22. Holden

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HOLDEN

The entire walk back to Bishop's clinic, I didn't say a word, even though my brain was screaming. I focused on getting Noah's limp body to my brother. That was the only thing that mattered right now. Still, I could feel Mylo's eyes glued to my back.

It was easy—for now—to ignore the fact that I'd just shown him exactly who I was. He'd seen me shift. He'd seen Noah go down for him. Everything I'd dreaded, everything I'd tried so damn hard to avoid, happened in a single heartbeat.

But I couldn't think about that. Not yet. Not until I knew Noah was okay.

Over and over, my brain reminded me: Mylo knows. There was no undoing it.

I kept replaying that look on his face—the way everything clicked in his head, that soft "Oh," so detached, so unlike him. Like he'd shut down to process it all in that methodical way I'd come to know so well. And the longer I thought about it, the worse it got.

By the time we reached the clinic, Bishop was prepped and waiting. One look at Noah's unconscious body, and Bishop was rushing us inside, his voice sharp and professional. I barely had time to set Noah down before Bishop started barking orders.

"Everyone else, out. Now."

Mylo stood beside me, silent, his eyes wide, face pale as a sheet. I wanted to pull him close, tell him everything was going to be okay—that we were going to be okay.

But I didn't. Because I wasn't sure it was true. And I was terrified he'd never want to speak to me again.

Instead, I watched him sit down, his shoulders trembling just slightly, like he was holding it together by a thread. Mylo—my mate—who was usually so full of life, looked like a shadow of himself. And it was all my fault.

Yeah, because you're the biggest coward to ever coward.

The rest of the family arrived in the next few minutes—Hope, Indigo, Sarah, Knox, Law. They didn't say much, but their looks spoke volumes. Worry. Blame. Disappointment. I carried it all on my shoulders, where it belonged. I should've told Mylo the truth ages ago. Maybe if I had, we wouldn't be here now.

Mylo sat hunched over with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it held all the answers. I kept searching for the right words— anything —but every time I opened my mouth, I saw that same look in his eyes: fear, betrayal. I'd put that there.

I'd been so afraid of losing him that I'd done the one thing guaranteed to push him away.

"He'll be okay," Hope said softly, breaking the silence. She gave Mylo's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Noah's tough. He'll pull through."

Mylo nodded, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles twitching. "It's my fault," he whispered, though I could hear every word clear as day.

"No," Hope said firmly, her voice sharp with anger. "It's their fault."

I knew we'd have to deal with Noah's family—his real pack. They had a point. Mylo had crossed into their territory, and there would be consequences. But that didn't make this any easier.

"I'm sorry," Mylo whispered.

Hope sighed and wrapped her arm around him, even though he stayed hunched over. "He's going to be fine, Mylo. Trust me."

I stepped closer, my boots scuffing the clinic floor. I had no idea what I was going to say, but I couldn't just stand there and do nothing.

"Mylo," I whispered.

He finally looked up. The pain in his eyes hit me like a punch to the gut. "I… I'm sorry. I should've?—"

"Not now," he interrupted, his voice hoarse. He shook his head and looked away. "I can't... I can't think about this right now. Not until I know Noah's okay."

I swallowed hard and nodded, even though he wasn't looking at me. "Okay. I understand."

The silence that followed was suffocating. I leaned back against the wall, my eyes never leaving him. Mylo was right. Now wasn't the time. Noah was fighting for his life in the next room, and I was standing here, trying to fix things that couldn't be fixed—not yet.

You let it get to this point.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Finally, the door to the back room opened, and Bishop walked out, wiping his hands on a towel. He looked exhausted, but there was a small smile on his face.

"He's stable," Bishop said, and the tension in the room eased. "He's going to be okay. It'll take time, but he'll recover."

Before I could react, Mylo shot to his feet and bolted from the room.

"Mylo!" I called after him, my heart slamming against my ribs.

He was already gone.

I moved to follow, but Hope's voice stopped me.

"Let him go for now," she said gently.

I turned toward her, confused. "I need to make sure he's okay."

Hope gave me a knowing look, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "He just needs some space to process everything. And if… if he's pregnant, that's a whole other set of emotions to work through."

The words hit me like a freight train. "What?"

She shrugged, her expression light but serious. "I'm just saying... throwing up like that, running off the way he did—it wouldn't be the first time someone acted like that because they're pregnant."

My stomach dropped. "Pregnant?"

Hope just smiled and gave my arm a pat. "Just something to think about."

I stood there, stunned, my mind racing. Pregnant. Mylo. Mylo, carrying my child. Could it be true? My thoughts tumbled over themselves as I replayed every moment we'd spent together—the kisses, the nights, every shared touch.

No, I would've known. He would've said something. Right?

But then again, I hadn't exactly been forthcoming with him, either.

"You think…" I trailed off, unable to finish the question.

Hope just smiled again. "You'll figure it out."

I pushed away from the wall, heart pounding. If was really pregnant, everything just got a whole lot more complicated.

Did it though… having a child with my mate… it was more than I deserved.

But complicated or not…I couldn't let fear hold me back anymore. Not for him. Not for us.

"Holden!" Knox called after me as I headed toward the door Mylo had run through.

I didn't stop. I couldn't.

Not until I found him. Not until I made this right.