“Dr. Faulks?” I can’t help but ask.
“He’s one of the faculty at the Gallagher Center,” she explains distractedly.
Oh, he must be the doctor she’s worked with in tandem the last year or so while we were trying to limit the OBS progression.Without another word, she gestures to the exam table. I try to stand slowly, but the dizziness happens anyway.
“Damn it,” I mutter, palming the arm rest of the chair to keep me from falling.
Emilia steps up to me and grabs my elbow, wordlessly helping me find my balance again. After a minute, my vision clears, and I drop onto the exam table. I keep my eyes closed as she works through the various checks. Every touch of her hands, despite the necessity, sends me a step closer to overstimulation. Eventually, she moves away from me, the faint swish of her scrub pants grating on my frayed nerves.
I stretch my neck, trying to get my body to settle a bit at all the small things urging it into a panicked overdrive.
“Does your head ache?” she asks. There’s a soft click, and even with my eyes closed, I can tell she’s flipped off the overhead light.
“Yeah, just my typical,” I admit. When I finally force my eyes open, she’s sitting in front of me, her arms resting on her legs as she leans forward.
“I don’t want to decrease your dosage of the new medication,” she says. “Your bloodwork and exam are stable enough that I’m willing to bring you off the bond suppressors. I’ve calculated a plan to have you weaned entirely by Friday.”
Nervous excitement bubbles in my stomach. I’m going to get to feel him again, feel him for more than the brief flashes. Memories of yesterday morning flood me, and my skin tightens. God, now is not a good time to be thinking about the way he felt over me.
“Once you’re fully off of it and settled in with the pack, we can discuss the heat suppressor as well.” When I nod, she purses her lips. “You have to be brutally honest with me as we’re adjusting everything. As you know, any slight modification canhave unintended consequences. I want you to see Dr. Faulks within two weeks regardless of your symptoms.”
“Does he have privacy plans?” I ask.
Powerful people move through Manhattan all the time with minimal scrutiny—or at least no worse than typical. But going into a clinic that specializes in OBS? That will send every possible news outlet that’s ever kept a tab on me into a spiral.
She nods. “Yes, they have plans in place for patients who need shielding from the public eye. His office is very comfortable in handling the extra scrutiny.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief.
Her voice sharpens. “If your symptoms get worse, you need to tell me immediately. You have my direct number already. Use it. Make sure you always have your emergency interventions with you and ready. It’s possible that coming off the bond suppressor could kickstart a heat cycle despite the medications. As of now, you’re not stable enough to get through one without some level of sedation. You need to establish a plan of care if a heat happens, understand?”
Those nerves twist and morph in the span of an instant. I breathe through them best I can and murmur an affirmative.
She smiles, and the seriousness of just a moment ago drips away from her. “Good. I’m excited for you, Cole. You deserve good news.”
Twenty-Three
MEGAN
“I’ll take you to the waiting area.”
Jake, the social worker managing the ER today, pats the back of the middle-aged woman standing out of the way of the surgical team occupying most of the room. Her gaze is locked on the man on the bed, her lips tight with worry. One of the assisting nurses notices and breaks from the group working to move him up to the surgical floor.
“We’ll have someone give you hourly updates,” she says with a warm smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. “And the doctor will discuss everything once he’s in recovery.”
That seems to snap the woman from her stupor. She glances from Jake to the nurse and then back. “All right.”
Without another word, they follow the surgical team as they move the man through the ER and up to an operating room where they’ll repair the nasty compound break in his arm. Jake gives me a quick smile as they leave.
And then it’s just me. I tip my head back, counting to ten, and then strip off my gloves and drop them into the trash tucked inthe corner of the room with a heavy sigh. I exit out of the man’s file and lock the room’s computer, then erase the whiteboard with his vitals and checklist of tests and labs.
When I step out of the room, the central desk swarms with motion, nurses moving between rooms and computers, trying to keep all of the patient charts updated while working through the neverending waiting room out front. The doctors weave between them, discussing among themselves various cases. Jake and the woman are already gone.
Erica touches my wrist as she passes. “Is this one ready?”
“Yep,” I respond, twisting away from the frenetic room to mark the patient room as ready for cleaning. In another fifteen minutes, there’ll be a new patient in there needing my help.
“Great. There was a delivery for you, by the way.”
