Page 82 of Saddle and Scent
Fighting against barriers, real and imagined, that have kept us apart for a decade.
"Stop letting fear dictate your life," she continues, her tone gaining strength and conviction. "Start living it, because we're running on the world's clock. It's not the other way around."
Shit…
The truth of it settles into my bones like lead, heavy and undeniable. We've spent ten years letting fear make our decisions, letting hypothetical threats control our actions, letting the possibility of danger overshadow the certainty of love.
And what do we have to show for it?
A decade of misery, three broken Alphas, and an Omega who nearly died of heat stroke because she was too proud to ask for help and we were too cowardly to offer it.
Dr. Mitchell gathers her medical bag with efficient movements, preparing to leave us to deal with the wreckage of our revelations. But she pauses at what I assume is the doorway, turning back to deliver one final piece of advice.
"Make sure you give her the medicine and feed her," she says, her voice returning to its professional tone. "And make sure you go at HER pace, because you already screwed up once thinking you were doing her a favor using your terms. It's time for her to have the ball in her court and play this game by her rules."
The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving the three of us alone with the weight of everything that's been said.
The silence stretches, thick with unspoken thoughts and the kind of tension that comes from having your entire worldview shifted in the span of a single conversation.
"What now?" Beckett asks finally, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of the question we're all thinking.
Wes sighs, the sound heavy with resignation and something that might be relief.
"Well, we might as well confront the elephant in the room," he says, and there's a note of determination in his voice that wasn't there before.
He turns slightly, addressing the couch where Juniper's been lying unconscious for the past few hours.
"Junebug," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "You're awake, aren't you?"
The words hit me like ice water, and I freeze completely.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid as the implications of what he's just said sink in.
She's been awake.
She's been listening.
She heard everything—the doctor's lecture about wasted time and biological clocks, my admission about the threats, the revelation about the attempted murder that she doesn't remember.
She knows.
Slowly, like a man walking to his execution, I turn to look over my shoulder at the couch where she's been lying.
Juniper's eyes are open.
They're unfocused at first, squinting against the light as she adjusts to consciousness, but there's no mistaking the awareness in them. She looks exhausted, drained by the heat stroke and whatever emotional toll the last few hours have taken, but she's most definitely awake.
And angry.
The fury in her eyes is unmistakable, burning with the kind of intensity that could level buildings or stop hearts.
It's the anger of someone who's just discovered that the people she trusted most in the world have been lying to her for a decade. It's the rage of someone who's realized that her entire understanding of the most painful experience of her life has been built on a foundation of deception.
Fuck.
My heart is racing, hammering against my ribs with enough force that I'm surprised it doesn't echo through the room. I don't know what to say, don't know how to begin explaining or apologizing or justifying the choices we made when we were barely more than boys ourselves.
I'm good at a lot of things. I can rebuild an engine from scratch, wrestle a spooked horse into submission, fix almost anything with moving parts. But confrontation? Emotional honesty? Laying my heart bare and trusting someone else not to destroy it?
