The Human and the Alpha's son

CHAPTER 10

(Makayla's POV)

I rushed through the automatic doors of the emergency department, heart pounding in my chest like it was trying to escape. The air inside was too cold, too white. The beeping of machines and the low murmur of voices made everything feel distant, like I was underwater.

A nurse met me at the front desk and led me down a sterile hallway. I didn’t remember most of the walk—just the buzz in my ears and the tight knot of fear in my chest.

Then I saw him.

My dad lay on the hospital bed, pale and still. Wires and tubes surrounded him like vines. His head was wrapped in white gauze, and machines blinked and beeped rhythmically at his side.

I stopped cold in the doorway. My knees nearly gave out.

The nurse touched my arm gently. “He’s stable. The doctor will come speak to you soon.”

I nodded, unable to speak. I moved to the chair beside him, sat down, and took his hand carefully in mine. It was warm. Too warm, like all his heat had gathered there.

“Hey, Dad,” I whispered. “I’m here.”

I didn’t cry. I wanted to—but I couldn’t.

Not yet.

My mom arrived not long after, breathless and red-eyed. She sat down hard in the second chair and clutched my dad’s hand like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

When the doctor came in—kind eyes, tired voice—he explained everything gently. A mild concussion. Bruised ribs. A dislocated shoulder. No internal bleeding. No spinal injury.

They were keeping him sedated for at least twenty-four hours to monitor brain swelling, but things looked hopeful. He’d need rest. A week or more in the hospital.

We nodded. Asked questions. Took notes neither of us would remember.

After a few hours, I convinced my mom to go home and take a break. She was shaking, pale, clearly running on fumes.

“You need to eat. Shower. Just… breathe for a second,” I told her.

She hesitated but finally caved, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “Text me if anything changes.”

I promised I would.

Then it was quiet again. Just me and my dad. The low whirr of machines. The occasional beep. The scent of antiseptic and plastic.

I curled into the chair beside the bed and pulled my knees up to my chest. My head leaned against the armrest. My eyes burned from staying open too long.

The exhaustion hit hard, crashing down like a wave. Just for a second, I let myself drift—

A soft knock at the door made me blink awake.

The door opened slowly, and Jared’s face appeared, his expression careful.

“Hey,” he whispered.

I stared at him, frozen. I had kept it together all day—for my mom, for the nurses, for the strangers in the waiting room.

But now?

Now that he was here…

Something in me cracked.

I dropped my head into my hands and finally let the tears fall.

The chair shifted as he moved. In a second, his arms were around me, pulling me up and into his chest. I clung to him like I was drowning, and he was the only solid thing left.

“It’s okay,” he murmured against my hair. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

I shook against him, every sob ripping free like it had been waiting all day to escape.

“I’ve got you,” he kept saying, over and over, as if he could will it to be true.

His hand moved in slow circles across my back, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. I buried my face in the soft fabric of his hoodie and let myself fall apart.

At some point, the sobs stopped. Not because I’d run out of sadness—just out of energy.

My eyes closed. His arms stayed tight around me.

And then—dimly, through the fog of sleep—I heard the door open again.

A familiar voice.

“Jared?”

It was my mom.

“She fell asleep,” he said softly.

A pause.

“Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

Another pause. Then her voice, quieter this time: “Will you be going to Cal State too?”

I wanted to hear his answer—needed to—but it was too far away now. My mind slipped deeper into the dark, dragging me down into sleep before I could make out what he said.

____________________________________________________________________________

The days blurred together in the white hum of fluorescent lights, rustling sheets, and the mechanical rhythm of hospital monitors. My dad didn’t wake up until Wednesday morning—groggy, confused, but alive. His voice was rough, his eyes bloodshot, and he kept trying to make jokes between sips of water. I’d never been so relieved in my life.

After that, I barely left his side.

Each day, I sat in the vinyl chair by his bed, doing homework on a borrowed laptop or reading to him from the sports section. Sometimes we watched old reruns on the tiny wall-mounted TV. Other times, we just sat in silence.

People visited. Friends from his work, neighbors, the school principal. Jessa came every day with coffee or snacks and always left with a hug for my dad and some whispered update on school gossip for me. Even Micah dropped by once, awkward and respectful, leaving a sports magazine and a bouquet he claimed was “definitely not from his mom.”

And Jared.

Jared came too, usually in the evening, when the halls were quieter. He didn’t stay long, never hovered, but he brought food I didn’t ask for, checked on both me and Dad, and left without needing thanks. We didn’t talk much—but he didn’t need to say anything. Just knowing he was there mattered more than I could admit.

By Friday, they were preparing my dad for discharge.

He was doing better. Still tired, still sore, but smiling like he meant it. The bruises on his face had darkened and faded, and the sling around his shoulder didn’t seem to bother him too much.

Everything should have felt normal again.

Except it didn’t.

The day they sedated him, the doctors said he might need blood. I’d offered mine without hesitation.

But I wasn’t a match.

Not even close.

I hadn’t told anyone. Not my mom, not my dad. Not Jessa. Not even Jared.

I told myself it didn’t matter. That maybe it was just some medical fluke. That families were more than biology.

But deep down, the seed had been planted. And now that the crisis was over, it was blooming into something loud and restless in my chest. The truth hung over me like a weight I couldn’t carry alone anymore.

Tom Roberts was the man who raised me. Taught me how to ride a bike. Held my hand when I cried. He was my dad in every way that counted.

But he wasn’t my biological father.

And now… I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every moment of silence stretched too long. Every unanswered question from my mom echoed louder.

I needed answers.

More than that, I needed someone to hear me. To tell me I wasn’t losing my mind.

There was only one person who made me feel like I could breathe through the chaos.

I needed to talk to Jared.

I didn’t know how I’d start. I just knew I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer.