Taking care of Caden.

Amara's POV

The house was unusually quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against my ears and made me hyper-aware of every sound. The triplets were already gone to school, leaving me alone with my thoughts—thoughts that seemed to circle back to him.

Caden.

I didn’t know if I was avoiding him or if he was avoiding me. Weeks had passed since that night, and though I tried to push him out of my mind, he lingered, like a ghost haunting my every waking moment.

With a sigh, I grabbed my coffee and started toward my room, hoping to drown myself in something—anything—to stop the endless loop of thoughts. But as I passed by Caden’s room, a sound stopped me in my tracks.

It was faint, muffled, but unmistakable. A low groan, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

My wolf stirred instantly, her concern flooding through me.

He needs us, Amara. He needs our help.

“No,” I whispered, trying to push her voice aside. “It’s not our business.”

But she was relentless, her worry wrapping around my resolve and tugging at it until I found myself standing outside his door. My hand hovered over the wood, hesitating.

“Caden?” I called softly, knocking once. There was no answer.

I knocked again, harder this time. “Caden, are you okay?”

Still nothing. My chest tightened with worry. I pressed my ear to the door, listening. Another groan, weak and pained.

My wolf growled. Do something.

Panic clawed at my insides as I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. The sight that greeted me made my breath hitch.

Caden was lying on his bed, his face pale, his hair damp with sweat. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and his lips were slightly parted as if he were struggling to breathe.

“Caden,” I said, rushing to his side. I placed my coffee on the nightstand, my hands trembling as I touched his forehead. It was burning hot, like a furnace under my palm.

“Damn it,” I muttered, my wolf whimpering in distress.

His eyes fluttered open briefly, hazy and unfocused. “Amara?” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m here,” I said softly, brushing the damp strands of hair away from his forehead. “You’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything?”

He gave a weak, humorless laugh. “Didn’t want to bother anyone.”

I frowned, anger flickering beneath my worry. “You’re seriously impossible, Caden. You should’ve told someone you were sick.”

He closed his eyes again, his breathing shallow. “Didn’t think it was… that bad.”

I shook my head, my heart twisting at the sight of him like this. “You’re always acting like you have to do everything alone,” I muttered, more to myself than him.

He didn’t respond, and the stillness in the room felt suffocating.

I grabbed a cool cloth from his bathroom, dabbing it gently across his forehead. He stirred slightly, his lips parting in a soft sigh. My wolf purred in the back of my mind, pleased at even this small comfort.

“You should’ve called for me,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

His eyes opened again, locking onto mine with surprising intensity despite his fever. “You’ve… been on my mind, Amara,” he murmured, his voice low and raw. “Didn’t think I had the right to ask for you.”

His words made my chest tighten. I wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to ask, that I was here, that I would always be here. But the emotions swirling in my chest were too overwhelming, too messy to untangle right now.

Instead, I placed a hand on his cheek, the heat of his fever burning against my skin. “Stop thinking you don’t have the right to ask for help,” I said softly. “I’m here, Caden. I’ll take care of you.”

For the first time in weeks, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips. “Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut again.

I stayed by his side, my heart heavy with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite name. Watching him like this, vulnerable and unguarded, stirred something deep within me. Something I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

Caden’s fever raged on through the night, and I never left his side. I stayed perched on the edge of his bed, my hand occasionally brushing against his as I dabbed the cool cloth over his forehead. His skin was clammy, his breaths uneven, and every small groan that escaped his lips sent pangs of worry coursing through me.

He stirred again, mumbling something incoherent. His brows furrowed as if he were caught in a bad dream. I leaned closer, brushing his hair back. “Caden,” I whispered softly, hoping to ease him. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

His eyes fluttered open, glassy with fever. “Amara…” he murmured, his voice cracked and low.

“I’m here,” I reassured him, my hand instinctively gripping his. “You’re going to be okay. Just rest.”

For a moment, his gaze softened, but then something flickered behind his fevered eyes—a flash of vulnerability I wasn’t used to seeing in him. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, his voice barely audible.

“Sorry?” I frowned, confused. “What are you sorry for?”

“For everything,” he rasped, his voice filled with raw emotion. “For keeping my distance… for hurting you… for not being the mate you deserved.”

The air seemed to thicken around us. My heart clenched at his words, the weight of his guilt pressing heavily between us. I didn’t know what to say, how to respond to a confession that felt so sudden, so fragile.

“Caden,” I began, my voice trembling, “you don’t have to apologize. None of us are perfect, and we’ve all made mistakes.”

He shook his head weakly, his hand tightening around mine. “No, you don’t understand,” he said, his voice breaking. “I pushed you away because… because I couldn’t deal with what I was feeling.”

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

“I thought if I stayed away,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “it would get easier. That I wouldn’t feel this… this pull toward you. But it doesn’t stop, Amara. It never stops.”

His words left me reeling, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over me. My wolf whimpered, her longing for him surging to the forefront.

“Caden…” I whispered, my heart aching.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said quickly, his eyes closing as if even speaking was draining him. “I just needed you to know… that it was never you. It was me. I didn’t know how to handle this… connection we have.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his confession settling over us. I didn’t know what to say, how to process the depth of what he was sharing.

I leaned down, pressing my forehead gently against his. “Rest, Caden,” I whispered. “We can talk about this when you’re better.”

He exhaled shakily, his body relaxing slightly. “Don’t leave,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised, my fingers brushing against his cheek.

For the rest of the night, I stayed there, watching over him as his fever slowly began to break. And as the first rays of dawn filtered through the curtains, I couldn’t help but wonder what his confession meant for us—and if I was brave enough to face the truth of it.