Page 7 of His Problem Alpha

"I know what it is," he interrupts, a flash of his usual sharpness breaking through the heat haze. "I'm not an idiot. I know what I'm asking for."

"Do you?" I stop pacing, facing him directly. "Because once we cross this line, we can't go back. This changes everything."

"You think I don't know that?" Devon's voice cracks. "You think I want this? You think I want to need you, of all people?"

I flinch, his words stinging more than they should. "I'm trying to protect you," I say, the words coming out harsher than intended.

"From what? From you?" Devon laughs, the sound bitter and broken. "I'm not asking you to mate me, Alex. I'm asking you to help me through a biological crisis. Like you'd help someone having an asthma attack or—or a seizure."

"It's not the same thing."

"Isn't it?" Devon's eyes flash with anger, the most like himself he's looked since this started. "It's my body failing me. It's pain. It's—" His words cut off as another wave hits him, stronger than before. He curls forward, a strangled sound escaping his throat.

I'm at his side before I realize I've moved, my hand hovering over his shoulder, not quite touching. "Devon?"

He doesn't answer, just shakes, his breathing ragged. When he finally looks up, his eyes are glazed again, tears tracking down his flushed cheeks.

"Please," he whispers. "I can't do this alone. I can't go to a hospital. I can't let strangers see me like this."

I close my eyes, fighting the war raging inside me.

Every alpha instinct I have screams to help him, make the pain stop.

But then I hear it—the echo of sirens, see Ethan's smile in the last photo I have of him, feel the weight of guilt that's been crushing me for six years. That part of me is terrified.

I destroy everything I touch. Everyone I care about. My chest tightens with the familiar weight of it.

"I can't," I say, the words tearing from my throat. "I can't be what you need."

Devon's face crumples, fresh tears spilling over. The scent of his distress hits me like a physical blow, sour and wrong. He turns away, curling in on himself, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

I stand there, frozen, watching him suffer.

A ghost of a memory surfaces—sirens, the metallic smell of blood, the gut-wrenching realization that I was too late, that my choices had led to this.

I failed Ethan. I ran from the responsibility.

And now, here I am again, faced with someone in agony, and my first instinct is to run.

I'm making it worse. I'm hurting him by trying not to hurt him. The irony makes me want to laugh and punch a wall at the same time. Fucking tragic.

Devon makes a sound—a broken, desperate whimper that cuts straight through me. He's in agony, and I'm just standing here, letting it happen because I'm too much of a coward to help.

It hits me like ice water. I couldn't save my brother. The thought burns in my throat. But I can help Devon. I can do this one thing right.

"Devon," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Look at me."

He turns, his face tear-streaked, eyes unfocused. "What?"

"I'll help you," I say, the words coming out before I can second-guess them. "If that's what you want. If you're sure."

For a second he looks hopeful, then immediately suspicious. "Really? You're not just saying that?"

"I'm not just saying that." I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "But I need to be absolutely certain this is what you want—that it's not just the heat talking."

Devon struggles to sit up, wincing with the effort. His eyes clear for a moment, lucidity breaking through the haze of heat. He reaches out, grabbing the front of my shirt with surprising strength, pulling me closer.

"You," he says, each word deliberate and clear. "I need you. I hate that it's you, but it has to be you. Please, Alex."

The raw honesty in his voice, the desperation in his eyes—it breaks something open inside me. Years of keeping everyone at a safe distance—gone. His need tears down every wall I've built.

"Okay," I say quietly. "Okay."

His face relaxes with relief, his body sagging. "Thank you," he whispers.

I nod, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat. Then I move with a purpose that isn't my own. Each action is deliberate, a step in a ritual I didn't know I knew.

I go to the bathroom first, grabbing a stack of clean, soft towels from the linen closet—one for his forehead, others for… later. I find a washcloth, run it under cool water until it’s perfectly damp.

In the kitchen, I fill a large glass with ice water, the cubes clinking in the sudden silence of the apartment. I place it on his nightstand, exactly where he can reach it without moving too much.

Next, the bed. I strip the heavy comforter, the one he's probably had since college, and fold it with a precision that feels insane.

I pull the fitted sheet tight, smoothing out every wrinkle.

Then I take the clean top sheet and spread it over him, a thin, breathable barrier.

This isn't just cleaning; it's preparing a battlefield. Or a sanctuary. I can't tell which.

All the while, Devon watches me with heavy-lidded eyes, his breathing shallow, his scent growing thicker, headier with each passing minute. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch, tracking my movements as I prepare for what's coming.

This is happening. We're doing this. There's no going back.

I finish my preparations, the towels stacked neatly on the dresser, the water within reach. My movements have been methodical, precise—the actions of someone preparing for a long night. The part of me that is still screaming in panic is drowned out by the part that needs to take care of this.

"Alex?" Devon's voice is small, uncertain.

I turn to him, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure? About this?" The question surprises me—him checking on me, when he's the one in crisis.

Am I sure? I want to laugh. I've never been less sure of anything. My hands are shaking with how unsure I am. But watching him suffer when I could help? That's the one thing I'm sure I can't do.

"I'm sure," I lie, because it's what he needs to hear.

He nods, relaxing slightly. "Okay. Good."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next. This is a line we can't uncross. A boundary that, once broken, will change everything between us. No more comfortable hatred. No more safe distance. After tonight, we'll know each other in ways that can't be undone.

The thought terrifies me. But not as much as the thought of walking away.

I close Devon's bedroom door, the soft click shutting out the rest of the world. I turn the lock. Then I turn to face the man who is about to change everything.