CHAPTER 43

Brent's pov

The rage in my chest had teeth, tearing through my ribs all the way to Brent’s house as I ran the three miles instead of driving.

My wolf didn’t care about traffic or stop signs because it only cared about the bastard who put his hands on Helena.

I slammed both fists into his front door until the wood cracked under the heavy impact.

"Brent, open the fucking door!"

Silence answered me, so I rattled the handle to find it locked tight before pressing my ear to the panel. There was no TV, no music, and no sound of him breathing. I pushed around back to see the window thrown wide open with curtains drifting in the breeze.

The house was completely empty. His duffel was gone, his car was gone, and while the fridge was still humming inside, the milk had already turned sour. He had run like a coward.

I slammed my fist straight into the doorframe and felt bone grind against wood, but the sharp spike of pain barely registered compared to the thought of Helena stuck alone in that hospital bed with IV lines in her arm because of him.

My phone vibrated in my pocket with seventeen missed calls from Coach, the captain, and the rest of the guys. They were asking about practice in an hour, asking if Helena was okay, and reminding me that the game was in three days so we needed a plan. Three days remained, and I had not given hockey a single thought.

I turned on my heel and sprinted back toward the hospital.

The nurses' station was overly bright and sterile while smelling aggressively of antiseptic and fake lemon cleaner.

"Nurse Alina, I need a word," I said with a voice that sounded rough and gravelly.

She glanced up from her paperwork with tired eyes, having been on Helena’s floor since last night.

"Mr. Jarett, what can I do for you?" she asked carefully.

"Nobody goes in to see Helena, meaning no visitors, no Brent, no teammates, and no press, just me and her doctor," I told her.

She blinked in surprise before explaining that she understood my worry but could not restrict visitors like that unless the doctor wrote a specific order or the patient herself asked for it.

My jaw tightened as I told her to go get the doctor right now.

"He made his rounds two hours ago, and Helena is stable and responding well to treatment," she replied.

"Stable isn’t safe," I snapped back. "I Know Brent did this to her, so if he comes back..."

"Mr. Jarett," she interrupted with a tone that was soft but unyielding. "I can flag her chart saying you’ve requested limited visitors, but I can’t legally bar anyone without the proper paperwork, so I’m sorry."

Everyone was always sorry. I ran a hand through my hair and forced myself to take a slow breath, knowing that if I blew my stack here they would kick me out and leave no one to watch over her.

"Fine, just call me if anyone asks about her, please," I muttered.

She nodded and promised she would, though I did not entirely believe her despite having no other play.

Room 214 sat with its door half open and the light inside kept low. Helena was sitting up in bed, and that single sight loosened something tight in my chest.

Color was starting to return to her skin, even though the bruise over her cheekbone had turned a mottled yellow at the edges. The IV was still hooked up, but she held a cup of water while glaring down at it like it had personally insulted her.

"You’re up," I said softly.

She looked over at me, and for a split second I caught the leftover fear from last night buried right beneath her temper. Then she rolled her eyes and said, "Obviously, because dead people don’t complain about the water."

I closed the door behind me and sank into the chair by her bedside while my hands were still trembling slightly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I got flattened by a truck and then force-fed by the driver," she said as she nudged the meal tray away.

It was classic hospital food with grey meat, soggy vegetables, and something pretending to be mashed potatoes. "I’m over this because I’m sick of hospital food, Jarett, since it tastes like cardboard and bad life choices."

A laugh almost escaped me, but I reminded her that she still needed to eat.

"I need to eat something that wasn’t prepared in the previous century," she shot back. "Did you know they undercook the meat on purpose, because I mentioned it to the nurse this morning and she told me most patients prefer it that way, saying werewolves do, as if that makes it okay."

Standard medical protocol for our kind kept the meat raw to help the body heal faster, but Helena hated it because she was only a quarter wolf and had been raised on regular human food where rare steak made her sick.

"I’ll grab you something real," I offered instantly. "What are you craving?"

"Anything fresh, like a burger, sushi, pizza, or maybe that noodle spot you took me to after the last home game, just anything that didn't arrive under a plastic dome," she said.

"I’ll go right now, so stay put and don’t..."

"Don’t what, get snatched again?" her voice cracked at the end.

I froze in place, but before I could say her name, she cut in quickly to say she was fine, just hungry, exhausted, and sick of feeling like the reason everyone was whispering.

I wanted to tell her none of this was her fault, that Brent was the monster here, and that I should have protected her better, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I gave a firm nod and told her I would be back in twenty, warning her not to open the door for anyone.

She managed a faint, tired smile and said, "Yes, boss."

My phone vibrated again as I stepped out into the hallway with a text from Coach saying he needed me at practice, needed to know if Helena was good to work the game, and that the media was pushing.

The game was three days away, featuring a home opener with a sold-out arena and full broadcast coverage.

We had not skated in a week, not since Helena got hurt, and the team kept asking for her because she was our primary medic who wrapped ankles, tracked stats, and kept us all from slacking off. They had no idea why she was sitting in a hospital room, and I was not about to tell them until I tracked down Brent.

I paused at the nurse’s desk again to explain I was grabbing her something to eat, telling her to call if anyone showed up.

"I’ll call you immediately, Mr. Helena," Nurse Alina replied, and without bothering to thank her, I turned and walked out.