Page 125 of Pack Fever

I pull from him, my chest hurting as I’m heaving for breath, remembering why I stopped singing, why it tears me up on the inside to contemplate it.

“It’s not that,” I manage to say as the three men in front of me wait for my response. The lump in my throat is nearly unbearable, and I fight against the tears that threaten to spill over. “You don’t get it.” I swallow hard, trying to gather the strength to continue.

“Then help us understand, little mouse,” Jasper urges me to continue, stroking my arm.

His tenderness, all of their kindness, makes me feel safe.

“I made a promise,” I whisper as they lean in, giving me just enough space to speak but close enough to make this feel concealed from the rest of the world. Taking a deep, shaky breath, the dam inside me begins to crack, emotions spilling forward.

“When I was sixteen, my father was taking me to The Song audition. It was during a horrendous storm. Mom told us not to go, but I insisted, desperate for the chance to sing. My father, he... he never said no to me, so he agreed to drive me through the storm.” Pausing my explosion of words, I struggle to breathe, the memory suffocating. “But then... we had an accident, and how I got my arm all scarred.” The words are a tremor, my chin quivering as the scene replays in my mind—the car spinning, my screams, my father lifeless beside me.

“It’s okay,” Seth murmurs, his hands comforting my sides.

“No, you have to know the truth,” I insist, the tears streaming down my face now. “We lost control, and... and he died that day, right next to me.” Lifting my tear-filled eyes to theirs, I see the shock, the pain mirrored in their expressions.

“I’m so sorry.” Jasper’s voice is a soft caress in the heavy air.

“Don’t you see? He’s dead because of me. I pushed him to go out that night. If I hadn’t been so selfish, he’d still be here.” The confession wracks my body with sobs, the guilt a boulder on my chest. “And I promised myself, and him, that I’d never sing again in public. That I’d give up my stupid dream...”

Reed’s arms envelop me, his embrace a comfort from the darkness clawing through me. As I collapse against him, the floodgates open, years of suppressed sorrow pouring out.

Reed’s gentle strokes on my back and soft kisses on my brow end up drawing me back to the present. When I finally look up, my pack is there, a solid wall of support. Jasper’s thumb brushes away my tears, and Reed’s hands steady me by my hips.

Seth leans in closer, his words cutting through the remnants of my despair.

“It’s not your fault, Danica. The storm, the accident—it was a tragedy but not your doing. Your dad loved you. He wanted to support your dream. Do you really think he’d want you to give up on it now?”

His words, meant to console, only reignite the tears.

“If you’re trying to make me cry more, then you’re succeeding,” I say, a choked laugh mingling with my sobs.

Here we are, backstage at a major concert, and I’m baring my soul in what feels like the most public of confessions. Yet, in the arms of my Alphas, this conversation was bound to happen. With Fever by my side and music in my heart, it was only a matter of time.

Jasper’s hand, gentle on my cheek, turns my face toward him, and I meet his gaze. There’s something so raw, so sincere behind his eyes.

“Your dad’s love for you, his belief in your talent... that’s his legacy to you, not the guilt or the pain. Singing, sharing your gift, it honors him, Danica.”

“We’re not asking you to break a promise to your dad,” Reed’s voice breaks through. “We’re asking you to see that maybe, just maybe, that promise came from grief, not reason. Your music, your voice, it’s a part of who you are. Don’t you think he’d want you to live fully, to embrace every part of yourself?”

Their words chip away at the walls I’ve built around my heart, around my voice. The weight of the guilt I’ve carried for so long, the burden of the promise I’ve lived with, it all begins to feel less crushing. I’m still crying, but now it’s a mix of grief and something else—a glimmer of hope, a possibility of healing I’ve never considered.

“But going on stage... it’s terrifying,” I admit, my voice small.

“We’ll be right there with you,” Reed promises, his voice a rumble against my ear. “Every step of the way.”

“We’ve got your back, little mouse. Always,” Jasper adds.

And Seth, the rock in our pack, nods. “Together, Danica. We do this together.”

The idea of facing my fears, of perhaps finding a way to sing again, is daunting. Yet, with Reed, Jasper, and Seth by my side, it feels just a bit more possible.

“But it’s your decision to make, sweetheart. If you don’t want to, then we will respect that, and our love won’t waver, not for a moment.”

“I love you all so much,” I manage to say, my voice barely a whisper over the thunderous beat of my heart. Their love, their admiration, and their support are more than I ever dared to dream.

Seth’s smile broadens, with a hint of something mischievous crossing his face.

“We have something for you,” he says. The next thing I know, he’s reaching into his pocket, and all three men are kneeling before me. The backstage area, usually abuzz with activity, falls into stunned silence, all eyes on us.

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