“Hey, Rowan,” he nods.
“You gonna check out the dogs with the doc, Son?” Jerry asks.
“Yeah.”
“Surprised you’re bringing the omega with you.”
My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel and I fake a casual shrug. “Thought it’d keep them docile while the doc looked at ‘em. I know they’re pretty banged up tonight, so it’s probably important they stay still and shit while he does his job.”
“Makes sense. I’ll leave you to it, then. Good job tonight, son. Seriously, whatever magic you’re doing with your training, keep it up.” Jerry offers me one last slap on the shoulder before heading back into the office trailer to do some of the paperwork that always has to be done after fight night.
Most of the times, it would’ve been my job, but I guess I’ve been promoted.
“You ready to go Doc?” I ask, jerking my thumb over my shoulder and towards the back row of seats.
“Yeah,” he says, picking up his briefcase of supplies. Now that my uncle is gone, he doesn’t hide the open concern on his face for Mirabelle. “You doing alright, Mirabelle?”
She just gives him a wordless, jerky head nod.
“Watching the fight was rough on her,” I explain, trying to fill the silence as we drive over to the stables.
Normally, Mirabelle is the one to do so, so her being all quiet now makes the silence even heavier.
“You brought her to the fight?” Dr. Stetson asks, scrubbing a hand down his face in disbelief.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Dad and Jett insisted.”
I leave out the fact that they forced Mirabelle to wear a ridiculous getup and be dragged around by a leash and collar. The Doc’s alpha dad mode would probably kick in and I need him focused on the fighters if we’re going to make any progress here tonight.
Mirabelle needs to see that they’re okay.
“Took you long enough,” Ash snaps, the second the three of us step foot into the barn. His gaze cuts to Mirabelle, who stares up at his bruised and battered face with wide, teary eyes and he pales. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you okay?” Mirabelle whispers, shuffling towards Ash’s stall.
“I’m fine, Shortcake,” Ash grunts. “Nothing I’m not used to.”
His words make a small, strangled noise leave the back of Mirabelle’s throat, putting all of us on edge.
She’s the picture of an omega in distress right now, from the set of her shoulders to the bitter thickness of her normally sweet perfume.
“You—you’ve had to fight like that foryears?” She croaks out, clinging to the bars of Ash’s stall.
“Nothing you have to worry your pretty little head about,” Ash says, softening his tone. “You should be excited the three of us managed to kick ass and win against a team of four.”
“You can fuss over me all you want,” Griffin says, his voice strained as he leans up against his stall door.
Mirabelle spins, shuffling over to him, her eyes roving over the parts of his body she can see like she needs to confirm he’s okay.
Griffin even does a little silent spin and gives her a smile that’s a little lopsided because of his split lip.
She wordlessly hurries to Rage’s stall, where he stands silently, like he was waiting for her.
“You guys are all hurt,” she whimpers, burying her face in her hands. “I—I’m so sorry, this is terrible. You guys don’t deserve this.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Mirabelle,” Dr. Stetson says, stepping up with his briefcase. “I’ll make sure they’ll be patched up good as new.”
“You will?” She asks.
