Chapter 26

My Cheating Mate

Emma pov

Three hours. I'd been pacing the surgical waiting room for three hours, wearing a path in the linoleum while my father sat silently in the corner and Alpha Richard spoke in hushed tones with pack council members.

Jeremy's blood had dried on my hands, dark and rust-colored. I'd tried to wash it off in the bathroom, but some had gotten under my fingernails, in the creases of my palms. Evidence of how close he'd come to bleeding out in my lap.

Evidence of how stupid and stubborn he was.

"He's going to be fine," my father said for the tenth time. "Jeremy's strong. He'll pull through."

"He reopened surgical wounds that were barely healed," I snapped, my fear coming out as anger. "He pushed himself to testify when Dr. Reeves explicitly told him he wasn't ready. He stood up there bleeding internally and didn't say a word until he collapsed!"

"Because he needed to finish," Alpha Richard said, approaching us. His face was haggard, aged by worry. "My son can be many things—foolish, stubborn, self-destructive when he feels he deserves punishment. But he needed to tell the truth. Needed the pack to hear it from him."

"And it might kill him!" My voice cracked. "He might die because he was too proud or too guilty or too—" I stopped, pressing my palms against my eyes. "I can't lose him. Not like this. Not when I'm still so angry at him but also—"

"Love him," my father finished quietly. "You still love him."

"Yes!" The admission burst out of me. "I love him and I hate him and I'm furious that he did this to himself and I'm terrified he won't wake up and I—" The words dissolved into sobs.

My father pulled me into his arms, letting me cry against his chest like I was five years old again. "It's okay, baby girl. All of those feelings can be true at once."

"It's not fair," I said, my voice muffled. "I was supposed to have time. Space to figure out what I wanted. And now he might die before I can decide if I can forgive him."

"Then maybe the decision is already made," Alpha Richard said gently.

I pulled back from my father, wiping my eyes. "What?"

"Emma, you've been by his side every day since he woke from his coma. You held his hand through physical therapy. You read to him. You testified yesterday knowing it would rip open your own wounds." The Alpha's voice was soft. "And today, when he collapsed, you didn't hesitate. Didn't think. You just ran to him."

"That doesn't mean—"

"It means exactly what you think it means," he interrupted. "You love my son. Not the idea of him, not the mate bond, not obligation. You love him. Even after everything he's done."

"Loving him doesn't mean I should be with him," I argued weakly. "Love isn't always enough."

"No, it's not," Alpha Richard agreed. "But it's a start. And Emma, I've watched Jeremy these past months. The guilt, the regret, the complete transformation in how he sees you, sees himself. He's not the same man who betrayed you."

"How do I know that?" The question came out desperate. "How do I know he won't hurt me again the second things get comfortable?"

"You don't," my father said. "That's the risk of loving anyone. But Emma, I've known Jeremy since he was born. I've never seen him fight as hard as he did during that rogue attack. Never seen him more committed to anything than he is to proving himself worthy of you."

"He almost died proving it," I said bitterly.

"Yes. He did." Alpha Richard's expression was grave. "And that's something we need to address when he wakes up. This self-destructive guilt complex isn't sustainable. But Emma, the fact that he's willing to die to make things right—doesn't that tell you something?"

Before I could answer, Dr. Reeves pushed through the surgical wing doors. Her scrubs were spattered with blood—Jeremy's blood—and her expression was exhausted but not devastated.

Not devastated meant he was alive.

I couldn't breathe until she confirmed it.

"He's stable," she said, and the relief almost knocked me over. "We repaired the damaged sutures, stopped the internal bleeding, gave him two units of blood. He's going to recover, but Emma—" She looked directly at me. "He cannot do this again. Cannot push himself before he's healed. The next time, we might not be able to save him."

"There won't be a next time," I said firmly. "I'll make sure of it."

"Can we see him?" Alpha Richard asked.

"He's in recovery. Still unconscious from anesthesia. But you can sit with him once he's moved to ICU." Dr. Reeves's gaze softened. "Emma, he was asking for you. Right before we put him under. Wanted to make sure you were okay."

Of course he did. Even bleeding out, even facing emergency surgery, he was worried about me.

The idiot. The beautiful, self-sacrificing idiot.

"How long until he wakes up?" I asked.

"Few hours, probably. The anesthesia will take time to wear off, and we've given him pain medication that will keep him pretty out of it for a while." She paused. "But Emma? When he does wake up, he's going to need to hear some hard truths about taking care of himself. From someone he'll actually listen to."

