I've got to stop doing this to myself. Let's all hope for greener pastures in the future (srsly, send help – I'm not okay after writing this).

Seth

Thursdays are normally my favorite days to run patrol. Since I usually only work four days a week at the lumber yard, Jacob lets me get away with swinging the day shift of patrol so I can make it home for dinner with Katie.

Tourist season is gearing up now that it's the beginning of May. What that means for Katie is that her job at the paper will go full time for the summer after her finals are done in a few days. What that means for me is that Jake will increase patrols even more, to keep an eye out for any unwelcomed nonvegetarian visitors.

Baby Levi was born a few weeks ago to Sam and Emily, and Jake's still trying to get his head around being an Alpha to so many wolves. He's still figuring out patrol schedules and learning which wolves can work together and which ones can't.

I think I'm still his favorite, even if he won't admit it. He lets me run this patrol shift all by myself, even though I'm more than compatible with basically everyone in the pack.

Except Leah (but that's more Adam's fault than hers).

I guess that won't matter much longer, anyway. Leah's moving soon, leaving La Push and pack and flesh and blood behind to be with Adam.

Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Katie and I's first wedding anniversary is coming up, and I want to do something extra special for her. She's warming up to the idea of the trip I brought up a while back, one where we can do a bunch of national parks in a row.

My vote is California, but Katie has been leaning toward Utah. She'll get what she wants, because she always does. Maybe for the 'something extra special', we can fly back through Great Falls and see her family for a few days. That's not exactly my idea of a romantic getaway, but I know she'll appreciate the sentiment.

Like I said, Thursdays are normally my favorite day of patrol. But today feels… off.

A weird feeling has blossomed in my chest. I don't know when or why it started, and I can't shake it. I even double back on myself a few times as I wind the familiar trails in Olympic National Park, making sure I haven't missed any lingering traces of vampire. No, still nothing.

I'm rounding out the trail I've been on for an hour when I feel another wolf phase in.

It's Jacob.

Seth, he says, where are you? His thoughts are a brick wall.

In Olympic. Between Mount Deception and Mount Mystery. I try to visualize my location on a map so he gets a better idea. What's up?

You need to come home. His words are clipped, short and direct. No emotion.

Something in his tone makes me know I shouldn't argue. I about face, breaking into a sprint in the direction of home before I respond.

What's wrong? Maybe if I ask it this way, he'll give me an answer.

My worst fears flash in my head, and a steady ache grows behind my ribs with every step. Mom. Leah. Katie.

Jacob sees these thoughts light up my brain like neon signs, but he chooses to remain silent. I push harder, because his refusal to comment isn't doing anything to ease my worry. He's making it worse.

Just come home, he clips. He still doesn't entertain any of my thoughts, but his hackles are raised. His fur is bristled.

My body mirrors his, my muscles tensing. Although my legs ache and my lungs burn, I speed up, stretching my muscles farther and faster, tighter and looser all at once. I'm not fast enough.

Where? I demand, cutting through a well-worn path. No one's close enough to stumble upon me. And even if they do, oh well. I've got bigger priorities. Where do I go?

Jacob restricts several thoughts, and the answer he allows himself to give isn't even verbal, it's visual. An image of a well-known building drops into my head. The hospital.

Jake, man, come on. What's going on? I whine.

He phases back instead of answering, which is an answer in itself. The worst one he could give, maybe.

I move faster, but it's still not fast enough.

Something raw is lodged beneath my ribcage where my heart used to sit. Every time I consider the possibilities, a red-hot fire poker twists, stoking hot coals in my veins.

Mom. Charlie. One twist each, and the embers start smoking. I can't lose Mom. I've already lost Dad – I lose him all over again every time I remember he's not here.

Leah. The fire catches, spreads to my lungs, and I can't breathe even though I know my lungs are physically capable. I stumble a step trying to figure it out.

