Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
OLIVIA
Something is wrong with Nigel.
It’s not like him to miss work, and in the past week, he’s been missing more than he’s been here.
Worry gnaws at my gut. He and his pack are getting older, and Emeline’s behavior at dinner the other week was concerning.
I know Nigel doesn’t want to face the early signs that may indicate her going feral, but ignoring them doesn’t mean they’ll go away.
It only means everyone in his pack will suffer in silence.
Which is why I am standing at Nigel’s front door, unannounced, nerves fluttering inside of me.
“Livvy?” Nigel’s eyes are wide and accented by dark circles. He glances behind him before stepping outside and shutting the door. “What are you doing here? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. But I’m worried about Emeline. And you. You’ve missed several days of work.”
The man who is more of a father figure to me than my own dads sighs heavily and lets his head hang. I’ve never seen him so defeated, and I hate it.
“I’m fine, dear, I promise. But Emeline . . .” His voice breaks on her name, and I wrap him in a hug.
“What about Emeline?” I whisper, pulling back and prompting him to continue.
“She’s not well. I didn’t want to admit it, but you’re right.
She’s slipping through our fingers, and I don’t know what to do.
I thought Theo and I would be enough. But after Trevor died, she was so sad.
She retreated into herself and didn’t let us comfort her for weeks.
Then it seemed like she was coming back to us.
Getting better.” Nigel closes his eyes, his face scrunching up as though he’s in pain. “She’s not getting better.”
“There are treatments,” I tell him. “Therapy. Things that can help.”
“But they’re Band-Aids. We all know that.” He looks so lost.
My heart thuds as my mind begins to whir.
Even as I talk with Nigel, part of me is in my lab.
I’ve always wanted to help people. To be more than the socialite my mother envisioned me to be.
Now, the need to help is personal. It has a familiar and beloved face, and a new sense of urgency floods me.
We can’t rush preclinicals, but maybe if Emeline is on another treatment, we’ll get to clinical trials in enough time.
If the medicine we’ve developed is safe, I’ll get her in.
I don’t want to tell Nigel that we’re close to a cure, because I don’t know what close looks like. In the scientific community, close could mean six days, six months, or six years.
Emeline doesn’t have six years.
I won’t add to his pain by promising something I may not be able to deliver.
“She’s strong, Nigel. She has you and Theodore to fight for her. Don’t underestimate how important it is to have people in your corner.” I should know. Until recently, I had very few people in my corner. But now? I feel like I can do almost anything.
Raised voices float through the closed door, and Nigel sighs. “I should get inside. She’s having a bad day.”
“Okay. Please keep me updated. And let me know if your pack needs anything. You’re not alone in this.” I squeeze Nigel’s hand. “I love you, Nigel.”
“Love you too, my dear.”
I give him a melancholic smile. As I turn to leave, Nigel’s voice is warm when he speaks again.
“In case I haven’t said it since you’ve been home, I am so proud of you, Livvy. So proud.”
Tears well in my eyes, and I quickly brush them away as I turn to offer Nigel one last smile. “Same, Nigel. Very much the same.”
My heart is a chaotic mess as I start my car and make the first turn toward the lab. All of this is so unfair. To the omegas whose minds break after their hearts, to the betas and alphas who are left to watch them shatter, and to the friends and family who are powerless to help.
The lab is empty, save a few researchers on other projects. I bypass their stations, heading to the secure room where we’re conducting preclinicals. It’s late, I know, but after seeing Nigel, I feel like I have to observe how the medicine is doing. Otherwise, I feel too helpless.
Vicki’s head pops up when I walk in. She chuckles. "Couldn't stay away either?”
The table against the wall is covered in paperwork. I find a good place to set my purse down and join her, a line cutting across my brow. “Any progress?”
“They’re less aggressive than they were yesterday . . .” She trails off and gestures toward the large plastic cage. The rat she’s observing is gnawing at the door to the tunnel. Dammit. This was not what I was hoping to see.
“Do you ever hate how long this all takes?” The acidity in my tone doesn’t go unnoticed.
Vicki glances at me. “Is everything okay?”
Exhaling, I scrub my hand over my face, wondering if I should cross the line of professionalism and burden her with my problems.
“I won’t push, but I’m here if you need someone to talk to, Olivia.”
Vicki might be the only person in my life who truly understands how I feel.
She knows how close, but how far away we are, all at the same time.
“My,” I begin, voice thick with emotion.
I clear my throat. “A family friend is sick. One of her alphas died last year and she’s getting worse.
” Tears prick my vision, and suddenly, I’m enveloped in a hug.
“I’m so sorry.” Vicki rubs my arms and pulls back, studying me. “What can I do?”
“Can you make these preclinicals go at hyperspeed?”
“No, but I can show you the data. Maybe that will help.”
I don’t know how. The data in my head tells me that Emeline may not have time. Vicki leads me to the computer and pulls up some data.
“On day four of Batch 16, the rats were getting progressively worse. Batch 25 did nothing. 36 was promising, but it didn’t work.”
None of this is helping.
She gives me a look and nods, as if understanding my thoughts. “But look at this formula. Even on day four, we’re seeing a fifteen-percent reduction in aggression. Fifteen percent! We’ve only ever achieved five percent in past preclinicals.”
Hope sparks in my chest. That’s triple the amount of progress. “So, it’s working?”
“I won’t say yes and give you false hope, but I can tell you that I’ve never seen results like this in any of the formulas we’ve tested. This is promising, and you were a huge part of why it’s working.”
Nodding, excitement slowly replaces fear. “What’s the earliest we can do clinicals?”
