Page 119 of The Rogues

“It wouldn’t be pretending,” Nicola says. “None of us met them. It has to be easy to come up with a reason why. I mean, they only dated for six months. That’s not really a long relationship at all.”

Donna seems to be pondering the idea. “That might work.”

We all sit in that for a moment, and my heart blooms with hope. Maybe this can work out. Maybe things won’t be as messed up as I originally thought.

Cleo is still looking at me from across the table, trying to catch my eye, but I can’t seem to look back at her. I know what I’ll see there. Hurt, betrayal. All the conversations we had about the guys and how much she hated them. I can’t face that right now. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to.

Before things can get any more convoluted, there’s a knock at the door.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the stagehand says, their shoulders slouching inwards. “One of the guys in The Rogues collapsed and I was told to come inform everyone.”

I’m out of my seat before anyone else can react. “Who? Was it Lennon?”

My mind immediately goes a million miles an hour. I followed up with some research on lupus recently and realized that it was not smart to search things without direction, because there’s a lot of scary worst-case scenarios on the internet.

“Yes, they rushed him to the nearest hospital.”

I collect my things, completely ignoring the others’ protests. When I get to the door, Cleo hits the table hard and stands up. “We’re supposed to be figuring this out together,” she says.

I look back at the group. Everyone tries to avoid looking at us, knowing this is deeper between Cleo and me than just some missed meeting.

“I already told you my side,” I say. “They are my scent matches. They have my heart. I need to be there for them.”

Something about my statement hits Cleo hard. She flinches, and I watch as her heart breaks right in front of me. She doesn’t say anything else, just looks at me like I’m too far out of reach.

But that’s not true. I’ve been right beside her this entire time, but I can’t do that forever. Not if she’s unwilling to reach out and accept it.

I walk out without saying another word.

There’s no paparazzi when I get to the hospital, which I take to be a good sign. Navigating the hospital is a different story, and I start to get frustrated before a nurse passes by and helps me get where I need to go.

When I walk into the room, my guys are standing all around. I expect somberness, but they’re laughing, filling the stale space with love and joy. It makes my omega pique in my chest, her admiration almost as strong as my own.

Jamie sees me first, his smile widening even more before he turns to Lennon. “Your girl’s here.”

They all look, and I feel suddenly shy under all of their gazes, but then I look to Lennon. He’s resting in the bed, a hospital gown pulled over his long, lean body. He gives me a dopey smile. “Little vicious,” he greets, his head curving slightly to admire me. “You look like a vision.”

My cheeks heat up.

Cyrus stands from the only chair in the room and claps Lennon’s shoulder. “Let’s give these two some time to talk,” he informs the group. They all turn to head out without any protest, each of them giving me a soft touch or kiss as they pass by.

When Cyrus comes up beside me, he caresses my cheek. “He’s okay. It was just a little scare.”

That confirmation that everything is okay nearly does me in. I feel like I’ve been holding myself up this entire time, waiting, worrying, but now my body can relax. I exhale a shaky breath and kiss him. “Thank you.”

When Lennon and I are alone, all I want to do is crawl into this hospital bed and cuddle him. He looks like he wouldn’t mind, either. Instead, I pull the empty chair as close to the bed as I possibly can and hold his hand.

“Aw, my love,” Lennon says when he sees the tears in my eyes. “I’m so sorry if this scared you⁠—”

I stop him. “Don’t start with that. Don’t apologize for something you can’t control. It’s not your fault.”

He nods, squeezing my hand. “I had an asthma attack. Our meeting kind of went off the rails and I guess the stress of it hit me pretty hard.”

“But you’re okay,” I say it as a statement, because I trust Cyrus. I don’t have to reaffirm it.

“I am okay,” he agrees. “They want me to stay overnight just in case because I still passed out right after I used the inhaler, but they said everything looks good. It’s mainly stress that’s been getting to me, but I’m hoping that will change soon.”

“Did they recommend anything for that?” I ask. “On ways to alleviate your stress?”