Chapter 3
1069 Words
Sam didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Ryan was sitting quietly, hands folded loosely in his lap, his presence steady as a heartbeat. It could have been minutes or an hour. Time felt soft around him, less sharp, less cruel.
Eventually, Sam shifted under the blanket, drawing in a slow breath.
“Ryan?” he murmured.
“Mm?” The Alpha’s response was gentle, alert without being overbearing.
“Did you… sleep at all?”
Ryan huffed a quiet laugh. “A few hours. I stayed in the study downstairs. I didn’t want you waking up alone and panicking.”
Sam’s heart squeezed. He didn’t even know why that simple consideration made something warm pool in his chest. No one had ever arranged their world around his comfort. Not like this.
“You don’t have to do that,” Sam whispered. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not,” Ryan’s voice held no hesitation. “You’re someone recovering from trauma. That doesn’t make you a burden; it makes you brave.”
Brave.
The word felt foreign. Wrong, even. But Ryan said it with the same certainty he said everything else, like it was a truth Sam should’ve always known.
Before Sam could respond, a soft chime sounded from Ryan’s phone. The Alpha checked it, his brows drawing together briefly before smoothing again.
“Everything okay?” Sam asked.
Ryan nodded. “Just some pack business. It can wait.”
Sam hesitated, guilt tugging at him. “You don’t have to stay here if you’re needed.”
Ryan met his gaze, and something warm and fiercely protective flickered beneath the surface.
“I am needed,” he said softly. “Right here.”
The words landed with unexpected weight. Sam swallowed, throat tightening.
Ryan leaned back slightly, giving Sam another moment of space. “But if you prefer to rest, I can step out.”
“No.” Sam clenched the blanket. “I… I don’t want you to go. Not yet.”
That seemed to undo Ryan more than anything else. Something tender passed through his expression, almost reverent.
“Then I’m here,” he murmured.
Silence settled again peacefully this time.
Sam’s fingers idly traced the stitching of the blanket. “What… what happens now?”
Ryan didn’t pretend to not understand. “Whatever you choose,” he said. “If you want a healer, I’ll bring them. If you’d prefer I help clean the wounds, I will. If you want breakfast in bed, I’ll make sure it’s brought up.” A pause. “Or if you just want to sit here until you feel steady, that’s fine too.”
Sam blinked. “You’d clean my wounds?”
“Yes.”
“Yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ryan held his gaze. “Because trust is built in moments like these. And because I want to show you not tell you that you matter here.”
Sam’s breath trembled. “People have said that before.”
“I’m not 'people'.” Ryan’s voice deepened, a quiet promise, not a demand. “And you can decide for yourself whether I’m worthy of your trust. I won’t rush you.”
The room felt too full, too warm, too tender.
Sam looked down at his hands pale, thin, faint bruises still lingering like shadows someone else left behind.
“Can we… try the kit?” he whispered. “If you’re sure.”
Ryan’s nod was immediate but gentle. “Of course. Only what you’re comfortable with.”
He rose from the chair with slow, deliberate movements, crossing to the dresser where a sleek black medical kit rested. Sam watched him not the power in his shoulders, not the alpha dominance that could intimidate anyone, but the care in every step he took.
“Before we start,” Ryan said, returning to sit on the edge of the bed, “I’ll explain everything I do. And if you want me to stop, say the word.”
Sam’s wolf stirred uneasy but hopeful.
“O-okay,” he said quietly.
Ryan opened the kit.
Inside were gauze rolls, antiseptic gel, healing salves, and soft, sterile cloths. No restraints. No harsh tools. Nothing meant to intimidate.
Ryan held out a warm hand, not touching, simply waiting. “May I?” he asked. “Just your wrist.”
Sam hesitated.
Then, slowly, he extended his hand.
Ryan took it like it was something precious cradling, not holding. His fingers were warm, steady, reverent. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t tighten. Just supported.
Sam felt his breath shudder.
Ryan’s voice softened even more. “You’re doing wonderfully.”
With feather-light care, Ryan began to clean the faint marks, using gentle strokes that never once made Sam flinch. Every movement felt like Ryan was rewriting something in him, erasing the memory of rough hands and replacing it with something kinder.
When Ryan finished, he wrapped the wrist in soft gauze and looked up. “Still okay?”
Sam nodded more truthfully than he expected. “Yes.”
Ryan’s shoulders released a breath he’d been holding too.
For a moment, they just stayed like that. Sam’s hand resting in Ryan’s palm, Ryan’s thumb brushing once, comforting, never claiming.
Sam found himself whispering, “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Ryan replied quietly. “I’m honored you trusted me.”
Sam didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed silent until Ryan carefully released his hand and began packing the supplies away with quiet precision.
When he finished, he met Sam’s gaze again.
“The breakfast should be ready by now,” Ryan said softly. “Would you like to go downstairs Or I can bring it up here.”
Sam hesitated, then surprised himself.
“I… think I’d like to go downstairs. With you.”
Ryan’s lips curved into a slow, relieved smile. “I’d like that too.”
And as Sam pushed the blankets aside, his body still aching but his heart lighter than it had been in months, he realized something startling.
He wasn’t going downstairs because he felt obligated.
He was going because, for the first time in a very long time, he wanted to.
Because Ryan made the world feel less dangerous.
And because safety… maybe even warmth… didn’t seem like an impossible dream anymore.
Not when Ryan was beside him.
- Writer
