Dr. Quinn focuses back on her. “How far into this are you?”
She sighs heavily, and I hate the sound on her lips. I want to make everything better, but I don’t know how.
I don’t know if it’s even possible.
“Only a few days. My preheats usually last about a month.”
“A month?” Eli asks as he moves closer. “That’s a long preheat. Who watches over you while this happens?”
“Silence from the peanut gallery unless you’re pack,” Dr. Quinn says as he eyes both of us.
Walker comes storming back in, a dark cloud over his face as he hands Lia the small plastic cup of water. She downs it in a couple of gulps, and I watch as another bead of sweat trickles down her neck. It sluices across her milky white skin, and before I can catch myself, I reach out and smooth that trail away as well.
“Thank you,” she says before handing the cup back to Walker.
“No thanks needed,” he says as he crumples the cup in his hand and tosses it into the small trash bin in the corner. “What did I miss?”
“She’s got a cyclewide disorder,” Eli says as he steps up to Walker’s other side. “Preheats last about a month; she’s a few days in.”
“Miss Lia, do you want them in here?” Dr. Quinn asks.
She looks around at all three of us before her gaze stops at Walker. The two of them stare one another down for a little while, and then she clears her throat.
“They’re okay,” she says softly.
“Are you sure? Because you’re protected by HIPAA. You don’t need Alphas in this room hovering over you if you don’t want them to be here.”
Lia looks at the three of us—well, four of us, including Amber, who’s still curled up against her dad—before she looks back at Dr. Quinn. She looks so unsure.
I don’t want her to be unsure of me.
“Let’s take some steps back,” I say as I hold out my arm. “Give her some space. She’s processing a lot right now.”
When Lia nods, the three of us step back as if we’re on some marionette string that someone is tugging around. We move until our backs are against the far wall of the exam room.
Her breathing slows, the natural up and down of her shoulders evening out. Her throat bobs as she closes her eyes, and I can hear her forced rhythmic breathing from where I’m standing. She sits there, her thighs splayed along the exam table and her legs swinging aimlessly over the edge.
I have to look up at the ceiling in order to stop staring.
She’s mouth-wateringly gorgeous.
“Okay,” Dr. Quinn says. “You’re right. Your cyclewide disorder prevents many prescription heat suppressants from working. But you shouldn’t even be using them in the first place. So, here’s what we’re going to do until your heat comes on. You’re going to rest in your nest as much as you can. You’re going to mitigate as much stress as possible.”
“I have baking orders I have to fulfill before I can take time off,” she says. “I usually stop my life about two weeks out from my heat.”
Dr. Quinn nods as he scribbles something down. “I’m still going to prescribe you a few things to help. A vitamin that is loaded down with enough B-12 to regulate the mood swings of a mammoth. It’s also got extra iron, magnesium, and some lavender in there as well.”
He rips the piece of paper out and hands it to her. “I want you to take two of those a day, same time every day, with a cup of warm chamomile tea with raw honey. You can get those two things at the grocery store here in town. Tell them I sent you, they’ll give you a discount.”
She looks down at the prescription. “And this is going to help?”
“If you stay away from stressors and rest when you’re not baking, it’ll help take the edge off things until you take the time off to help yourself properly.”
She tucks the prescription into her purse. “Thank you, Dr. Quinn.”
She holds her hand out for her the bottle of suppressants, but the doctor just stares at her. “You don’t get those back.”
She blinks. “What?”
