Page 10 of Bonded By Tea and Tarot

Claire: What if you asked Aury? I bet he’d be down to help you. Want us to ask him for you?

And that’s when I realize just how sneaky and colluding my friends are. It’s not that they don’t care—they care too much about things that aren’t any of their business. I glare at my phone, ready to throw it for a different reason this time.

Sage: I can ask Brooks to come get you, if you want. If you do not want to see Aury.

I most certainly don’t want to see any alphas right now. Not when the paramedic’s capable hands are a ghost on my skin, and their kind brown eyes swim through my vision. I sigh and wish I had my cards with me. I rarely leave home without them, but the last pull I did right before tai chi was the Knight of Wands, leading me to believe I was guided to continue stepping outside my comfort zone and pushing myself to talk to Aury after class.

But perhaps the universe meant for this to happen, and now is when I’m supposed to be brave. To take a risk, to embrace my inner boldness. Even if my stubborn, independent streak chafes at the idea.

Me: Hey Aury, it’s Siobhan. I got your message, thanks for thinking of me. So, um, this is maybe a lot to ask, but my friends are all busy and can’t come get me. The nurse said they can’t release me alone since I’m not allowed to drive and the concussion might make me confused getting home. Is there any chance you could come pick me up?

His reply is immediate.

Aury: Gladly. I’m so relieved you asked and that you’re okay. I’m on my way - be there in ten.

Chapter Eight

Aury

Out of everyone she could have called for help, she chose me. I force myself to drive carefully to the hospital, despite my urge to ignore all the driving laws in an attempt to get to her as soon as possible. When I arrive, the nurse shows me to her room, and I halt outside the door before going in.

She looks so tiny in the big hospital bed, with wires stuck all over her, her head wrapped in bandages and a splint on her wrist. My chest hitches, and it’s hard to breathe through it knowing I could have prevented this.

As though she senses me, her head turns and her blue eyes meet mine. She smiles, small and wavering, then raises her hand in a tentative wave. Does she think I’m going to take one look at her and turn around? My heart thunders in my chest at the thought.

Never.

I force myself to smile back, pushing aside my anger and disappointment in myself, and then stride into the room.

“Hey, Moonbeam,” I say. “How are you feeling?”

“Hi,” she says. Her voice is raspy, and she looks like she’s trying to put on a brave face. I wish she wouldn’t; I want to be there for all of her. “I’m okay.”

“You ready to get out of here?”

She nods, but her eyes don’t leave me. I stick my head out the door and ask the nearest nurse if we’re good to go.

“Here’s her discharge instructions. Will you be staying with her?” the nurse asks, providing information on follow up care and what to keep an eye out for, indicating it’s important she not be alone for the next few days. Apparently, omegas can be especially sensitive to certain injuries, with concussions being one of them.

I glance at Siobhan, but she doesn’t say anything, so I nod to the nurse. If she needs someone to stay with her, I absolutely can and will. The nurse passes me a stack of printed papers, and then a brochure for what to do after a concussion.

“Bring her back if her confusion gets worse, if she has trouble waking up, frequent vomiting or severe headaches. No ibuprofen or aspirin, acetaminophen only if needed. The rest is in there. Any questions?”

I shake my head. “Nope, got it. Siobhan? Any questions?”

She shakes her head, then winces and wrinkles her nose.

“Alright, hun. Let’s get you unplugged.” The nurse removes all the wires and turns off the monitor, and then we’re signing out and on our way.

We walk slowly to the car, and I help her into the front seat, then reach across to buckle her in. She smells like over-steeped, bitter black tea with a side of hospital, and I hate the clear sign of distress. Once I have her settled, I hop in the driver’s seat and ask for her address to plug into my phone. I fiddle with the heat settings, and my eyes keep darting to her every few seconds, like at any moment she might wilt or pass out, despite being cleared to go home.

“Are you okay? How are you feeling?” I don’t want to nag, but she looks like she got the shit kicked out of her. It hurts my heart.

“I’m okay,” she says. Her eyes are fixed on her lap where her uninjured hand is fiddling with one of her many dainty silver bracelets. I can tell she’s scared, both from her scent and body language, but I don’t let on to it. She’s a fighter, and I respect that she needs time before trusting me fully. How could she know that I’d gladly do anything she asked?

We twist through side streets, making our way into the nicer neighborhood of town. Should I bring up the fact they asked about me staying with her? I don’t know how alert she was during that conversation, but it feels important for her to know. I wish I had packed an overnight bag, but as soon as she texted me earlier, I jumped up and quite literally ran to the door. Bunny yelled at me the whole time, like she wanted me to hurry up. I’ll need to swing by later to put some extra food and water out for her, maybe see if my neighbor can stop in tomorrow as well.

“So, I’m not sure how much you were, uh…” I trail off, not wanting to offend her, but when I glance at her from the corner of my eye, she’s got a rueful smile on her face. Her head is turned sideways against the backrest, avoiding her injury, and she’s looking straight at me.