Chapter 129 Reconciliation
Author's POV
The private hospital room at St. Michael's is quiet except for the steady beep of monitors and the low hum of medical equipment. Expensive. Exclusive. The kind of care only Thorne family money can buy.
Aiden sits on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to his ear, jaw tight with frustration.
"I'm fine, Mom," he says for the third time. "Really. It's healing fast. Alpha genetics, remember?"
His mother's voice carries through the phone—worried, insistent, demanding details the school carefully omitted when they called to inform her that her son had been injured during a field trip.
"Just a hiking accident," Aiden lies smoothly. "Fell on some rocks. Scratches look worse than they are. The doctors are being overcautious keeping me here."
More questions. More reassurances he doesn't entirely believe himself.
The bandages wrapped around his chest hide the truth—three deep claw marks that required seventeen stitches total. Wounds that would have been fatal if they'd been an inch deeper, an inch to the left.
Wounds from the girl he loves, who wasn't in control, who didn't mean it.
Wounds he doesn't blame her for.
"Mom, I have to go. Doctor's coming in. I'll call you tomorrow. Yes, I promise. Love you too."
He hangs up before she can ask more questions. Before his carefully constructed lies start to crack.
A knock on the door makes him look up.
His heart stutters.
Malia stands in the doorway, leaning heavily on crutches, her leg in a cast from ankle to knee. A bandage wraps around her head, partially hidden by her hair. She looks pale. Exhausted. Beautiful.
And terrified.
"Hi," she says quietly. Uncertain. Like she's not sure she's welcome here.
Aiden's expression transforms. All the pain, the frustration, the complicated mess of emotions from the past weeks—it all falls away.
Leaving only relief. Pure, overwhelming relief that she's here. That she's okay. That she's alive.
"Come in," he says, standing too quickly. His chest protests with sharp pain but he ignores it. "Please. Come in."
She hobbles into the room on the crutches, movements careful. Rowan must be waiting outside—she couldn't have driven herself like this.
The door clicks shut.
They stare at each other across the small space. So much to say. So many apologies waiting. So much damage to acknowledge and maybe, hopefully, repair.
Malia opens her mouth. "I'm so sorry—"
Aiden doesn't let her finish.
He crosses the distance between them in three strides, frames her face with his hands, and kisses her.
Deeply. Desperately. With all the longing and fear and love he's been holding back for weeks.
She gasps against his mouth, surprised, but then she's kissing him back just as desperately. Crutches clattering to the floor as she grabs his shoulders for balance.
His hands slide into her hair, careful of the bandage, angling her head to deepen the kiss. Tasting her. Confirming she's real. She's here. She's his.
When they finally break apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against hers.
"I'm sorry," he says before she can start apologizing again. "For everything. For walking away with Lydia. For the distance. For calling you a mistake in front of everyone. For being too proud and hurt to see what I was doing to you."
"Aiden—"
"I was scared." The admission comes out rough. Raw. "Back at the preserve, when I found you transforming, when I saw the pain you were in—I was terrified. Not of you. Never of you. But of losing you. Of not being able to help. Of watching you suffer and being powerless to stop it."
Her eyes fill with tears. "I hurt you. The claws. I didn't mean to but I—"
"I know." His thumbs brush away the tears that spill over. "Malia, I know. You weren't in control. The preserve's magic forced a transformation that should be impossible. That wasn't you. That was—something beyond your control."
"But the video—"
"Shows exactly what Lydia wanted it to show. The violence without the context. The attack without the suffering that led to it." His voice hardens. "She set you up. Led you into restricted territory. Filmed the aftermath. She orchestrated all of it."
"Everyone thinks I'm dangerous now. Unstable. The comments, the things people are saying—"
"Fuck what they're saying." He pulls her closer, careful of her injuries. "I know the truth. Rowan knows. Cian knows. Everyone who actually matters knows you're not a monster. You're someone who got hurt and lost control of something that never should have been forced on you."
