Chapter Eight
Frey
“I can’t stay for the meeting with Sawyer’s lawyer, I’ve an appointment. I’ll only be gone for about an hour.”
Frey knew that the energy Booker released could fluctuate dramatically with his mood, so he had learned to read it like a barometer. It was the only way to try and get a feel for what might come his way. Right now, it told him that there was a storm brewing, and it was heading right for him. Why couldn’t Booker, just for once, check his calendar in advance?
“What do you mean you’ve got an appointment and can’t stay? It’s your job to be here for these types of meetings.” Booker’s snappy growl was enough to bring a burning to Frey’s nose. Yup, he had totally pegged Booker’s mood.
Everything he feared about this appointment and what it meant for him was ready to pour out of him in a flood of tears that Booker would absolutely hate. Frey was struggling more and more with his emotions, just as his doctor had said would happen if he continued taking the heat blockers beyond their recommended five years.
He sniffed, just once, but it was more than enough to get Booker out of his seat, towering over his desk. His hands slammed down on the papers scattered over it and he shook his head, making his dark waves move. “Not in here… you hear me? No tears… this is a workplace… not a… not a nursery for sniffling foxes.”
Frey wanted to see the funny side of the absolute panic coming off the enormous bear at the mere threat of a tear. Only he couldn’t. There was nothing funny about his situation and he needed to attend his appointment. He had to look at least partly in control if he wanted to argue his case for continuing the drugs. They had become his lifeline to continuing the pretense that all was well.
He sucked in a shaky breath and boldly looked Booker in the eye. “I never cry at work,” Frey insisted, because in the past this was the absolute truth… not so much of late. “And I put this appointment in your calendar last week so you would know in advance I wouldn’t be available.”
He sniffed again, this time more in indignation. “It’s not my fault you didn’t check it and as I said, I’ll only be gone for about an hour. I’ll be back in plenty of time for the four o’clock meeting with Laken.”
Met with suspicion at the crack in his voice, Frey chewed on his lower lip, holding Booker’s gaze.
Booker thumped his ass into his seat and jabbed a finger at Frey, looking less than impressed. “Make sure you are. ”
Frey didn’t wait to see if he was going to say more. Darting for the door, he slipped out, closing it behind him and carrying on down the corridor. He avoided making eye contact with anyone, trying his best to give off the vibe he wasn’t in a hurry.
He didn’t breathe easy until he was in the underground car park and headed to his car. The lights flashed as he approached, signaling the doors had opened. The fob in his pocket automatically did its job when Frey couldn’t get his mind to work in any semblance of order. He slipped inside, hands trembling.
He did everything on automatic pilot, his mind utterly chaotic, making focusing on anything impossible. Panic did that to him, and it was probably best when thoughts of what would come in the doctor’s office would be something that could derail the life he had created to hide the truth about himself.
Shivers came as he started the engine and headed to his appointment.
Exiting the car park, he groaned at the heavy rain bouncing off the hood. The sky was dark and moody, matching his mood perfectly. Rain lashed down on the windscreen, ensuring he took his time and paid attention to what traffic there was.
The doctor’s building was five minutes by car from his office and traffic was light. Frey suspected that was due to the storm that had blown in that morning, as the weather reporter had predicted .
Parking in the near empty lot next to the two-storey office, Frey didn’t bother grabbing his umbrella when the wind would whip it inside out in seconds. No one wanted to look like Mary Poppins flying with an inside out umbrella, despite how cute he’d look in his sparkly sneakers and bright pink raincoat.
He darted for the door and even though he was but two or three seconds outside, his hair became plastered to his head and rain had seeped down his collar, wetting his sweater. The receptionist, Clare, glanced up from the computer screen with a ready smile. She’d worked here as long as Frey could remember. And since he’d been coming since he was a toddler, it was a long time.
“Frey, so lovely to see you.” She glanced at the window, furrows appearing between her brows. “It’s wild out there. I can see the rain hasn’t eased at all. Do you want me to get you a towel to dry your hair?” Up out of her seat before she’d finished speaking, she skipped to a cupboard that Frey knew held all manner of things a person might need.
It never failed to make him smile the way she moved. Frey long since convinced himself she put springs into her shoes to make her bounce that way.
“That would be great,” he replied, although she was already grabbing him the towel.
“Dr. Hockings is on time, so he shouldn’t keep you waiting more than a minute or two. His last patient left ten minutes ago, so he’ll be writing up his notes.” She handed him the towel, offering him a sympathetic smile .
Two swipes to catch the offending drops, he returned the damp towel to her waiting hands, then Frey sat in one of the comfy leather chairs that had originally been a weird mustard color but were recently updated to the classy brown they were now.
He cast an eye over the varied selection of magazines on the coffee table in front of him. Most came from Clare and her husband, he had learned in one of the many conversations he had with her when the doctor ran late. An eclectic taste from motor mechanics, muscle cars, fashion and beauty, along with one or two on planes and trains.
