“I didn’t grow up in a family like this. My dads only tolerated Sienna. They never risked leaving because they couldn’t stomach the thought of losing us.” I suck in a breath. “I’d always thought I’d end up with something like… like that. Especially when they told me my last real chance of curbing the OBS was finding another Alpha who would bond me. And then you were there and… God, I love you, Marcus. I meant what I said when we signed the finalization. You’re everything to me.”
He kisses me again, moving until he’s sitting next to me on the small bed, his head pillowed on his arm. I can’t help but reach for him. My arms are still slow to respond, but he doesn’t move away from my jerky movements. He grabs my hand and brings it to his mouth, running his lips along my wrist. My applescent slowly surrounds us, soft and muted. His eyes close as he shudders in a breath.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers.
“Sorry.” I lick my lips. “It happens sometimes after a flare.”
Marcus opens his eyes. “Cole, it wasn’t a flare. Maybe it started as one, but by the time Charlotte got to you and called for help, it was a crisis. Your heart stopped—” He chokes on the word. “Your heart stopped in the ambulance. Megan had to give you CPR.”
“I’m sorry.” And I am. Sorry I’m sick, sorry I’ve saddled them with it, sorry his nearness wasn’t enough.
“I know.” He moves toward me until his chest brushes my side. “You’re going to let us help.”
It’s another command. And despite all my fears before, following it is as easy as breathing.
“Okay, Alpha.”
Forty-Four
MEGAN
The sun’s just starting to lighten the dark blue sky when we step out of the elevator and onto the Omega ICU floor. The receptionist glances at us before nodding, wordlessly opening the locked doors and letting us inside. My phone vibrates before we’ve made it down the hallway to his room. I open the text from Riley.
I’ve got you covered today. Let me know what they say and we can figure out next week, too.
Seriously the best friend. Thank you.
No problem.
“His door is open,” Charlotte whispers.
I shove my phone away and look up. She’s right. And the nurse isn’t at the station, either. When we get close enough to glance in, both doctors are standing at the edge of Cole’s bed, and the nurse is tapping the monitor’s screen, pulling uphistorical data so it’s easily seen in the room and not just at the computer desk.
I guess we took longer to get here than I thought.
Charlotte hesitates at the door to Cole’s room, her uneasiness written across her body like a billboard. With a squeeze of her hand, I pull her through, carefully dodging around the night nurse and both doctors until we’re standing against the couch under the window. Cole’s perched in bed, answering questions in a quiet, hoarse voice that’s nothing like his normally warm tenor. It’s not unexpected—vocal changes are common after any kind of intubation and typically resolve in a week or two. The difference has Charlotte tensing beside me, though, a bitter edge creeping into her swirling sage scent. Marcus stands just off to the side, his arms crossed as he watches the exchange, his shoulders tight. His gaze flicks over to us. I give a half-smile that he manages to return.
When Dr. Faulks starts on the neurological exam, Marcus is right there, helping fill in the gaps of Cole’s current abilities. Some of it is normal, weaknesses that are expected after the crisis event. Some have a knot of worry growing larger under my diaphragm until it’s nearly impossible to breathe.
Finally, the doctors back away from the bed. I squeeze Charlotte’s hand again and go to Cole. His eyes are glassy as he sees that we’re here. Before he can say anything, Charlotte’s arms are around him, pulling him tight.
“Lottie,” he whispers in that cracked voice. “I’m so, so sorry.”
She shakes her head. “It’s okay. You’re awake, and it’ll be okay now.”
His smile is sad as she pulls away, giving me a chance to pull Cole into my own arms. He shakes, his hands trembling enough that it’ll probably impact his ability to do daily tasks. My brain’s already thinking through next steps, the things the doctors are going to tell us are happening as soon as our reunionis over. Physical therapy, occupational therapy, a new regimen of medications that will probably be permanent.
“I love you,” I whisper against his hair, squeezing his shaking fingers.
He shudders against me, his breath catching.
“Pack Harper?” Dr. Faulks say it like a question, quietly letting us know they’re ready to discuss the new care plan.
Cole pulls away but doesn’t let go of my hand. Marcus grabs is other one, perching on the bit of bed next to his hip. Charlotte mirrors him without even meaning to, palming Cole’s leg over the blankets.
“Cole, your labs look good. There doesn’t appear to be any lasting damage to any of your organs which is fantastic.” Dr. Faulks says, tucking his hands into his pockets. “It’s difficult to tell if the neurological changes, the tremors and the pain you described, will fade with time.”
And then he lays out the plan I expected. Step-down care for the next few days until he’s able to walk and eat on his own. Then long-term physical and occupational therapy to address the neurological changes.
