Chapter 5
“I’d like to discuss your arthritis today, if that’s alright with you.”
I blink back at the absolute fridge of an alpha sitting in the chair across from me, taken aback by the strange choice of topic. Last week we did a deep dive into the things I want to make amends for, so I was bracing myself for more of the same.
Dr. Mike’s meaty legs cross in a casual posture as he waits for my reply. I rub my hands reflexively, which have been giving me a lot of trouble since I started my new job and spend a lot more time typing than I did before.
“Is it that obvious I’m in pain today?” I ask with a small, self-effacing chuckle.
My therapist smiles that damn inscrutable, calm way he always does and shakes his head. “Not at all. Are you in pain right now?”
I laugh again. “A better question would be, when am I not in pain? But I’m fine. I’m used to it.”
Dr. Mike nods. “Would you say you’re good at masking any outward signs of pain?”
“Yeah, definitely. I don’t like broadcasting my discomfort if I can help it. Maybe it’s some alpha toughness nonsense.”
Dr. Mike shifts in his seat, eyes narrowing a fraction. I’m glad he’s not the kind of therapist that takes notes after every other word that comes out of my mouth like the last one I tried, but I can still tell when I’ve said something he wants to latch onto.
“Hmm, that could definitely be part of it.”
“But not all of it.” I meant to say it as a question, but it comes out as a statement.
“What else do you think might contribute?”
A tiny alarm bell chimes in my head, one I often get when this annoyingly astute man starts narrowing in on something that’s going to read me with a scorching level of accuracy. That’s what I pay him for, but damn, it doesn’t make my alpha bristle any less.
I shrug, unable to think of anything. That happens a frustrating amount during our sessions, like my brain would rather go blank than examine what I subconsciously know is going on. “Um… hmm… I’m not sure.”
The alpha across from me gives me a half smile that says he expected that answer from me. “Mind if I throw out a few potential things?”
“Be my guest,” I say, keeping my tone light, knowing I’m walking into his trap.
“For some people with chronic pain, they don’t want to show it because they’re embarrassed.
Some don’t like to acknowledge to themselves that they’re in pain, so masking to others is a byproduct of that.
” His eyes soften as he goes in for the kill.
“Some people learn from a young age that they need to keep their issues to themselves, either because it’s not socially acceptable to complain or they get negative responses when they mention their pain.
And many people hide their pain because they don’t want to be a burden. ”
Well, fuck.
“Do any of those resonate with you?” Dr. Mike prompts.
I groan. “You know they do.”
A warm guffaw escapes the giant alpha at my sass, and he shrugs. “I’ve been known to be right sometimes.”
I shake my head again, chuckling. “You’re right all the damn time. It drives me crazy.”
He grins. “I bet it does. But the trick is, if I didn’t think you had it in you to handle it, I wouldn’t say it. But you do. You’re here because it’s clear you want to change. You want to do the work. So tell me what you’re thinking.”
A small, shaky sigh escapes me as I struggle to form words, but Dr. Mike is patient.
Therapy is a minefield where I’m forcing myself not to step carefully around the emotional bombshells I’ve practiced avoiding my entire life. It’s forcing myself to tread somewhere I know will hurt and praying that my therapist is skilled enough to show me how to recover from the damage.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” I murmur, throat going tight. Oh great, this is going to be another crying session. Love that for me.
“And why do you think your pain will be a burden?”
“Because… it's tiring being with someone who is never at their best.”
“Have your partners expressed that to you?”
My stomach clenches as I think about Ambrose and everything he did for me when we were together.
Massaging my back and hands without me once needing to ask.
Taking over chores I was meant to do when he knew I was in pain, which was half the time we were together.
Jackson, too. Not that he was my partner, but he’s the one who bugged me until I went to PT, and found the gummies that are one of the few things that help take the edge off when I’m having a really bad pain day.
“No.” I swallow hard. “Never.”
Dr. Mike nods. “What about your family?”
Stop complaining. There’s nothing wrong with you except your attitude.
“Does telling me it’s all in my head count?” I ask, trying to play it off as a joke, but instead it comes out laced with pain at the memory. I clear my throat. “They didn’t pay enough attention to me to have time to be resentful. Other than resenting that I existed at all, maybe. I’m not sure.”
There’s a flash of undisguised horror in Dr. Mike’s eyes that he reserves for when we discuss my bizarre upbringing.
He sucks in a deep inhale before speaking.
“If they resented you, that was their fault, not yours. You were a child. You needed medical attention, and it was their responsibility to get it for you. Do you agree with me on that?”
“Yes, but…”
When I don’t continue, Dr. Mike’s kind eyes bore into me. “But what?”
I swallow again, tears spilling down my cheeks. “But maybe if I’d been better at hiding it, they would’ve wanted me.”
I’m wrung out and puffy-eyed by the time I step out of my therapist's office, squinting against the mid-afternoon sun as I make my way to my car. When I’m in the relative privacy of my car, I let out a loud curse, releasing the dregs of the emotional turmoil from today’s session.
Dr. Mike says it’s important to let myself feel my emotions, and I know he’s right, but there’s a reason why I haven’t done it in the past.
It fucking sucks.
What my new job lacks in salary, it at least makes up for with flexibility.
