Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack novel Chapter 91

Chapter 91

Damon pov

I woke with a violent start, my heart already pounding before I’d even fully registered why, my phone buzzing insistently on the nightstand beside me.

I fumbled for it in the dark, Evelyn stirring beside me, and answered without checking the screen, some instinctive dread already building in my chest.

“Hello?”

“Alpha-elect Cross.” The healer’s voice came through fast, tight with urgency in a way that immediately sent adrenaline flooding through my system. “You need to come to the medical wing immediately. Your father’s had a cardiac event, a real one this time. We’re prepping him for emergency surgery.”

I was already sitting up, throwing back the covers, my mind racing to catch up with the sudden, terrifying shift from sleep to crisis. “What happened? He was stable a few hours ago.”

“His heart rate spiked suddenly about twenty minutes ago, followed by significant chest pain and difficulty breathing. Tests are showing a blockage requiring immediate surgical intervention. We need consent as next of kin, and honestly, sir, we need you here. This is serious.”

“I’m coming now.” I was already pulling on clothes, Evelyn fully awake beside me now, her expression alarmed as she registered the tension in my voice.

“What happened,” she asked, already moving to check on Willow despite the late hour.

“Heart attack,” I said, my voice tight with fear I couldn’t fully suppress. “Real one this time. They’re taking him into surgery, need me there for consent.”

“Go,” Evelyn said immediately. “I’ll get Willow settled with the nanny and come as soon as I can.”

I was out the door within minutes, running through the dark, quiet compound toward the medical wing, my mind spinning through everything-the conversation on the path just hours earlier, his words about being proud of me, the relief I’d felt seeing him stable, and now this, sudden and terrifying, threatening to undo everything just when some fragile, genuine reconciliation had finally started taking root between us.

I burst into the medical wing to find controlled chaos, healers moving with urgent, practiced efficiency, my father visible through a doorway, pale and clearly in significant distress, wires and monitors surrounding him as they prepared to move him.

“Damon.” His voice was weak, strained, but he found my eyes as I approached, genuine fear visible. beneath the pain.

“I’m here,” I said, moving to his side despite the healers working around him. “You’re going to be okay. They’re taking care of you.”

“The consent forms,” the lead healer said urgently, appearing at my side with a tablet. “We need your signature now, sir. Every minute matters.”

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I scanned the forms quickly, understanding the gravity of what I was authorizing-emergency cardiac surgery, significant risk, but necessary given the severity of what was apparently happening to his heart right now.

“Do it,” I said, signing quickly. “Whatever he needs, do it now.”

The healer nodded, already moving, and within moments they were wheeling him toward the surgical suite, my father’s hand reaching for mine as they moved, gripping it with surprising strength given how weak his voice had sounded.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, something raw and unguarded in his voice, none of his usual careful authority

present at all.

“I know,” I said, walking alongside the gurney as far as they’d let me. “But you’re strong, and they’re going to take good care of you. I need you to fight through this, okay? We still have things to talk about. Real conversations, not deathbed confessions.”

He managed something that might have been a weak, pained laugh, before the healers gently but firmly redirected me toward the waiting area, the surgical doors closing behind them, leaving me standing alone in the harsh fluorescent hallway, adrenaline slowly giving way to raw, unfiltered fear.

I sank into one of the waiting room chairs, my hands shaking slightly, replaying everything-the phone call, his fear in that final moment before surgery, the sudden, terrifying possibility that I might actually lose him now, just as something genuinely different had started to grow between us.

Callum arrived within the hour, having apparently been notified by the healers, his expression grave as he settled into the chair beside me.

“How bad is it,” he asked quietly.

“Bad enough that they’re operating immediately,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “I don’t know more than that yet. They just took him back.”

“He’s strong,” Callum said, though his tone carried more hope than genuine certainty. “And the healers here are good. If anyone can pull through something like this, it’s probably him.”

I appreciated the attempt at reassurance, even as my mind continued spiraling through worst-case scenarios, through everything still unresolved between us, through the fear of losing him just as we’d finally started building something real.

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