The implication was clear. Jeremy would listen to me. Maybe only to me.

"I'll tell him," I promised. "Right after I kill him for scaring me like this."

Dr. Reeves smiled slightly. "Fair enough. I'll have a nurse come get you when he's settled in ICU."

After she left, I sank into one of the waiting room chairs, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that had been keeping me going for the past three hours evaporated, leaving me shaky and drained.

"You should eat something," my father said, already pulling out his phone to order food.

"I'm not hungry."

"Emma—"

"Dad, I can't. Not until I see him. Not until I know he's really okay."

He sighed but didn't argue. Just sat beside me, his presence solid and comforting.

Alpha Richard paced near the window, his phone pressed to his ear. "Yes, Jeremy's stable. No, we won't resume the trial until he's recovered. I don't care what the council wants—my son nearly died today. They can wait." A pause. "And Vanessa? Keep her in holding. Maximum security. After that stunt today, after laughing while Jeremy collapsed—" His voice turned cold. "Make sure she understands that her actions today just guaranteed the council will vote for execution."

Good. The vicious thought surprised me with its intensity, but I didn't try to suppress it. Vanessa had laughed. Had mocked Jeremy for nearly dying. Had shown absolutely no remorse for anything she'd done.

She deserved whatever she got.

A nurse appeared in the doorway. "Emma Smith? Jeremy Trent is asking for you."

"He's awake already?" I stood quickly, my exhaustion forgotten.

"Barely. The anesthesia hasn't fully worn off, so he's pretty disoriented. But he keeps saying your name." She smiled. "I think you're the only thing that will calm him down."

I followed her through the sterile corridors to ICU, my heart pounding. The nurse stopped outside a room. "Five minutes. He needs rest, but I think he needs to see you more."

I pushed open the door.

Jeremy was pale against the white sheets, IVs running into both arms, monitors beeping steadily. But his eyes were open, unfocused and glassy, searching the room with increasing agitation.

"Emma," he mumbled. "Where's—need to—Emma—"

"I'm here," I said, moving to his bedside. "Jeremy, I'm right here."

His eyes found mine, and his whole body relaxed. "You're okay. You're—" He tried to sit up and immediately grimaced in pain.

"Don't move, you idiot," I commanded, gently pushing him back down. "You just had emergency surgery. Again. Because you're too stubborn to listen to doctors."

"Had to testify," he slurred, the pain medication clearly affecting him. "Had to tell them. Had to make sure you knew—"

"I know. I was there. I watched you nearly die on the floor of the pack house." My voice shook with anger and fear. "Do you have any idea how terrifying that was? Watching you collapse? Having your blood all over my hands?"

"Sorry," he whispered. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Well, you did. You scared me half to death." I took his hand, careful of the IV. "Jeremy, you can't do this. Can't keep hurting yourself to prove a point. I need you alive, okay? Even if I'm still angry, even if I haven't forgiven you yet, I need you alive."

"You need me?" His eyes were drifting closed again, but there was wonder in his voice. "Really?"

"Yes, you stubborn, self-sacrificing idiot. I need you." The admission felt like tearing open my chest, exposing my heart. "So you need to rest and heal and stop trying to die on me."

"Okay," he agreed sleepily. "Won't die. Promise. Love you too much to die."

"I—" The words caught in my throat. I wasn't ready to say them back. Not yet. But I squeezed his hand. "Just rest. We'll talk when you're not high on pain medication."

"Emma?" His eyes opened slightly. "The trial. Did I finish? Did I tell them everything?"

"Yes. You told them everything. Now sleep."

"Good." A small smile crossed his face. "Love you. Sorry. Love you."

Then his eyes closed and his breathing evened out.

I stayed there, holding his hand, watching his chest rise and fall with steady breaths. Proof he was alive. Proof he wasn't leaving me.

Not yet. Not today.

And as I sat there in the quiet ICU room, listening to the monitors beep and watching Jeremy sleep, I realized something.

I'd made my decision.

I didn't know when it had happened—maybe when he collapsed, maybe when I'd refused to leave his side, maybe weeks ago in that first hospital room.

But somewhere along the way, I'd chosen him.

Chosen to forgive, even though it terrified me.

Chosen to try again, even though it might destroy me.

Chosen love, even when love had hurt me more than anything else ever had.

I wasn't ready to tell him yet. Wasn't ready to say the words out loud.

But I'd stopped running.

And that, for now, was enough.