Katie. The raw spot explodes with my worst fears, and suddenly I am numb. The fears there are so dark and deep I can't dredge them up even if my life depends on it. My brain won't go there – the fire must have burned itself out. Burned too hot.

I trip over a root I didn't see, and I roll a good twenty feet before righting myself, pulling the earth beneath me harder, faster.

I'm glad when I land on two feet in the woods outside Forks Community Hospital. I hardly have my shorts on before I'm out of tree cover, and I'm already running toward the hospital as I pull my shirt on. Why can't I move faster in this body?

The automatic doors slide open too slowly, and I nearly rip them apart. Where do I go? Jacob didn't give me instructions. There are so many sounds here, so many noises. A prick of recognition hits my brain, and I think I hear—

"Seth."

When I spin, Dr. Cullen is behind me, his face unreadable. Just like Jacob's thoughts.

A wave of nausea passes through me as I realize that whatever's happening, it really is that bad.

As Alpha, Jacob is the only one capable of keeping his thoughts locked down, the only one who had a remote chance of getting me back to Forks and on two legs before my world imploded.

"What's going on?" My voice is gruff and tight. The numb-but-sore spot is in my stomach and my throat all at once, although if someone doesn't tell me something soon, it may be on display for the entire hospital, my whole heart (and lunch) splattered on sparkling linoleum.

He goes to answer, but then I hear it, and that little prick of recognition lights up in my brain like a firework.

Katie's heartbeat. Elevated but weaker than normal.

Something is wrong.

I'm running hard, following that sound past the emergency bay and deeper, deeper, into an area of the hospital I've never had a reason to enter before. A placard on the wall reads Trauma Unit.

The door to this unit is locked but I pull it hard, and a shrill alarm blares. I keep going.

I track Katie's heartbeat down the hall, and someone must silence the alarm because it suddenly goes quiet spare the metronome of Katie's pulse.

I burst into the last room on the left, and I swallow hard. I try to take a deep breath, but there's no oxygen left. Darkness crowds the edges of my vision.

The mass of people – I recognize them but can't consciously comprehend who they are – parts, and there she is.

Her legs look so tiny under the blankets. Thick blankets, I note. She must be cold. Oh, no. That won't do.

My eyes trail up. Two fingers on her right hand are bandaged and taped together, resting on top of the blankets. Above them, an IV pierces the back of her hand. There's a red ring of bruising around her wrist.

My gaze travels again, not to her eyes (I can't go there yet) but to the stitches in her forehead. They're holding closed a deep-looking gash that disappears into her hairline. Her hair is matted, the blonde locks now a burnished bronze with dried blood.

A whimper breaks me out of my catatonic state, and finally, finally, I meet her eyes.

They are big and brown and beautiful and welled with tears and red-rimmed. Swollen. Breaking.

Broken.

Katie, baby. I don't even realizeI've said the words aloud until she whimpers again and lifts her uninjured hand off the bed, palm up in an unspoken invitation.

I take an unsteady step toward the bed, the whirring of medical machines and the hum of background conversations falling away. We are the only two people in this room.

Just Seth and Katie.

I slot my fingers through hers, afraid to touch her anywhere else. "Katie, baby, what happened? Can I hug you?"

She nods, tears coating her lashes and cheeks with the gesture. "Please. I need you so bad, Seth."

Carefully, because I still don't know what happened, what's really wrong or what's hurting, I draw her into my chest.

She collapses against me, clutching at my shirt with both hands even though she's got bandages and an IV. "I'm so sorry," she whispers into my chest. "I need you. Please."

"I'm here," I murmur against her temple, holding her as close and as tight as I dare. "I'm right here."

My shirt soaks through from her tears, and I bury my face in her hair, inhaling vanilla and citrus and rust and sweat and antiseptic. One of us is shaking, but I can't separate us. I've never been able to separate us. Her joy is my joy, and her pain is my pain.

Her heart is my heart.

