Chapter 22

The Weight of Maybe

Grace's POV

Jace's breathing had settled into the deep, even rhythm of healing sleep about twenty minutes ago, but his words still echoed in my mind with the persistence of a song I couldn't shake.

*"I'm just asking for the chance to earn your trust again, one day at a time."*

I set my book aside—I'd been reading the same paragraph for the past ten minutes anyway—and studied his sleeping face in the dim hospital lighting. Even unconscious, he looked different than he had three years ago. The arrogant confidence that had once defined his features had been tempered by something harder, more mature. There were lines around his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and difficult decisions, and his jaw held a tension that suggested he'd learned the weight of real responsibility.

He looked like a man who'd been forced to grow up the hard way.

The soft snore that escaped him was almost endearing, a vulnerable sound that reminded me of lazy Sunday mornings when we were teenagers and I'd occasionally catch glimpses of the boy beneath the future Alpha facade. Before everything went wrong. Before he chose his pride over truth, his pack's expectations over my broken heart.

*He shattered me.*

The thought came unbidden, carrying with it the full weight of that night three years ago. The formal rejection words that had torn through the mate bond like acid. The physical agony that had driven me to my knees. The way he'd looked at me afterward—cold, distant, like I was something distasteful he needed to dispose of.

I'd been a mess. Completely, utterly destroyed by the systematic demolition of everything I'd thought I knew about my place in the world. For weeks after the rejection, I'd barely functioned. Eaten only when Grandfather forced food down my throat. Slept only when exhaustion finally claimed me. Moved through each day like a ghost haunting the edges of my own life.

The healing had been slow, painful, and incomplete. Even now, with all the strength I'd gained and the person I'd become, I could feel the old scars aching with remembered pain.

*Should I give him another chance?*

The question had been circling through my mind since he'd spoken those careful words about earning my trust. Part of me—the part that had loved him desperately when we were young—wanted to say yes immediately. Wanted to believe that people could change, that love could survive even the worst betrayals if both parties were willing to work for it.

But the stronger part, the part that had been forged in the aftermath of his cruelty, whispered warnings about the danger of hope. About how easy it would be to let my guard down and find myself destroyed all over again by the same man who'd already proven he could choose his comfort over my survival.

I shifted in my chair, trying to find a position that didn't make my back ache from hours of hospital vigil. Through the window, I could see the sun setting over Storm pack territory, painting the familiar mountains in shades of gold and crimson. This place held so many memories—some precious, some poisonous, all tangled together in ways that made it impossible to separate love from pain.

My phone buzzed softly with a text from Grandfather: *How are things progressing? Do you need backup?*

I stared at the message for a long moment before typing back: *Situation stable. Will update tomorrow.*

It was true enough, though it didn't capture the emotional complexity of what was actually happening. How could I explain that I was sitting vigil beside the man who'd rejected me, listening to him sleep and wondering if I was brave enough—or stupid enough—to risk my heart on someone who'd already broken it once?

*"Trust is earned through actions, not words."*

My own words, spoken with the hard-won wisdom of someone who'd learned not to believe pretty promises. But as I watched Jace's chest rise and fall with each peaceful breath, I found myself cataloging the actions he'd already taken—not the grand gestures of romance novels, but the small, consistent behaviors that might actually mean something.

He'd fought off professional assassins to protect his father and Connor, nearly dying in the process. He'd put his pack's needs ahead of his own health, carrying silver poison for days rather than seek treatment that might take him away from his leadership responsibilities. He'd accepted my authority during the medical crisis without question, trusting me to make decisions about his care when he was too weak to fight.

And when I'd told him that I might decide he wasn't worth the risk, he'd accepted that possibility with grace instead of demanding what he thought he deserved.

They were the actions of someone who'd learned hard lessons about sacrifice and humility. Someone who'd grown beyond the selfish boy who'd once thrown away something precious because it didn't fit his preconceived notions of what strength looked like.

But were they enough?

*Could they ever be enough?*

The mate bond was gone—severed three years ago by words that couldn't be taken back. What we were discussing now wasn't the restoration of some mystical connection, but the possibility of building something new from the ashes of what had been destroyed. Something based on choice rather than biology, on earned trust rather than predestined compatibility.

The idea was both terrifying and strangely appealing. To love someone not because the Moon Goddess had decreed it, but because they'd proven themselves worthy of that gift through their actions and consistency over time.

A soft knock at the door interrupted my spiraling thoughts. Mia entered quietly, carrying a tray of food that smelled like heaven after my day of hospital coffee and vending machine snacks.

"Thought you might be hungry," she said softly, setting the tray on the small table beside Alpha Storm's monitors. "How's he doing?"

"Better. The chelation therapy is working, and his fever broke about an hour ago." I glanced at Jace's sleeping form. "He should make a full recovery."

"Thanks to you." Mia settled into another chair, her gaze moving between her brother and her unconscious father. "I heard what he said to you earlier. About earning your trust."

Of course she'd heard. Hospital walls were thin, and werewolf hearing made privacy a rare commodity. "And?"

"And I think it's the first sensible thing he's said in three years." Mia's smile was sad but hopeful. "He's been punishing himself since you left, Grace. Training obsessively, taking on impossible responsibilities, refusing every potential mate Dad suggested. It's like he's been trying to become worthy of something he thought he'd lost forever."

"People don't change," I said automatically, but the words felt hollow even to my own ears.

"Don't they?" Mia gestured toward Jace's sleeping form. "The man lying there isn't the same person who rejected you three years ago. He's harder, yes, but also more thoughtful. More aware of the consequences of his choices. More willing to admit when he's wrong."

"And what if he reverts? What if, when the crisis is over and things return to normal, he decides that admitting mistakes was just a moment of weakness brought on by silver poisoning and trauma?"

It was my deepest fear, the possibility that this new version of Jace was just a temporary aberration brought on by extreme circumstances. That once he recovered and resumed his normal life, he'd remember why he'd rejected me in the first place.

"Then you'll deal with it from a position of strength," Mia said simply. "You're not the same person either, Grace. You're not the vulnerable girl who had everything to lose. You're Alpha Grace Silver now, with your own pack, your own power, your own life that doesn't depend on anyone else's approval."

She was right. Whatever happened between Jace and me, I wouldn't be destroyed by it the way I had been three years ago. I was stronger now, more complete in myself. If I chose to take the risk of trusting him again, it would be from a position of power rather than desperation.

"So what do you think I should do?" I asked quietly.

"I think," Mia said carefully, "that you should do whatever feels right to you. Not what's safe, not what's smart, not what other people expect—but what feels true to who you are now."

I looked at Jace again, noting the way his hand had curled slightly in sleep, the vulnerable curve of his neck, the peaceful expression that made him look younger than his twenty-one years. He'd asked for the chance to earn my trust one day at a time. Not forgiveness, not immediate reconciliation, just the opportunity to prove through consistent action that he'd become someone worthy of a second chance.

Maybe that was enough to start with.

Maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.

"We'll see," I murmured, echoing the words I'd spoken to him earlier.

But as I settled back to continue my vigil, I found myself hoping—despite all my fears and hard-won wisdom—that the man he'd become might actually be worthy of the woman I'd fought so hard to become.

Time would tell. And for the first time in three years, I was willing to give it the chance to do so.