Chapter 23
Millie
The exam room is small and sterile. I sit on the edge of the paper-covered table, my legs dangling, my hands clasped so tightly in my lap that my knuckles are white.
The door clicks open, and a woman in a white coat walks in.
She’s older, maybe late fifties, with kind eyes and a no-nonsense haircut.
“Millie Harper?” she asks, glancing at the chart in her hands. “I’m Dr. Evans. Let’s get you checked out.”
She’s efficient, her movements precise as she wraps the blood pressure cuff around my arm, the tight squeeze a welcome distraction. The thermometer beeps under my tongue. She shines a light in my eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“Everything looks normal,” she says, making a note on the chart. “Vitals are good. Pupils are reactive. No signs of a serious concussion.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “That’s good.”
“But you don’t look like a woman who’s feeling ‘good,’” she says, her gaze sharp and perceptive. “What’s on your mind?”
I hesitate, my heart pounding against my ribs. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but... could I be going into heat?”
Dr. Evans doesn’t even bat an eye. “It’s not crazy at all. Stress can trigger latent heat symptoms, especially if you’ve been on suppressants for a long time. What have you been taking?”
“Standard suppressants. The daily kind.”
“And have you been under a lot of stress lately?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “You could say that. A fire, a car accident, my whole life turned upside down...”
“That would do it,” she says, nodding. “The heat specialist is out of town, but we can definitely get you something to alleviate the symptoms. Have you been taking your suppressants regularly?”
“I need to re-up my prescription,” I admit. “I’m almost out.”
“The pharmacy has been running low, but I can send the prescription over. You should be able to get a few days’ supply at least.”
“Thank you,” I say, a wave of relief washing over me.
“As for your test results,” she continues, “the lab is backed up, but I’ll put a rush on them. You should hear something by tomorrow afternoon.”
I nod, my mind already racing ahead. I need to get to the pharmacy. I need to get those pills.
The pharmacy is a small, cramped space. The pharmacist, a young man with a perpetually tired expression, types my prescription into his computer.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “We’re completely out of your brand of suppressants. We’re expecting a delivery in a day or two, but that’s the best I can do.”
My stomach drops. “A day or two?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “The fire destroyed a lot of our inventory, and the roads have been a mess for deliveries.”
I thank him, my voice tight, and walk out of the pharmacy, my mind a whirlwind of panic. I have one pill left. One. And then what? I push the thought aside, forcing myself to focus on the immediate. I have one pill. That’s enough for now. I’ll figure out the rest later.
Liam is waiting for me by the entrance, his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. He’s got a small, white brace on his right wrist.
“What’s that?” I ask, my gaze falling on the brace.
“Just a little carpal tunnel,” he says, waving it off. “Nothing serious. Are you okay? What did the doctor say?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “Just a few bumps and bruises. You?”
“Same,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “The car is at the garage now. I’ll check on it after work. Do you want me to drop you off at home? You can skip work today.”
“You’re hurt,” I counter. “You’ll need the help at the café.”
“I’ll manage,” he insists.
“No,” I say, my tone firm. “I’m coming with you. We’re a team, remember?”
A small smile plays on his lips. “Yeah. We are.”
We get a taxi, the ride a silent, tense affair.
He holds my hand, his thumb stroking over my knuckles, a small, comforting gesture that does little to soothe the anxiety churning in my gut.
His phone rings, the shrill sound cutting through the silence.
I glance down at the screen, and my stomach clenches when I see Jessica’s name.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb hovering over the decline button. “It’s probably about the café. Aunt Dee is helping out today, so maybe they need something.”
“You should take it.”
“Are you sure? We’re almost there anyway.”
“It could be an emergency. Just pick up the phone, Liam.”
He answers the phone, his voice low. “Hey, Jess. What’s up?”
I can’t hear what Jessica is saying, but I can see the change in Liam’s posture. His shoulders tense, his jaw tightens. He’s agitated.
“What?” he says, his voice sharp. “No. I’m on my way. Just... just stay there. Don’t let him near her.”
My blood runs cold. Who is he talking about? What’s going on?
He hangs up. His expression is grim. “We need to get to the café. Now.”
The taxi driver, a sweet old woman with a kind smile, drops us off in front of the coffee shop. I pay her, my hands shaking as I fumble with my wallet. There’s a trailer parked right outside the building, a hulking, monstrosity of metal and rust that looks completely out of place.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Liam, what’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer, his long legs eating up the distance to the door. I follow him, my heart pounding in my chest. The scene inside is chaos. Jessica is standing in the corner, her face pale, her arms crossed over her chest. Aunt Dee is holding a crying Maren, her body a protective shield.
And there’s a man standing in the middle of the store, a man I’ve never seen before. He’s older, with a thick, graying mustache and a uniform that says “Port Blossom Police Department.”
“You can’t be here!” Aunt Dee shouts. “You need to leave.”
“Did he hurt you?” Liam asks as he runs toward his mom.
“I didn’t,” the old man says, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. But there’s a smirk on his face, a cruel twist of his lips that tells me he’s enjoying this.
“Who are you?” I ask.
The man turns to me, his eyes a cold, calculating blue. “Well, who’s the Omega?”
Liam walks over and pulls me to him, his body a protective wall between me and the stranger. “Get out,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “Get out now.”
The man chuckles, a dry, rasping sound. “Is that any way to talk to your old man, son?”
And then it dawns on me. This is Arnold, Liam’s father. The man he never talks about. The reason Liam hates sheriffs and cops in general.