"I wrecked my car," she says between gasps for air.

"That damn car, I swear," I gruff, pulling back just far enough to see her face. I push her hair back from her stitches carefully, brush my fingers over her blotchy cheeks and chapped lips. My sweet, beautiful, frail-looking wife is battered and beaten, inside and out. I hate that car. "What happened, Katie Kat?"

She gasps for breath, and I hear her heartrate increase, both with my own ears and through the machine she's attached to.

"Seth," Dr. Cullen says from behind me. I hadn't seen him come in. "Katie's had a traumatic day. She has a concussion, and several other minor injuries. Perhaps we should wait to discuss this until she's had a chance to rest."

I lift my eyes from Katie's face to ask Dr. Cullen to give us some privacy. But then I remember there are others in here, too.

Mom and Leah are on the other side of the bed. Mom's crying but trying not to, and I think Leah is also, but she mostly just looks pissed. From what I can tell, at least. She won't meet my eyes.

Charlie's here, with one of his deputies, both in uniform. The fire poker jabs at my stomach again. They're on duty. I can't decide if Charlie looks upset or angry.

Everyone in this room knows, I realize. Everyone except me.

"It's okay, Car—Dr. Cullen," Katie rasps, leaning for a tissue box on the side of the bed I'm not on. Leah's quick to close the gap, handing her the entire box. There's a pile of dirty tissues on the bedside table. "He needs to know."

"Will someone please tell me what happened?" I make a conscious effort to meet every eye in the room. No one will return my gaze.

Katie sighs before speaking, and it comes out shaky. "You're going to want to react. You can't."

"Katie, baby, please," I say, smoothing her hair gently. I think it comforts me more than it does her. "If it's about the car, I'm not mad. I promise."

"I need to hear you say it," Katie says, firmer. "I'm not asking, I'm telling you. Don't react in the way you're going to want to."

It takes a few seconds for the gears to lock in place, but one look at the silent plea in her eyes, and I get it. What's she's leaving unsaid. It's a command. She's commanding me to keep my temper in check, because whatever's going on is just that bad. It's not about the car.

"That's not fair," I retort. Her face is blurring with emotion gathering behind my eyes, and I squeeze them shut in hopes that my tears will recede. Katie needs me to be strong.

Three blinks and they're gone.

"Seth," she pleads, her fingers wrapping around my wrist. "I need you to promise."

"That's not fair either," I whisper, one stubborn hot tear tracking down my face. "You know I can't break a promise to you."

"I know," she whispers. "But you still have to. You have to promise."

I look up to the ceiling, focusing in on Katie's heartbeat. The sound that since I heard it, has been sweeter to me than any melody, clearer to me than any spoken word. "I promise."

Katie nods once, her eyes sliding shut as she moves my hand to the bed railing. My brow furrows, but then she opens her mouth.

"I wrecked on purpose. I was with Jordan. He…" her voice breaks, and she sucks in a shaky lungful of air. "He touched me."

Red. All I see is red.

The plastic bed railing cracks underneath my hands, shatters to plastic shards, and Katie and Mom gasp in tandem.

Strong arms grasp me around the shoulders as a sickly-sweet smell burns my nose. It grounds me, but only just.

"I'm going to kill him," I growl. My body is shaking. I barely register Charlie shoving his deputy out the door and shutting him on the other side of it. "Jordan Johnson is a dead man. Where is he? Is he here?"

"Now, son," Charlie says, bravely standing in the doorway. His comment comes at the same time as Dr. Cullen's.

"Seth," he says, still holding onto my shoulders with a vice grip. "I have sedatives in my pocket. I will use them." His voice is a low hum in my ear; I'm surprised I'm sound enough to understand him.

I am seething, foaming. Rage is pumping through my blood, tightening my muscles down to the bone. I think I feel them crack. Like the railing.

Jordan put his hands on her. He touched her.

Mine.