She buries her face in his shoulder, careful of the bandages on his chest. "I was so scared I'd killed you. When I woke up and Rowan told me what happened—"
"I'm hard to kill." He tries for lightness. "Alpha healing, remember? Already down to half the bandages I started with. Give me another week and I'll just have badass scars to show off."
A watery laugh escapes her. "That's not funny."
"Little bit funny." He tightens his arms around her. "Malia, I'm fine. Healing fast. You're the one who was unconscious for two days. You're the one with a fractured leg and head trauma."
"Still not as bad as claw marks to the chest."
"We can compare trauma later." He pulls back just enough to see her face. "Right now I just—I need you to know. What happened at the preserve, what happened with us before that—none of it changes how I feel about you. I love you. I never stopped loving you. I was just—too stupid and hurt to admit it."
Fresh tears spill over. "I love you too. Even when I was pushing everyone away, even when I told Cian to leave me alone, even when I was drowning—I never stopped loving you."
"I know. The bond—" He touches his chest, right over his heart. "It never broke. Stretched thin, damaged, but not broken. I felt it the whole time. Felt you hurting. Felt you scared. Felt you falling apart."
"Then why didn't you come back sooner?"
"Pride. Stupidity. Fear that I'd make things worse." He kisses her forehead gently. "And—shame. Because I handled everything wrong. Let Lydia use me. Let my hurt turn into cruelty. Became someone I didn't recognize."
"We both made mistakes."
"Yeah." He cups her face, making her meet his eyes. "But we're done making them. Done letting other people destroy what we have. Done letting pride and fear keep us apart."
"What about Lydia? The video? The disciplinary hearing I have in two days?"
"Rowan's handling Lydia. And the hearing—we'll face it together. All of us. Rowan, Cian, me. You're not doing this alone anymore."
"But your injuries—"
"Will heal." He kisses her again. Softer this time. Tender. "You're worth a few scars, Malia. You're worth everything."
She melts into him, hands sliding carefully up his back, mindful of the bandages. The kiss deepens. Becomes more urgent. Desperate.
All the weeks of separation, of pain, of miscommunication—burning away in the heat of reconnection.
Aiden groans softly when she presses against him—pain from his chest mixing with desire, with need, with the overwhelming relief of having her in his arms again.
"We should—" he manages between kisses. "Your injuries—"
"I don't care." She pulls him back down, kissing him with wild abandon. "I need you. Need this. Need to feel something other than pain and fear and guilt."
He understands completely.
His hands slide down to her waist, lifting her carefully—so carefully—and setting her on the hospital bed. She winces slightly as her leg adjusts but doesn't protest.
He climbs onto the bed beside her, hovering over her, supporting his weight on his arms to keep pressure off his chest.
"If this hurts—" he starts.
"It won't." She pulls him down. "Please, Aiden. Make me feel whole again."
He kisses her deeply. Thoroughly. Pouring weeks of longing and regret and love into it.
His hands slide under her shirt—the hospital scrubs she's wearing, borrowed from campus medical. Her skin is warm beneath his palms.
She arches into his touch, gasping softly when his fingers trace patterns on her ribs, her stomach, higher.
"I missed you," he breathes against her mouth. "Missed this. Missed us."
"Me too." Her hands are in his hair, tugging gently. "So much."
He trails kisses down her jaw, her neck, finding that spot below her ear that always makes her gasp.
She doesn't disappoint. The sound she makes is pure need.
His chest protests the position—the healing wounds pulling, reminding him they're still there.
But he doesn't stop. Can't stop. Needs this connection more than he needs pain relief.
Needs her more than he needs anything.
They move together carefully. Mindful of injuries. Making it work despite bandages and casts and healing wounds.
Because this—being together, being close, reaffirming what they are to each other—this matters more than physical comfort.
"I love you," he says again, pulling back just enough to look at her. To see her face flushed, her eyes dark with desire, her expression open and trusting and his.
"I love you too," she whispers back.
And for the first time in weeks, everything feels right.
Not perfect. But right.