on me instead.
Dane, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, his long legs stretched out before him.