Chapter 14
brYLEE
Sterile light washes out Ridge’s hospital room, and a TV that no one’s watching plays a game show on the screen in the corner.
My gaze is drawn right to the leader of Alpha Team X as I clutch the door handle to this terrible space. The sight of Ridge in a hospital bed—eyes closed, hooked to machines—rakes down my chest and leaves a pulsing ache.
His blond hair is matted, there’s a smear of dirt on his nose, and worst of all, there are a thousand scents marring his, as if every person in the hospital has been in here.
Is it that bad?
When I step inside, the steady beep of his pulse blares from one machine. I move toward him, driven to touch him, driven to curl up next to him and hold him tight, but there’s an IV drip attached to his right arm. On the other side, wires stretch between him and several machines.
I end up standing at the end of his bed, clutching the footboard, staring up at the green screen that has numbers I vaguely know the meanings of. Blood pressure. Heart rate. But I can’t tell if the numbers on the screen are good or not.
Stupid, useless Brylee.
Frustration roars inside my skull, and the start of a migraine pulses at the top of my neck.
Kylian and Luka slowly trail in behind me, standing at a distance, giving me space.
I both appreciate and loathe their gesture. The violent riot in my chest would toss Molotov cocktails at them if they crowded me right now. But at the exact same time, I want them to fold me in their arms, one on either side, and tell me everything is going to be okay.
Tears form in the inner corners of my eyes, and I take a deep inhale to keep them at bay.
Luka pulls his phone from his pocket and starts swiping.
I don’t pay him any attention, too busy fighting off a sobbing fit, until he says, “Ridge had to get some stitches, and I think they had to pull a bit of a bullet out of his lower back. But Colter’s last text said he’s stable, and he should be all right.”
Relief hits like someone swung a shovel at my chest and battered me with it. It’s so intense that it’s painful, and my head curves down as I send a thank you up to the universe.
After several measured breaths, I ask, “Where’s Colter?”
I’m unable to keep a quaver out of my voice.
“Cafeteria. He thought you’d be hungry,” Kylian states.
My fingers tighten on the formed plastic footboard, and I nod. Of course Colter anticipated what I’d need. Of course he did.
A tiny sliver of humor works its way through my chest at the thought of the cafeteria workers being startled by his mask. I was intimidated by it once upon a time. Though that feels like a lifetime ago.
I’ve aged at least two decades since I started impersonating Teddie.
Colter’s hulking shadow appears in the doorway, and I turn to see him. Today, his skull mask only covers the upper portion of his face. His jaw and lips are free, an unshaven shadow. When he sees me, his lips compress into a thin line.
He walks slowly forward, as if he’s in a trance.
Or maybe I’m projecting.
I’m caught in his dark gaze, heart in my throat, as he gently sets down an overfilled tray on the cheap Formica table in the corner and then holds his arms open.
I barrel into him, smashing so hard into his chest that he’s propelled backward a step.
He lifts me from the ground until my feet dangle, but he still somehow manages to be gentle. When he sets me back on my feet, his hands linger on my hips, thumbs tracing lightly up and down, as if he can’t bear to let me go.
Good. I don’t want him to.
We stare at one another, caught in a vortex of disbelief that we’re actually reunited.
Colter leans forward, and his lips brush gently over my cheek before hovering near my ear.
“I was scared,” the monstrous alpha admits.
That precious vulnerability stokes sharp tears to my eyes.
“Me too,” I respond breathily.
“We still need to hear how exactly you got away,” Kylian prompts energetically, as if he’s equally fascinated and turned on by the concept of an omega becoming violent. “Did you dump over a vat of acid on them or something?”
The chuckle that erupts from my throat is clogged and ungraceful, too weighted with sadness. “Or something. It wasn’t quite that wild. I’ll tell you—”
“No. Eat.” Colter holds up his hand to shut down my explanations, ignoring Kylian’s disappointed huff. He scoops me up and plants himself in the chair in the corner, settling me onto his lap. “Eat first.”
I glance over at Ridge to see if there’s any chance he’s close to waking, because there’s no way I’m going to miss grabbing his hand and smiling down at him. There’s a driving need in my chest to be the first person he sees.
If the situation were reversed, that’s what I’d want.
But Ridge’s eyelids aren’t moving at all.
Luka has moved over to the computer screen beside the bed.
He scans it and then checks his phone. “I think, based on the sedative his chart has and his body weight, we’ve got another thirty minutes or so until Sleeping Beauty here graces us with his grimace.”
My mouth quirks, and I give Luka a nod of thanks when his brown gaze flashes over to me.
First Colter with food.
Now Luka with the charts.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my mates are psychic.
Calmed by the new information, I settle into a more comfortable position on Colter’s lap and look over my options. Plain chicken breast with no seasoning. A salad without dressing. This looks like the exact sort of meal about half of the unmarried omegas get in the cafeteria. My nose crinkles.
Luckily there’s also some lemon jello and some french fries. I’m hungry enough to dip some fries into the atrocity they call ketchup.
Sour. Disgusting. Vinegary. Grossness.
“This is what we should be feeding the Noths in our torture chambers, not sick people,” I comment, before swapping to naked fries.
All my mates chuckle, and Colter’s laughter vibrates against my back, making me grin.
Only a few bites in, I realize that Luka’s and Kylian’s stares have become a little excessive.
“What?” I ask.
But before they have a chance to answer, an alpha doctor swoops into the room, trailed by a gaggle of nurses.
The doctor doesn’t even spare Ridge a glance, beelining right for the computer and typing into it, peering through a set of thick square glasses at the incomprehensibly long words on the screen.
But the nurses?
Three females?
Their eyes all home in on Ridge.
Suddenly my throat is burning, and I’m on my feet, striding forward with the sort of aggression that would make Madame Ellora lose her mind.
Well, I’m about to lose mine if those women don’t wipe those simpering looks from their faces.
I bodily insert myself between them at the foot of Ridge’s bed and then cross my arms. “Can I help you?”
They blink their fake lashes as I grind my teeth. One’s jaw drops as she stares at me.
Has she never seen a territorial omega before?
Actually, probably not.
Too bad.
They don’t get to come in here and ogle my man candy.
The one on the left, in pink scrubs, stutters to explain, “W-we just came to check—”
“The doctor is doing that. And I don’t think he needs three of you.”
The middle woman, who has koala scrubs and heavy eyeliner, opens her mouth as if she wants to argue.
But Kylian’s snickers catch her off guard, and she glances over toward him.
“What? I’m imagining a girl fight right now. Forewarning, though. Our mate plays dirty. See that black eye?” He gestures toward me. “You should see the girl who tried to do a blood draw. Not sure her arm still works.”
My hand flies to my swollen face, and I realize that I probably look like a walking bruise. I don’t even know how many colors my face is right now.
But not a single one of my men has seemed to notice or care. Kylian’s even winking at me right now, amusing himself by terrifying these beta women.
Of course they deserve it.
I lift my brows and give them a glare as they simultaneously retreat.
Bye, Felicia.
But my smug little wave is cut off when all three of my alphas suddenly surge toward the bed.
Alarm bells clang in my skull as I whip around, heartbeat wild.
Ridge’s ocean-blue eyes are open, and they’re trained right on me.