At the Hospital

RHEA'S POV

Relief washes over me the moment I realize Miles came alone. I didn't even know I was holding my breath until now. I hadn't prepared myself for seeing Roxy with him. His eyes find mine across the waiting room, and for a moment, just one small moment, I forget that he doesn't love me. That his heart has never been mine. That yesterday, while I sat alone surrounded by staff pretending to celebrate my birthday, he was with her.

He strides toward me, all Alpha confidence and sharp angles in his tailored suit. I've memorized every line of his face, every shift of his expression, and right now, there's something in his eyes I rarely see when he looks at me—concern.

"Hey," he says, his voice gentler than I've heard in months. "I came as soon as I heard. Are you alright?"

The gentleness in his tone makes my chest ache. This is the Miles I fell in love with all those years ago by the river, not the cold stranger who shares my bed but never his heart.

I just nod, not trusting my voice. Emotions clog my throat: anger, hurt, confusion, and beneath it all, that stubborn, stupid love that refuses to die no matter how many times he kills it. I study his face, searching for signs of deception. Does he think I don't know where he was yesterday? Who he was with?

He sits beside me, not touching me, but close enough that I catch his scent, that expensive cologne and something underneath that's just him.

"Any news about your mother?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"No," I manage to say. My voice sounds thin and strained. "They haven't told me anything yet. She was with Uncle Marcus when it happened."

Miles nods, but his brow furrows. "Marcus? What were they doing in Moonfall Pack?"

"I don't know."

The anonymous video plays in my mind again. Miles smiling down at Roxy, his hand on the small of her back, her face tilted up to his. That smile he never gives me. I wonder how long he had been seeing her for. I've watched it so many times that it's burned into my memory, frame by agonizing frame.

Miles doesn't offer more comfort. He doesn't put his arm around my shoulders, no hand holding mine, just his solid but distant presence beside me on the uncomfortable waiting room chair. I wonder if he is already itching to leave or to go back to her.

The silence between us stretches, tight as a wire. I watch his fingers tap against his thigh, and he checks his phone once, twice, three times in the span of five minutes. His body angles slightly toward the door, as if his instincts are pulling him toward something or someone who isn't here yet.

"You don't have to stay," I say finally. The words feel like glass in my mouth. "I know you're busy."

His eyes flick to mine, there's a flash of surprise there, then something else I can't read. "I'm staying," he says firmly. "She is your mother. I should be here."

He should be here. Not because he wants to support me, his wife, his Luna, but because it's what's expected of him. The proper thing for an Alpha to do. Always the perfect Alpha on the outside.

"Did she call you?" I ask before I can stop myself.

Miles goes still. "Who?"

"Roxy." The name burns on my tongue. "Did she call you about Mom?"

He hesitates just a fraction too long. "Yes. She called me after the hospital called her."

Of course she did. Roxy calls, and Miles comes running. Always. I wonder if she is the reason he is constantly checking his phone, if he is waiting for her next message, or her next command.

I want to ask him about yesterday. About the video. About why he couldn't even send a text on my birthday but could travel to another pack to celebrate with my sister. But the words jam in my throat, tangled with all the other questions I've never had the courage to ask.

Just then, the hospital door flings open with a bang that makes me flinch. And Roxy hurries in. A slightly different image of me, yet somehow always more. Her face is blotchy with tears, but somehow, she is still beautiful. Her designer clothes cling to her perfect figure, her hair artfully disheveled as if she just stepped out of a photoshoot for "Distraught but Gorgeous." My hand unconsciously moves to my hastily pulled-back hair.

"Miles!" she cries out. She doesn't even glance at me. Her eyes are locked on him like he is the only person in the room.

Miles is on his feet instantly, abandoning my side without a second thought. He crosses the room in three quick strides, closing the distance between them as if he is pulled by an invisible force, to catch Roxy as she practically falls into him. Then, he is enfolding her in his arms, drawing her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here now," he murmurs into her hair, his voice thick with an emotion I've never heard directed at me. His hands stroke her back in slow, soothing motions, hands that never linger on my skin like that, hands that always seem in a hurry to be elsewhere.

Roxy wraps her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest, her body shaking with sobs that seem to come from somewhere deep inside her. She is really hurting. I have seen her feign distraught before, but she is genuinely broken by this news, after all, it was her two favorite people in there.

"I was so scared," she whispers, loud enough for me to hear. "I didn't know what to do."

"I know, I know," Miles soothes, his lips pressing against the top of her head. "But I'm here now. We will figure it out together."

The fluorescent lights suddenly seem too bright, and the room feels too small. The antiseptic smell that clings to every hospital burns my nose. I want to stand, to walk away, to scream, to do anything but sit here and watch my husband comfort my sister with a tenderness he has never once shown me.

But some masochistic part of me needs to see this, needs to remember what I'm fighting for and what I'll never have.