For as mad at him as I am, I'm just as mad at myself. I knew this whole time. The way he looked at her. What man in his right mind looks at another man's wife that way? Goes out of his way to spend time with her, shows up to walk her to her car at night, spends his weekends eating shitty diner food just to be around her?

My breaths are shaky, and every cell in my body is begging to explode, seek him out. Rip him to shreds. Jordan is going to wish he died in that car.

Katie's voice is so quiet, I almost miss it. "Seth." It's not a command this time, just a request. But it's enough. It's enough that I don't want to burst from my skin, it's enough that the vice grip on my shoulders relaxes.

"Tell me everything," I manage.

Dr. Cullen moves me into a chair, keeping his weight engaged on one shoulder. His other hand, I assume, is in his coat pocket and wrapped around a syringe.

Jordan has to be in this hospital. It's got to be the reason Charlie has a hand on his gun as he braces against the door, and Dr. Cullen won't let me move an inch.

I'm able to push that thought away, at least temporarily, when Katie takes a slow breath. I feel her gaze on me, but I can't look at her right now without seeing his face, without seeing his hands on her. I'm not okay.

"Leslie spilled coffee on one of my portfolios," Katie starts, "and I didn't have the memory card to reprint what I needed. I left it at the diner. Jordan offered to ride with me to grab it.

"He told me he was in love with me. I tried to shut him down, but he just kept talking. He said I was special, that I should have explored my options more. I told him I didn't need options, that I was happy with you. And he asked me if I was sure, and he—"

Katie sucks in a deep breath, and in my periphery, because I'm still staring at the bedrail I destroyed, I see Leah reach out for Katie's hand. I should reach out and touch her. I should, but I can't move.

"He put his hand on my knee, and when I asked him to take it off, he didn't. And I kept trying to give him an out, and he just wouldn't take it. He, um…"

Charlie clears his throat. "I can have him read the statement, if you want, sweetheart," he offers.

Katie sniffles, and finally, I drag my eyes upward. She's staring straight into my soul.

With a jagged breath of my own, I rise to my feet slowly, so Dr. Cullen knows I'm not trying to escape. I drop to my knees at the bedside and take Katie's free hand. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

She nods, lip trembling. "I know. But part of me feels like… it's not real yet. Unless you know. I need to tell you the rest."

I nod slowly. "Okay. I'm here for you. Right here."

She squeezes my hand. And as tears stream down her cheeks in rivers, she tells me the rest.

His hand, slipping to the place she's guarded for her entire life. A place intended for me and me alone. Her, shoving him away only for him to become more aggressive, angrier, as he grabs her forcefully, gropes her painfully.

Her making the split decision to crash her car, apologizing to me before she did it. Praying to God before she did it. That when she came to afterwards, all she could think about was her final.

And me.

Charlie picks up the story when Katie can't speak anymore, telling me about the accident report that came over his speakers. He knew when Katie was in his arms and Jordan spoke that something wasn't right. That when Jordan wanted her to lie, keep it simple and mess-free, Katie chose to tell the truth.

"I just… I didn't want him to take any more of me than he already did," Katie croaks. "It was enough."

"It was too much," Leah growls. "I swear, he needs to either be in jail or in the ground when this is all over."

"What's going to happen now?" I ask the room, sparing a look at Charlie.

His shoulders fall, and he flexes the fingers that were clamped around his gun. "Well, we're filing a report, and Katie's given her statement. But Jo—" An unconscious growl rips from my throat, and Charlie coughs. "Everyone will give a statement. Even the witnesses, and Dr. Cullen."

Mom rests her palm on Katie's foot, but her gaze remains on Charlie. "Are you allowed to give a statement and be on the case at the same time, love?"

Charlie steps forward, and his face steels. It's the most determined I've ever seen him, and pride flares in my chest. It doesn't mix well with adrenaline and dread. I decide to tamp it down so I don't puke. "I'm not getting kicked off this case. I'll see it through, no matter where it goes."