Clare, if not busy, would sit and gossip with him about models. He could see today wasn’t one of those days as she went back to work at her computer.
Too nervous to bother to read, Frey pulled out his iPhone and scrolled through Delicious & Vicious group chat, finding none of the usual humor at reading the threads of conversation.
The phone rang on Clare’s desk and Frey swallowed hard, figuring out it was to say he could go on up and see the doctor. He got up when not two seconds later Clare said, “Yes, your next appointment is here, I’ll send him right up.”
Frey smiled his thanks and walked to the door leading to the second floor. The smell of the place, a little disinfectant and a lot of air freshener, didn’t help with the nerves doing a swing dance inside him when he reached the second floor.
Hyperventilating, his hand continued to tremble. Frey quickly tapped on the white door, like ripping a plaster off just to get it over with .
It opened to reveal a gray-haired and bearded man with a weathered face that spoke of the many hours Dr. Hockings spent outdoors. He loved to keep fit through cycling and hiking.
As usual, Dr. Hockings wore a gray suit and white shirt. Not once had Frey seen him in anything else in all the years he could remember. It was like his doctor's uniform instead of a white coat. Which Frey didn’t mind, not one bit as it made the doctor appear more human and allowed Frey to feel a little more relaxed. Today, that was not the case.
“Hi, Dr. Hockings. It’s good to see you,” he lied. “You must be glad to be working inside with how awful the weather is out there today.”
Frey knew he was waffling, but his nerves wouldn’t let him stop as the doctor stepped to the side to allow him into the consulting room.
An examining couch, a chair, and a desk with a computer on it were all the furniture in the room. The pictures on the cream walls were all of body parts and descriptions of how they worked. On the one large window sill below the frosted glass window sat a hip, a knee and a spine model.
“You too, Frey. Take a seat and let me pull up your blood work.”
Frey sat fidgeting with the cuff of his raincoat, determined not to jump to any conclusions about the results and whether he could persuade the doctor to give him more medication. He’d spent most of last night stressing about it and hadn’t slept at all. Something Booker noticed this morning and pointed out .
“So, I’ll get to the point of why I asked you to make an appointment.” Dr. Hockings reached for the cup of water on his desk and took a sip.
Frey didn’t need the doctor to tell him the blood results were bad. Dr. Hockings only ever took a drink of water when he was collecting his thoughts on how best to deliver news that was mostly unpleasant. Everyone thought Frey was flighty, which he was, to a degree, but his past also meant that he was excellent at reading people. It was a knack, and if he was correct, Dr. Hockings was worried.
Glass down, he wet his lips and gave Frey a sympathetic smile. “As I explained last time you were in, it’s been nearly six years since you started taking the heat blockers. You have all the literature on the side effects, so I won’t bore you again with those.” His expression became very serious. “My problem, Frey, is that I was right to worry about continuing with the drugs after your insistence last time. What I hoped wouldn’t happen… has. Your hormone levels are very low. So low that I’m doubtful they will return to a level that would allow you to conceive when you choose to find a mate.”
Frey blinked slowly, digesting what he’d secretly worried about for the last six months. “I won’t ever be able to get pregnant.”
“I can’t say never, but with your blood picture and your long-term history of taking the drugs to prevent your heat, I’d say it’s unlikely. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I knew the risks.” Saying it aloud made reality sting like he’d stumbled into a bee's hive. “ Does that mean I won’t be able to have any more? Drugs, I mean?” This was Frey’s biggest fear.
Pregnancy. A person had to be having sex with an alpha for that to happen. He had no alpha, nor was he having sex of any kind, even alone, so it was a moot point.
“You are now susceptible to other ramifications such as mood swings, emotional outbursts, decrease in sex drive, to name but a few if you continue to take the drug. In good conscience, I am no longer able to prescribe them for you.”
Even knowing it was coming didn’t help the physical blow those words landed, causing him to jerk back in his seat. Horror etched into his features as the first tear rolled down his pale cheeks.
Dr. Hockings leaned forward and patted his knee. “I can refer you to a therapist… to talk about your past so you can—”
“No.” He sniffed and scrubbed at his wet face. “I’ve had therapy and their suggestion to… yeah, I can’t do what they want.” He could, but only with one person he trusted implicitly—Booker. And Frey didn’t have the courage to ask the bear to help when he really wanted… more than someone to help him through a heat without scaring the hell out of him .
Ask him.
No!
He rose, needing out before he broke down and begged when he already knew that was useless. “I’ll figure it out.”
His fox remained pushy and focused on the bear. He’s interested, I know he is.
Booker would never want us.
Frey quashed the idea even as his fox made a rude noise.
The gentle bear would never be interested in a defective fox, not in a million years.
How do you know if you don’t ask?