“We can’t start human trials for at least six months. We have to make sure there are no fatalities or irreparable harm in the short term. Once we reach that point, the risk of fatality drastically decreases due to the nature of the medicine.”
“Can I add a prospective omega to the top of the list?”
“Of course you can, but we’ll need her pack to sign off when the time comes.”
I nod. Six months isn’t too long, but I’d want to make sure that everything is safe before sharing the news with Nigel. If things go wrong, Emeline’s under no obligation to go into clinicals, but provided there are no terrible side effects, she could get in on the first round of clinicals.
That’s the best news I could hope for.
“Thank you,” I tell Vicki. “Are you staying much longer?”
She shakes her head. “No, I better call it a night. You should too. It’s nearly nine.”
“See you tomorrow.” Grabbing my things, I head out of the lab and toward my car, mind racing with the possibilities. Hope is fluttering around inside my chest. I have to share this news with someone.
I’m tempted to show up at the guys’ house, but Cici is still staying there. I don’t want to wake her, and most of them start work earlier or close to the same time I do in the morning, but Wilder should still be working.
Before I pull out of the parking garage, I shoot off a text.
Are you awake?
WILDER
Sure am, sweetness. I’m at the shop, just finishing up my last piece for the night.
Can I stop by?
You don’t even have to ask. Always. Remember the name?
Of course, I do. I have near perfect recall.
LOL. Of course you do. See you soon?
See you soon.
The drive to Fine Line goes by quickly. Traffic is light this late at night, and my mind is still working a million miles per hour.
Before I know it, I’ve arrived. I park in an open spot right in front of the door to Wilder’s tattoo shop, and, ignoring the butterflies that take flight in my stomach at being here for the first time, I hurry inside.
The space is beautiful. It’s a small shop, with only three other chairs besides Wilder’s, but it feels open and spacious.
Exposed brick walls are covered in artwork and custom flash, the wood floors are wide planks that are polished and shiny, but show their decades of wear in pockmarks and dents that the building’s owner didn’t try to buff out before staining and sealing the floors.
Music plays out of Bluetooth speakers hung in the corner of the room, but it’s set low enough that you can still hear the buzz of tattoo guns over it.
Wilder grins when he spots me, and my scent blooms. He’s so beautiful when he smiles. His whole face lights up, and right now, it’s because of me.
“Hey, sweetness!” Wilder calls. He says something to his client before turning off his tattoo gun and pushing off his stool. The other two artists currently working on their own clients look up at me curiously, and I wave awkwardly at them before Wilder picks me up in a crushing hug.
“Hi,” I mumble into his neck as he smooshes me to him.
“What are you doing out so late? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed by now? You have work tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, but I actually came from the lab. I saw Nigel tonight. Emeline is getting worse, and I can’t let them lose her after they lost Trevor.” My voice catches, but Wilder’s there, rubbing a hand up my back and soothing me.
“I know, baby.”
“But Vicki said the preclinicals are going well. The data shows more progress than any other formula we’ve tried before.
Actually, triple the amount of progress, which is .
. . mind-boggling but also so promising.
Anyway, I can’t stop thinking about the research and the preclinical success so far. There’s no way I’d be able to sleep.”
Wilder’s smile turns soft. “That’s amazing. You’re amazing, and I’m glad you’re here. I’m almost done with this client. Maybe ten more minutes. Want to stick around, then I’ll treat you to some ice cream? There’s a twenty-four-hour diner down the road.”
“Can I watch you?” I ask, nervous for some reason.
“Hell yeah, you can.” Wilder releases me from our long hug and wraps his hand around mine, dragging me toward his station. “Joel, this is my omega, Liv. She’s going to hang out while I finish up if that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah, that’s okay.” Joel, who is so heavily tattooed you can barely see any flesh-colored skin on his arms, flashes me a smile. “Hey.”
Once again, I wave awkwardly, and both men chuckle as Wilder pulls a rolling stool over for me to sit on before tugging on a new pair of gloves and picking up his tattoo gun.
I lean forward, eager to watch him work.
I’ve never seen anyone get a tattoo before.
They’re not exactly socially acceptable in my mother’s circle.
Watching Wilder work is hypnotic. The way the individual dots of color blend together so effortlessly under his hand, the periodic wiping of ink, the soft hum of the machine. And watching him here, totally in his element, has my heart soaring for the second time tonight.
“Okay, man, you’re all done. You know the drill. Keep that second skin on for at least twelve hours, gentle soap, unscented lotion.” Wilder surveys his finished work one last time before he and the tattooed man clasp hands.
“I got it. See you in a few months.” The man turns and smiles at me. “Nice to meet you, Liv.”
“A few months?” I ask incredulously as Joel saunters out of the shop. “Does he have any bare skin left?”
Wilder laughs loudly as he breaks down his machine and sanitizes everything. “A little bit. Soon, we’ll probably have to tattoo his ass.”
My nose wrinkles at that. “Really? That sounds . . . unsanitary.”
“Come on, smarty-pants. Let’s go get that ice cream.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and says goodnight to the other people in the shop before leading me out the door and over to his car. “We’ll come back for yours, okay?”
I nod. I don’t want to drive separately. I want to sit in the passenger seat and hold my alpha’s hand. His fingers thread through mine once we’re in the car, and a smile cuts across my face. It’s so blissfully domestic—I love it.
We eat ice cream and talk for hours. He tells me about his favorite tattoos, I tell him about my research.
We share secrets and laughter, and with every passing minute, I fall harder for the tattooed man sitting across the booth from me.
By the time we get to the pack house and stumble into bed, we’re both so exhausted it takes no time at all to fall asleep.