Katie sniffles. "Where do you think it will go? Honestly."

Charlie rubs his palm across his afternoon stubble. "Honestly…" he sighs, and it's quiet for two beats too long for me to expect anything positive to come out of his mouth. My heart plummets through the floor. "There's not much physical evidence, aside from the bruising on the wrist."

"He did that?" I say, locking in on the red ring above her IV line. If I stare at it too long, I can picture it all. I force my gaze away, back to Charlie. "What else can we do? Will he be expelled?"

Katie groans. "Oh, God. My finals."

Dr. Cullen steps up to my side. "Not to worry, Katie. We've already called the school. And your parents."

She nods, and I study her face as her chin wobbles. "Can I…"

I lean forward, as does everyone else in the room. We're a semi-circle around the bed, hanging onto her every single word.

"Can I be alone with Seth?"

What's left of my heart constricts inside my chest, and tears unexpectedly cloud my vision. I blink them away. It takes four blinks this time.

Mom leans forward to give Katie a kiss on her forehead before she exits with Charlie.

Leah steps up to Katie's shoulder, brushing back the hair from her face. She leans down by Katie's ear, murmuring something so low I can't catch it over the whoosh of blood in my ears.

Katie's eyes squeeze tight, and she chokes back a sob as she nods. Leah, surprisingly, kisses her cheek, and pivots. She doesn't even look at me. Anger pricks along my spine.

Dr. Cullen steps over to review Katie's IV. "You have a concussion," he reminds Katie, pressing a few buttons on the machine. The IV drips faster. "Try to get some rest, okay?"

He shuts the door quietly behind him, and Katie and I are alone.

If I thought Katie was broken before, she is shattered now. She crumples, doubling over on herself, gasping something that sounds like my name but not. It's caught in her throat, strangled.

Panic and angst and hurt (and yes, some more anger) rise in my throat, but I shove all of that aside as I scoot Katie over in the bed, folding myself in around her limp body, and hold her.

She cries until she falls asleep, about a minute later. Good drugs work fast, Dr. Cullen had told me once.

Although she's sleeping, tears are still leaking from her eyes, clumping her lashes together. I wipe them away, one at a time, and try like hell not to fall apart myself. Five blinks.

A nurse comes into Katie's room thirty minutes later, and there is a murmur of familiar voices in the hallway that piques my interest.

Carefully, I extract myself from the bed. I tell the nurse to come get me if she wakes up, but I think I'll know before she does. Katie's heart is slow and steady, her breathing even. This is what I focus on.

When I let myself into the hallway, Leah and Mom are standing, arms crossed and solemn and deep in conversation.

"Hey, what the hell?" I say, giving Leah a shove on her shoulder. "Are you going to look at me at all today?"

"Seth," Mom hisses.

"It's okay, Mom," Leah murmurs, still not bothering to look at me. "Give us a minute."

Mom sighs, squeezing each of us on the shoulder, before sauntering off.

With a heavy sigh, Leah finally turns to me. She meets my eyes for the first time. She's been crying, too. "Seth. It's okay. She's going to be okay."

"How can you say that?" I ask, my sharp tone causing some of the nurses to look our way. I gesture wildly back to Katie's door. "How can you look at her in that bed, and listen to what he did to her, and think she's okay?"

I should still be curled up with Katie in bed, keeping her warm. Wiping her tears. Holding her hand. I should go back.

Leah chews her lip, her arms still crossed firmly across her chest. "I didn't say she's okay right now. I said she's going to be okay. And that's because you're here for her. You're here for her, and I'm here for you."

Two blinks. Three. Four.

"It's okay," she murmurs. "Fall apart or whatever. I've got you."

Oh.

Her face goes cloudy, and my knees give out. Toned and slender arms help me to the floor, and a warm hand pulls my face into a lap, and practiced fingers run through my hair.

I keep blinking, but the tears won't stop.