What the fuck is he doing in Driftwood?
“I am not your son,” Liam spits out.
“Your birth certificate begs to differ, am I right, Maren?” the man scoffs, taking a step forward. “That’s no way to greet your father after all these years. Especially when I’ve come all this way to see you.”
“See me?” Liam’s voice is laced with anger. “You haven’t wanted to see me in years. What changed?”
“I heard about the fire,” Arnold says, his gaze sweeping around the café. “Heard you lost everything. Thought you might need a hand from your old man.”
“We don’t need anything from you,” Maren sobs, her face buried in Aunt Dee’s shoulder. “Please, Arnold, just leave. We have a restraining order against you.”
Arnold laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “That piece of paper doesn’t mean anything out here. And I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here on official business.”
He gestures to his uniform, the Port Blossom Police Department patch on his sleeve looking faded and worn. “The new sheriff called me. Said you needed help with deliveries. Driftwood is running low on suppressants and other medical supplies. I’m just doing my job.”
“So you’re a glorified delivery boy now?” Liam laughs.
“Well, whose fault is that. After the little stunt you and your mother pulled, I had to take a demotion as the deputy sheriff. I was pretty angry, to be honest, but look at fate. It somehow led me right straight to you.”
I can feel the tension radiating from Liam, a palpable force that makes the air crackle around us. I turn to Jessica, who’s still standing in the corner, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear.
“Call the police,” I whisper, my hand reaching for hers. “Call Knox. Now.”
She nods, fumbling for her phone, her fingers shaking so badly she almost drops it.
Arnold’s eyes follow the movement, his expression hardening. “No need for that. I’ll be on my way as soon as I have a word with my wife.” He takes another step toward Maren, his hand outstretched. “Come on, Mare. Don’t be like that. We were good together once.”
“Don’t touch her,” Liam warns, moving to block his father’s path.
Arnold stops, his eyes narrowing. “Or what? You’ll stop me? You couldn’t stop me then, and you can’t stop me now. Remember what happened last time you tried to play the hero?”
He holds up his hands, wiggling his fingers. “I still remember the sound your arm made when it snapped. Such a delicate sound. Almost as delicate as your mother’s heart when I left.”
Liam flinches, a barely perceptible movement, but I feel it as if it were my own pain. I know bits and pieces of this story, fragments Liam has shared in dark, quiet moments, but seeing it play out in front of me is like watching a car crash in slow motion.
“That’s enough,” Aunt Dee says, stepping forward, her chin held high despite the tremor in her hands. “You need to leave, Arnold. You’re not welcome here.”
“This is between me and my family,” Arnold snarls, turning on her. “Stay out of it.”
“They are my family,” Aunt Dee retorts. “You lost that privilege a long time ago.”
“Is that so?” Arnold takes a step toward her, his posture threatening. “And who’s going to make me leave? You? The boy who broke his arm trying to be a man? Or the little Omega hiding behind him?”
His eyes land on me again, a predatory gleam in their depths. “You know, I always wanted a daughter. Someone sweet and obedient. Maybe you and I could get to know each other better.”
“Leave her out of this, Arnold,” Maren screams.
“Jealous? Maybe I should have signed those divorce papers after all. She’s pretty, isn’t she? Maybe I don’t need a daughter. She smells fucking amazing.”
That’s it. That’s the line.
Liam lunges forward, his face contorted with rage. “Don’t you dare talk about her. Don’t you even look at her.”
Arnold meets him halfway, his hand shooting out to grab Liam’s wrist. “I told you what would happen if you tried to stop me.”
He twists, and Liam cries out, a sound of pure agony that makes my heart seize. The brace on his wrist does little to protect him from the brutal force of Arnold’s grip.
“Let him go!” I scream, jumping forward.
“Stay out of this, little girl,” Arnold warns, his eyes still locked on Liam. “This is between men.”
“Then act like one,” Liam grits out, his face pale with pain. “Instead of a coward who preys on women and children.”
Arnold’s face contorts with rage, his hand releasing Liam’s wrist only to connect with his jaw in a vicious punch. Liam stumbles back, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
“You always did have a smart mouth,” Arnold snarls, advancing on him again.
“Stop!” I shout, launching myself at Arnold, my hands clawing at his arm. “Leave him alone!”
He turns on me, his eyes blazing with fury. “I told you to stay out of this.”
He shoves me, hard.
I fly backward, my body crashing into the counter with a sickening thud. Pain explodes in my head, white-hot and blinding. The world spins, the sounds of the café fading into a distant buzz.
“Millie!” Liam’s voice cuts through the haze, and then he’s there, his hands on my face, his eyes wide with panic. “Millie, are you okay? Talk to me.”
I try to answer, but the words won’t come. My head throbs, a relentless, pounding beat that makes me want to vomit.
Liam turns. “You’re going to pay for this.”
He launches himself at his father, his fists flying. The fight is brutal, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing in the small café. Aunt Dee is screaming, Maren is crying, and Jessica is on the phone with the police, her voice high and frantic.
I try to get up, to help, but my body won’t cooperate. The room tilts, the colors blurring together. I can hear Liam’s ragged breaths, Arnold’s grunts of pain, the sickening crunch of bone on bone.
“Stop,” I shout, but the word is lost in the commotion.
Liam has Arnold pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against his father’s throat.
“You’re never coming back,” he growls, his face inches from Arnold’s. “You’re never going to hurt anyone in this family again.”