Page 39 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Jace

T he house doesn’t feel like a pack house anymore.

Cam barely talks. He’s still making coffee for all of us in the mornings, still loading the dishwasher, still folding blankets, but it’s all mechanical; as though if he keeps doing the same rituals, maybe she’ll reappear in one of them.

Maybe she’ll be curled up on the couch again in one of his hoodies, or dancing barefoot in the kitchen with cereal in her hand.

She never is.

Wes barely speaks either, but with him, it’s different. The silence is sharp, not soft. It’s the kind of quiet where every closed door feels final. He’s angry, and as every word he doesn’t say builds up behind his eyes, I don’t know if he’s holding it in for our sake or hers.

Probably both.

Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to outrun it. I’ve been in the gym twice a day, every single day since she left. Lifting, sparring, sprinting—anything to burn her out of me. Out of my chest, out of my scent, out of my fucking head.

It doesn’t work.

I still feel her in every room. Her scent has faded, but it’s not gone.

Her absence is loud in the places she used to linger—on the stairs, by the fridge, perched on the damn counter like she owned the place.

I still half-expect her to tug at my shirt, to roll her eyes and call me out when I say something stupid.

Still find myself glancing toward her room, waiting to hear her voice.

It never comes.

My mind replays it over and over as time passes on.

She looked me dead in the eye, practically in tears, and swore it wasn’t what it looked like; but I saw it.

I saw the words, the steps, the plan; and you don’t come back from that.

You don’t explain that away with a laugh and a shrug and a second draft.

Right ?

…I don’t know anymore.

The longer she’s gone, the more I start questioning everything. Not her intentions—those I’ve dissected to hell and back. But mine. Ours .

Did we give her a chance to explain? Really explain? Or did we just… shut down? Shut her out?

I haven’t asked Cam or Wes, but I don’t think I really need to. The guilt’s already stitched into the silence between us; and still—despite everything—I can’t shake this sick feeling in my chest.

Like maybe we fucked it all up. Like maybe that panic-stricken, scent-drunk omega crying in the middle of the bedroom was never the villain in this story.

And maybe we left her anyway.

*

As to be expected, another day at the gym didn’t help.

I’d pushed myself hard for the last two and a half hours, maybe closer to three. Every machine, every weight rack, every bag I could punch without drawing blood; and still, as I step through the front door and toe off my shoes, she’s the only thing in my head.

I towel the sweat from my neck and head for the kitchen, but a knock at the front door stops me mid-step. It’s Cam who answers it.

“Uh… hi,” an unfamiliar voice says.

I turn around just as she steps inside. She’s a beta; mid-to-late twenties, give or take, with cool-toned hair and a look on her face that says she already regrets showing up. She hugs her arms around herself, hesitant as she steps inside.

“My name’s Zara,” she says. “I’m a friend of Aimee’s.”

I frown deeper, but Cam doesn’t move. “How’d you know where to find us?”

“She’s had her location shared with me for months.

I’ve seen this place on the map more times than I can count,” she explains.

“Look, I’m not here to make trouble. I just—I’ve been trying to get through to her, and she’s stopped answering.

She’s not really there. She’s barely eating, probably not sleeping well, either.

I spoke to her boss, and she’s been off work for the past few days.

I know she’s alive—we’ve seen the lights on, and she texts back sometimes—but it’s turned into nonsense. ”

Cam stiffens. “Why are you telling us this?” he asks, cautious.

“Because I don’t know what else to do.” Zara’s voice wavers, but there’s steel under it now. “I know what happened. I know what you think happened. But you’re wrong. She didn’t betray you, and she never meant to hurt anyone. She was scared, and she messed up, but she loved you. All of you.”

Wes appears behind us, but he doesn’t come further into the room. Zara meets his stare head-on.

“She confided in me weeks ago about how real it felt. About how scared she was that she was going to screw it up beyond repair. You think this was all some long con? That she played you for a joke?” Zara laughs bitterly.

“I watched her cry over her lunch because she was terrified of needing you too much. Terrified she wouldn’t survive it if it went wrong. ”

“Get out,” Wes says, voice like stone.

Zara’s brows lift. “Seriously?”

“I said ,” his voice drops lower, dangerous now “ Get. Out .”

She inhales a quick breath through her nostrils before continuing, pushing back against him.

“She wrote both versions of that article because she didn’t know which ending she was allowed. I told her to do it anyway. Told her you were worth the risk. That real packs, real bonds, real love —they’re messy, but they’re worth fighting for.”