I work from home, and as long as I get things done by the agreed-upon deadlines, I can work whenever I want.
On afternoons I have therapy, I don’t have to worry about going back home and sitting in front of a computer after bawling my eyes out.
Still, I take my phone off of do not disturb and check my notifications, just in case someone needs me.
I almost drop my phone when I see there’s a missed call from Ambrose.
Oh god, what do I do? We haven’t spoken since the night I moved out. The night he told me he was done fighting me. The one that features heavily in my rotation of nightmares, along with the day I bonded Camille.
I’m not ready to talk to him. It’s too soon. I’m going to screw it up.
The urge to run back into Dr. Mike’s office and beg him to counsel me on this is overwhelming. If only Ambrose had called before my appointment, we could’ve made a plan to handle this together.
I turn on the car and tilt the vents so the air conditioning will blast me in the face and help cool me off before I spiral into panic. I add together large numbers in my head, a tactic Dr. Mike gave me for combatting swells of anxiety. I’m awful at it, but the focus on the task helps a little.
If I delay calling Ambrose back, my dread will only get worse. I pick my phone back up with trembling fingers and tap the screen to return his call.
It only rings twice before he’s answering and, oh god, I missed his voice so much it hits me right in the chest, knocking the breath out of me.
“River, are you there?”
“Y-yes,” I croak, throat tight. “You called?”
“I did.” Ambrose’s voice has a bite to it that raises my alpha’s hackles and makes it clear this isn’t a social call. Not that I expected it to be. “Listen…” he continues hesitantly. “It’s time for you to come home.”
My phone almost slips out of my hand, and I press it closer to my ear, thinking maybe I misheard him. “W-what?”
“I know you wanted your space, and I’m not pathetic enough to beg you to stay again on my behalf, but we need you. Come back.”
Is someone sick? Injured? A million thoughts of why he’d be saying this flood my mind, but none of them explain why they’d need me.
I gave up and ran away from my pack—something Dr. Mike has helped me realize was incredibly hurtful and selfish (though those are my words, not his).
I fucked things up with Camille by bonding her and crossing the line at work, and then instead of fixing it, I made things even worse by running away.
In the end, it doesn’t matter. If they need me, I’m there, no questions asked. Even if I’m not prepared to make amends properly. Even if I’m terrified I’ll fuck everything up again. I’m done running from the people I love.
“Okay.” My voice is surprisingly steady. Certain.
The line is silent for a long time before Ambrose speaks. “Okay? That’s it?” He sounds incredulous, and I don’t know if it’s because he wants me to say more or he doesn’t believe me.
“Whatever you need, I’m there. I’ll pack a bag when I get home and head over tonight.”
Another long pause. “You’re not going to ask why?”
“I want to know, but you can tell me when I see you. Right now, all I need to know is that you need me.”
For the first time since I left, I open my end of the bond. I don’t expect Ambrose to let me in on his end, but I need him to feel how important this is to me. How much I love him. How sorry I am. How I’m learning not to hide.
There’s a soft rush of an inhale from the other end of the line, and I feel him. Even after I’ve been a horrible mate to him, he lets me in. He’s so worried, and hurt, and sad. But also surprised, and relieved, and a bit hopeful.
“River…it’s Camille.”
Hearing him say her name makes my chest ache. I fight the urge to unlock the bond to her, knowing that doing so would be wrong, even if my alpha is desperate to make sure she’s not in distress.
“Alright,” I say, hoping he can feel that I want to help her.
“I’ll give you the full rundown when you get here, but Jackson went to speak with her because he was worried, and she told him you got her fired.”
My stomach clenches hard. “Yeah, because someone must’ve found out about us being intimate.
Because I bonded her.” I thought I’d already told them this.
If I could go back in time and urge myself to slow down and figure out our jobs before touching her, I would.
Though I don’t think that version of me deserved her.
I still don’t, but at least I’ve learned enough to try.
“No, she said you got her fired because you didn’t want her as part of our pack.
That you outed her as an omega to HR.” Ambrose doesn’t sound like he’s accusing me, but he also doesn’t sound like it’s out of the realm of possibility.
I hate that I lost the innate trust we had.
I’ll do whatever I can to earn it again.
“I didn’t! I wouldn’t. I promise I didn’t tell anyone. I need to talk to her.” The last time I saw her replays in my mind, her words from that day reshaping and taking on new meaning. “Fuck, I can’t believe she thought I…” I trail off, stomach churning.
Yes, I can believe it. Why wouldn’t she think that? I did nothing to prove to her I wouldn’t.
Again, the need to reach into my bond with her swells inside me, and I shove it down with a groan. “How will I be able to make this right?”
Ambrose sighs, but there’s another flicker of hope. “You work with your pack. You trust us to find a solution. You own up to your actions and be the alpha I know you are.”
I thought I was completely drained from therapy, but I tear up.
Ambrose has always seen the best in me. In the past, it scared me. I was worried I’d do one too many wrong things and shatter his false concept of who I am.
Maybe that’s why I broke us.
Fuck, another thing that Dr. Mike is going to give me a smug smile about when I bring it up next week.
“Okay,” I say, voice hoarse from emotion. “I can’t guarantee I’ll succeed, but I’ll try as hard as I can.”
There’s a hint of softness in Ambrose’s voice when he replies. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”