“Megs, oh God,” Charlotte sobs as she hugs me tightly. “He… I…”
“Take them upstairs,” Riley instructs again. Then he turns to our coworkers. “Let’s get back to everyone else. There’s still a full waiting room, and it’s not even ten yet.”
Thirty-Nine
MARCUS
Charlotte’s draped herself over the arm of both our chairs and laid her head against my forearm. Her soft sniffles cut through the overbearing silence surrounding us. Without opening my eyes, I reach for her, palming her thigh without error. Her shock bleeds through the communal bond, fainter than any of Cole’s emotions. I keep my own emotions under wraps, bottling them up where they won’t hurt her. Instead, I focus on the way her hair smells, the fruity overtone of her dry shampoo blending with her sage scent. It’s a pairing I know intimately, and it helps settle my stomach in a way little else has today. Megan adjusts on my other side, her arm brushing mine. Her phone chimes, but she doesn’t say anything.
A minute passes, and then Charlotte’s crying grows more distraught, falling back into the way she’d been when I’d first gotten to the hospital. That had been hours ago. Lunch has come and gone, but none of us have bothered to leave to get something to eat. It’s hard to even imagine leaving here right now. I adjuston the unyielding chair, crossing my ankles instead of my knees this time.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
I tighten my hold on her leg and kiss her temple, still keeping my eyes closed.
“Lottie, it’s okay,” Megan reassures her. “There’s nothing you could have done. It’s not like an epipen that anyone can just use. The emergency medications are finicky at the best of times.”
It’s something Megan’s told us both multiple times while we’ve sat here and waited for any kind of news from the medical staff. Charlotte nods, and her crying quiets without fully dissipating. Tears fall on my arm, wetting my already ruined sleeve. I don’t bother to move her. A ruined Oxford is the least of my concerns right now. Steps echo around the small waiting room, similar to nearly a dozen other times since being brought here. This time, though, they pause rather than continue past us.
“Pack Harper?” an unfamiliar man says.
Charlotte sits up with a sharp inhale, her anxiety a flood through the bond. I take a long breath before opening my eyes and turning toward the voice.
Three people stand at the threshold of the small waiting room. A middle-aged man with gray hair and beard and frameless glasses tucks his hands into black slacks, casually moving his white jacket out of the way. A small, no-nonsense bit of embroidery sits just above the chest pocket: Dr. Faulks, Neurologist. The man and woman who flank him wear identical navy blue scrubs, their IDs naming them as ICU staff. The woman frowns as she looks at Megan.
“Megs?” she asks. “Oh, god.”
Megan gives a tired half-smile. “Hey, Brandy.”
The doctor clears his throat. “Hello, Pack Harper. I’m Dr. Faulks.”
I ease to my feet and shake his offered hand, taking the informal lead of the three of us.
“I’m Marcus. These are my partners, Charlotte and Megan,” I say, gesturing to each of them. His eyes skate over them both before returning back to me. His stark gaze lays me bare. Without a word, he nods and then pulls a chair up to our small group, casually steepling his hands between his knees.
“As I said, I’m Dr. Charles Faulks. I’m an OBS specialist with the Gallagher Clinic in Brooklyn.” Megan sucks in a breath, and he focuses on her. “I’ve been told that you were unaware of Mr. Fallon’s condition.”
“Harper,” I say with too much bite.
His eyebrow rises in question.
Megan is quick to fill the charged silence. “We were recently matched by the Council. We filed finalized paperwork on Friday.”
“Ah.” He visibly relaxes. “Good. That’s good.” His gaze swings back to me. “You were unaware that Mr.Harperhas OBS?”
I nod and ease back into the uncomfortable chair.
Dr. Faulks sighs and runs a thumb along his forehead. “All right. From the beginning, then, so that you can understand exactly the crossroads we currently occupy.”
The nurses step closer, the man unobtrusively pulling sliding glass pocket doors closed on the room, leaving us in semi-privacy. I hadn’t even realized thereweredoors. Fuck, I was a mess today.
Dr. Faulks drops his hand and says, “Just over two years ago, Cole developed preliminary symptoms of the disease. Dizziness, nausea, brain fog. Then he couldn’t walk in a straight line. He was off the coast of New Zealand at the time. An emergency flight flew him to Auckland where he was initially treated for sudden onset OBS.”
Megan stiffens next to me, understanding more of what that must mean.
“However, he was slow to respond to the typical treatment. His symptoms continued to progress. He was flown back to his own city and pursued more acute treatment. It took about six months for the final diagnosis to come through.”
“It’s not sudden onset?” Megan asked.
