We sit there in silence. Ranier is still on the phone, his voice tight and clipped, talking to someone about Council spin and “damage control” and “we’ll need to get ahead of this.”
Classic.
I realize, with a sick little thump in my chest, that I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Am I supposed to make coffee? Bake a casserole? Is there a guide for this in the omega etiquette book? I try to imagine how my mother would handle it. She’d probably call the hospital and offer to donate blood, even if they didn’t want it. Or maybe she’d just hug everyone until it got weird.
Wyatt’s foot taps the floor, restless. “He’ll be home later. They said he can leave after x-rays.”
“Do you want to go see him?” I ask. I expect him to say no.
Wyatt is quiet for a long time. He looks at the glow of his phone, then at Ranier, then back at me. “No. He’ll hate that. He’ll hate anyone seeing him like that.”
I get that. If there’s one thing an omega understands it’s not wanting anyone but her pack seeing her in a vulnerable state. “Do you want anything? Coffee, tea, something sugary and bad for you?”
Wyatt almost smiles, but not quite. “Coffee, please. Black. And, uh, thanks.”
I stand and pad to the kitchen. There’s a window over the sink, and the city beyond it is just starting to bleed a little orange into the navy sky. I flick on the coffeemaker and lean against the counter, arms folded, breathing in the scent of the beans and trying to decide if it’s okay to cry.
I haven’t known Bastion that long, but the idea of him broken up in a hospital bed is like someone telling you your favorite painting was stolen then run through a shredder. It doesn’t make sense, and it makes you angry, and then it makes you sad.
The coffee gurgles. I pour two cups, one for Wyatt and one for me, because I don’t trust myself to face Ranier before I’m fully caffeinated.
When I get back to the staircase, Wyatt has moved. He’s at the window, looking out, phone held loose in his hand. He takes the cup and cradles it, inhaling the steam like it might give him back some kind of control.
“Thank you,” Wyatt says, and then, after a long moment, “Are you okay?”
The question floors me. I want to laugh, or tell him I’m invincible, or make a joke about finishing school training me for this. Instead, I nod and then shake my head, which is so dumb it almost counts as an answer.
Wyatt watches me, quiet and careful. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
I want to ask what he means, but I already know. “I just—” I start, then stop. “He was really angry last night. Before he left.”
Wyatt sips his coffee. “He’s always angry. The trick is figuring out who it’s at.”
We watch the sunrise for a bit. The sky turns gray, then pink, then a weird shade of peach that looks fake. I sip my coffee and try not to think about what’s waiting for us at the hospital. I want to help, but I don’t know how. I want to fix things, but there’s nothing to fix.
Ranier’s phone call ends. He stands there for a moment, hands on his hips. “They said he’ll be out by noon. They’re prepping a statement for the press. I want both of you on lock. No comments. No interviews. We don’t need another scandal.”
Wyatt mutters something under his breath, but Ranier ignores it.
I muster my best finishing school smile, the one that says,I’m not about to have a breakdown.“Do you want coffee?”
“No,” Ranier says. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, Grey.”
I bristle at the use of my last name. “You know, you can call me Emery.”
Ranier doesn’t answer. He just turns and leaves, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the tile.
Wyatt sighs. “Ranier’s scared. That’s why he’s like this.”
I nod. “I know.”
The coffee is getting cold. I dump the rest in the sink and rinse the mug, hands shaking a little, but not enough that anyone would notice.
Wyatt lingers at the window. “They’ll both be fine. They always are.”
I want to believe him, but I know better. People break all the time, even if they don’t show it.
I go back to my room. The nest is still warm. I crawl inside and pull the blankets over my head, phone clutched in my hand, and stare at the crack in the ceiling until my eyes blur.