Her voice breaks slightly, but she catches it.

“I told her you were worth fighting for.” Her eyes blaze now as she looks between us. “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re not who I thought you were either.”

A long beat of silence passes between us all.

“It’s too late,” Wes says, flat and final.

Cam shifts beside me, guilt twisting across his face. I can feel it rising in my own chest, hot and bitter, but it’s too late to say anything. Zara sees it—sees all of it—and lets out a breath that’s more heartbreak than anger now.

“Yeah,” she whispers, stepping back. “That’s exactly what she was afraid of.”

She turns and walks out.

Cam sinks onto the couch eventually, but he doesn’t reach for the remote. Wes disappears back into the kitchen, slamming a cupboard open just to slam it closed again.

I don’t even bother showering. I sit in it all—guilt, confusion, ache—until the sound of a phone buzzing cuts through.

“Uh,” Cam says, blinking at his screen. “Guys?”

Wes doesn’t leave the kitchen. “ What .”

“I think…” Cam swallows. “I think she published it.”

My heart kicks hard in my chest. I’m already reaching for my phone before the words fully register. “The article?”

“Yeah.” He nods slowly. “I set up notifications for her pieces a few weeks ago. It’s… gone live.”

I open the publishing site—the same one she’d mentioned before, the one Cam had sent the sample link from a few weeks back—and there it is.

How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates.

My thumb hovers over the title. For a second, I can’t press it. I can’t move.

Wes steps toward the kitchen door, coming back into view. “If it’s the one we saw—”

“It’s not,” Cam says quietly.

I tap the link, brace myself; and freeze.

He’s right. It’s not the hit list. Not the cold, calculated sabotage we found on her laptop. The layout’s the same, but the content…

The content is completely different .

Step 1: Walk into their lives like you own the place, even when your knees are shaking. Even when you're terrified they’ll smell right through you.

Step 2: Make promises you don't know if you can keep—but want to. Desperately.

Step 3: Start to fall for the gym rat with the broken past and the softest mouth you’ve ever kissed.

Step 4: Realize the golden retriever isn’t just sweet—he’s safe. Steady. The kind of Alpha who holds your heart without asking for it first.

Step 5: Let the one who broke you into pieces become the one you trust to keep you warm when the rest of the world feels cold.

Step 6: Watch them start to see you. Really see you. And hate that you ever planned to walk away.

Step 7: Tell yourself you’re still in control, even as your scent starts clinging to the walls and their shirts end up in your bed.

Step 8: Write two articles. One to fool yourself. One to tell the truth.

Step 9: Get caught before you’re ready. Get judged before you can explain. Realize you never should’ve waited to say it.

Step 10: Love them anyway.

I blink, trying to absorb it all. I read it again, slower this time. My hands go still, but my heart doesn’t.

She didn’t publish the plan. She published the truth .

At some point while I was reading, Wes comes back into the room. He’s holding his phone, but he’s not looking at it. His shoulders are locked and stiff, his face completely unreadable.

“She was telling the truth,” I say, a little stunned. “That night—she tried to tell us.”

Cam doesn’t move for a beat. Then he lets out a long, shaky breath as his phone slides from his hands to the cushion beside him.

“I didn’t even let her talk,” Cam breathes out. His voice cracks—full-on breaks on the last word. “She looked me in the eye and begged, and I—I just stood there.”

He drags a hand over his face, and for the first time in days, I see something new in him. Not anger. Not heartbreak.

Fear .

“She’s not okay,” Cam adds, his voice shaking now. “Zara said she wasn’t eating, that she was barely making sense, that she looked like hell. What if… what if she’s been falling apart?”

Wes doesn’t say anything for a long time, and then, quiet—almost like it takes everything in him to admit it—he whispers, “She loved us.”

He says it like it hurts.

I meet his eyes, my throat closing. “She still does,” I rasp. “That article—it went up today.”

We’re all silent for a beat. All of us just… staring at nothing.

Then Cam shoots upright.

“Then what the hell are we still doing here?” he asks. “We need to move. We need to go to her. Now.”

“She might not want to see us,” I say, even as I reach for my jacket. “She’s probably blocked our numbers, and changed the locks, and—”

“Then we knock,” Cam snaps. “We knock until she lets us in.”

Wes doesn’t argue. He’s already moving; already out of the house.

And this time, none of us hesitate.