Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack (Evelyn and Damon) novel Chapter 150

Chapter 150

I checked my phone repeatedly, though no genlinely useful updates arrived, simply confirming the trackers remained actively pursuing Genevieve’s trail, that no additional immediate danger currently threatened our family beyond the continued agonizing uncertainty about my father’s surgical outcome.

“What it this time is different,” said quietly, vicing the fear I’d been carrying silently throughout the entire wait. “What if his heart simply can’t sustain this additional damage, on top of everything else it’s already survived?”

“Don’t think that way,” my mother said, though her own voice carried matching uncertainty and fear. “We have to hold onto hope, Damon. Whatever else happens, we have to believe he’s fighting through this, exactly like he promised.”

I nodded, though genuine terror remained present regardless, unable to fully suppress the possibility that this final, devastating confrontation might have finally exceeded whatever resilience his damaged heart still possessed.

Evelyn shifted Willow slightly, who had begun fussing more insistently, clearly hungry despite the late hour, and I watched her settle into feeding her, the small, ordinary domestic task offering some strange, grounding contrast against the terrifying uncertainty still hanging over the rest of us.

“I keep thinking about everything he’s survived these past several weeks,” I said quietly, watching Willow nurse contentedly despite the tension surrounding us. “Two cardiac events, a violent attack, now this. It feels almost impossibly cruel, everything he’s genuinely trying to rebuild, everything he’s finally getting the chance to actually experience with this family, potentially being taken away right when it finally started feeling real.”

“He’s strong,” Evelyn said gently. “You’ve said that yourself, multiple times throughout this entire ordeal. Whatever’s happening right now, I have to believe that same strength is carrying him through this too.”

I appreciated her attempted reassurance, though genuine fear remained heavy beneath my careful attempt at matching hope, and I resumed my restless pacing once more, unable to sustain sitting still for more than a few minutes at a time.

The hours continued stretching forward, dawn eventually beginning to break outside the small waiting room’s windows, pale light gradually replacing the darkness that had accompanied our entire, agonizing vigil.

Callum received another update partway through the early morning hours, his expression carrying cautious relief as he relayed it. “Trackers located Genevieve. She’s been apprehended, currently in custody, receiving medical treatment for her own injuries before formal council proceedings begin.”

Something in my chest eased slightly at that confirmation, understanding at least that particular chapter of terror had finally, genuinely concluded, regardless of whatever outcome my father’s surgery ultimately brought.

“That’s good news,” Evelyn said, watching my expression carefully. “One genuine resolution, at least.”

I nodded, though my attention remained largely fixed on the surgical suite’s still-closed doors, waiting anxiously for any sign that news about my father’s condition might finally be forthcoming.

Another hour passed, then another, the accumulated exhaustion of the entire sleepless night and terrifying confrontation finally beginning to weigh visibly on everyone gathered in the small waiting room-my mother’s eyes red-rimmed and heavy, Evelyn clearly fighting her own exhaustion despite her continued attentive care for Willow, Callum’s usual composed alertness finally showing signs of genuine fatigue.

I made another restless pass across the small room, my mind still cycling through everything, still replaying that terrifying moment of catching my father’s arm at the cliff’s very edge, when the surgical suite’s doors finally opened.

I froze mid-step, every part of my attention snapping immediately toward the surgeon emerging from within, her expression carrying the same careful, professional neutrality I remembered from previous crises, though something in her posture this time carried additional weight, additional gravity that sent fresh terror crashing through my exhausted system.

“Family of Alpha Cross,” she said, and I moved immediately, my mother rising beside me, both of us crossing the small space with desperate, urgent speed.

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“How is he, “I demanded, my voice tight with barely controlled terror. “Please, tell us he’s okay.”

She was quiet for a moment, gathering herself before actually delivering whatever news she carried, and that brief, agonizing pause felt like an eternity, every possible outcome-hopeful, devastating-crashing through my mind simultaneously as 1 waited, desperate and terrified, for her to finally speak.

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