The Human and the Alpha's son

CHAPTER 11

(Jared POV)

This week has been a haze.

I’ve been a shell of myself. On the ice, I’ve missed plays, drifted when I should’ve driven, and kept my head down while Coach barked orders that barely registered. I’ve never seen Coach look so disappointed in me—not even after the Micah fight in sophomore year. The team pretends not to notice, but they’re not stupid.

In class, I might as well be invisible. I haven’t turned in half my assignments. I’ve barely spoken to anyone. The only time I feel remotely tethered to the world is when I’m at the hospital.

I go every day.

Sometimes I sit with Kay. We don’t say much. She’s exhausted and I don’t want to push. Other times, when her eyes are fluttering shut in that stiff plastic chair, I wait just outside the room. Just knowing she’s there, just being there—it’s the only thing that keeps me sane.

But my wolf is suffering.

He doesn’t understand why we can’t shift—why we won’t. But the truth is, I can’t handle it. The sight of Kay—pale, silent, hollow-eyed—unravels something in me. My wolf feels her grief like it’s his own, but he doesn’t know what to do with it. He just howls and paces beneath my skin. So I stay human. Fragile. Fractured.

At home, it’s worse.

Dad and I can’t be in the same room without fighting. He keeps talking about duty, about choosing a mate, about Lyra. I haven’t answered a single call from the recruiters he lined up for me. I don’t care about scholarships. I don’t care about his expectations. Not when Kay’s world is falling apart.

The night her mom came back to the hospital while Kay was sleeping, we talked. It was quiet, brief. She thanked me for being there. I told her I wouldn’t be anywhere else. Then she said it—softly, with the kind of pride only a mother can have—that Kay had chosen Cal State.

My breath caught.

I hadn’t known. She hadn’t told me.

It wasn’t that I was mad—just stunned. Out of everything we shared, that felt like a big thing to leave out. I realized I still hadn’t made my decision about where I’d go. Every time I thought about committing, about sending the final email, something stopped me.

Now I knew why. I couldn’t choose until I talked to her. Until I knew where we stood.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I was pacing the hallway outside Kay’s dad’s room when I heard footsteps behind me.

“Are you avoiding her or guarding her?” Jessa’s voice cut through the quiet.

I stopped mid-step. “Neither. Both. I don’t know.”

She crossed her arms and gave me a long, unreadable look. “You know Micah asked her to prom, right?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Did it right after lunch earlier this week. Casual but clear. She didn’t say yes, but… it’s floating in the air.”

I clenched my jaw. “Now’s not the time to talk about prom.”

“No, it’s not. That’s the problem. Because this—this thing with her dad, and the blood test, and her being completely wrecked? It’s all happening, Jared. And while it’s happening, Micah’s out here throwing his hat in the ring.”

“She’s not thinking about prom.”

“She’s not. But he is. And so is everyone else.”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You can’t keep straddling the line. If you want her, tell her. If you don’t, let her go. You don’t get to just hover around and hope she reads your mind.”

I looked down at the scuffed floor, breathing hard.

“She needs someone who’s all in, Jared,” Jessa said softly. “And if that’s not you… you need to stop pretending it could be.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Just walked away, her words leaving a dull ache in their place.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

That morning, the day Mr. Roberts was being discharged, I got up early and showed up at the hospital. Mom tried to stop me—"Give them space, Jared"—but I couldn’t. I needed to be there.

Kay’s dad looked tired but better. His smile was slow, but real. Her mom hugged me like she didn’t care what anyone thought. It was strange being part of their moment, but Kay didn’t ask me to leave. That was enough.

Her parents said their goodbyes to the nurses and headed toward the elevators with a wheelchair and a nurse escorting them.

I expected to say goodbye in the parking lot.

Instead, Kay walked over to me as her parents got into their car. "Can you drive me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

My heart skipped. “Yeah. Of course.” I said, trying not to sound as surprised—or relieved—as I felt.

She climbed into the passenger seat like she’d done a thousand times before, except now it felt foreign. We used to fill every second with jokes and half-finished thoughts, music blasting, windows down.

Today it’s quiet inside the Jeep—awkward. And that alone said everything. We’d never had awkward before. We’d had banter, tension, even fights—but never this fragile silence.

She kept her eyes on the window.

"You okay?" I asked gently, risking a glance her way.

She nodded but didn’t look at me. "Tired. Just… tired."

I didn’t ask anything else. Didn’t push. Just drove.

When we got to her street, I turned my blinker on.

"Can you keep driving? Please." she said quietly.

I flicked the blinker off and passed the turn.

We drove in silence for ten minutes. Fifteen. Through the wooded roads just beyond town, where the sun streaked through tall gums and the wind hummed like an old song.

Then her voice cut through the quiet.

“They tested my blood.”

I glanced over, but her eyes were fixed out the window.

“They thought my dad might need a transfusion. I offered. I didn’t even think. But—” she swallowed. “I wasn’t a match.”

My grip tightened on the steering wheel.

“Not even a near match,” she whispered.

I glanced at her sharply. She was staring straight ahead.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean," she said, turning to face me now, voice trembling, "Tom Roberts isn’t my biological father."

The words hit like a punch to the chest.

She laughed softly—bitter and broken. "I haven’t told anyone. Not him. Not my mom. Not even Jessa. I just… kept it in. But I can’t anymore. I feel like I’m going to explode."

I pulled the car over on a quiet stretch of road and parked.

She was shaking now, hands curled in her lap.

"I don’t know who I am," she whispered. "I don’t know what that makes me."

I reached over, took her hand gently in mine.

"It makes you you, Kay. The same girl I’ve known since I was five. The one who kicked my ass at soccer in sixth grade. The one who reads four books at once and forgets where she puts her phone five times a day.” then I silently add “The one my wolf won’t shut up about."

Her eyes locked with mine, wide and glistening with tears.

"You’re still you," I said. "And I’m still here."

She exhaled like she hadn’t breathed in days—and leaned into me, forehead against my shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I didn’t know who else I could tell."

"Always me," I said, brushing her hair back behind her ear. "No matter what." I plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head

We sat like that for a long time. And for the first time all week, I felt my wolf go quiet.