Ivy
I'm fucking terrified.
My brain's been whispering this is going to be bad on a loop while I grip the steering wheel of a blacked-out SUV that's way too big for me.
Beside me, Wraith is slumped in the passenger seat, arms folded over his chest, hood up, gaiter on but loose because he didn't want to keep it off if he was sitting up front.
I would've rather he stayed in the back, where he felt safe going without it, but he wanted to sit up front with me and there was fuck all I'd be able to do to convince him not to.
I have a horrible feeling it's going to be the last time he can wear it at all.
Every bump and pothole on the drive from the motel has been its own little nightmare. The SUV's suspension is solid, but it's not magic, and twice I hit seams in the road that made him wince visibly despite him seeming to fight to hide it.
And I can't go slow or we're going to be late.
My phone vibrates in the cupholder. The group chat, probably. I ignore it. It's been going off because Valek's been trolling Plague with gross-out pictures of the motel.
"We're almost there," I tell Wraith softly. I hope the tone conveys the rest. I'm here and I'm calm, and you can be calm too, because I love you and everything is going to be okay.
Except that's kind of a lie, isn't it?
Love won't keep him from becoming a complete recluse if he can't cover his face anymore.
He manages a nod, taking in a long, shaky breath. His blue eyes are open but unfocused, staring off at nothing, completely checked out.
He was worse this morning than yesterday. Noticeably. He couldn't get the gaiter on for the walk to the parking garage without his hands shaking so badly I had to help him.
And when the fabric settled against his jaw, the sound he made…
I grip the steering wheel harder.
The GPS chirps and announces in its posh voice, Turn right in four hundred feet. Then turn left.
I signal and turn into the parking lot, past the manicured mulch. It's mostly empty, which is good. I find a spot close to the entrance and pull in carefully—God, this car or truck or whatever is fucking wide—and kill the engine.
I unbuckle and turn to face Wraith. "Hey. We're here."
Nothing.
"Misha…"
His eyes lift to me finally, blinking.
"I'm going to go inside and check you in," I say. "You stay here. I'll come get you when they're ready. Okay?"
His hands come up. You don't have to.
"I know I don't have to." I lean across the center console and press my lips to his shoulder, since I can't reach his face. "I want to. Stay."
He huffs through his nose and his eyes lighten a little.
I grab my bag, check my reflection in the rearview—dark circles, messy bun, no makeup, the picture of a woman who's scared and worried for her mate—and push open the driver's door.
I cross the lot at an almost-jog and head straight for the reception desk when I get inside.
The woman behind the counter looks up before I reach her.
"Hi," I say, slightly breathless as I reach the counter, lifting my bag onto it. "I'm here to check in for Wraith Belmont?"
Her whole face changes. "Wraith? Is he… is he here?" She leans forward to look around and behind me, as if the giant alpha could possibly be hiding behind an omega my size. "He left so quickly last time. We were worried. I was worried."
"I know," I murmur, reaching into my bag for his insurance card and ID. "He's in the car. He isn't feeling well."
Her expression softens with guilt and she makes a quiet tsk sound. "I know, hon." She takes the cards from me. I'm pleasantly surprised she doesn't stare at the picture on his ID. "Well, you can reassure him his usual doctor is in this time."
"Good. That's… good."
She starts typing, her eyes on the screen, but she keeps glancing up at me. The same quick, assessing looks I'd give a stranger who showed up claiming a connection to someone I cared about.
"And you are…?" she asks carefully.
"Ivy Byrne. His mate," I say, wondering for a second if she's the one I talked to about the leak that came from this office.
Her fingers stop on the keyboard and she openly stares at me. "His…" She blinks rapidly, her eyes going glassy. "Oh."
I watch awkwardly, not sure how to react other than lifting my bag back onto my shoulder. Because it feels like everyone is just shocked I'm his mate, and it makes my stomach twist every time.
Guess she doesn't follow hockey news.
She nods, swallowing. "He deserves it. He's the sweetest alpha I've ever met. You take good care of him, okay? Really good care of him."
"I will," I say quietly.
She squares her shoulders and starts typing again. Faster this time, like she's channeling her emotions through her fingertips. "I'm putting him straight through, okay? No waiting room. Room three is open and it's the biggest, he won't feel so cramped."
"Thank you."
"And I'll let the nursing staff know." She pauses, fixing me with a look over the top of her reading glasses. "He doesn't do well with new people. Except for you, I guess." She winks at me, passing back the cards. "Ivy. Such a pretty name for a pretty girl. He's lucky."
"Nah." I take the cards back, managing a smile. "I'm the lucky one."
Getting Wraith from the SUV to the building isn't easy.
He opens the passenger door before I reach it, already swinging his legs out, but he stops with his boots on the asphalt and his hands braced on his knees, head down, dark hair falling over his masked face.
"They're putting us straight in a room," I promise him. "Your doctor's back. The receptionist made sure I knew that."
His head lifts.
M-A-R-G-A-R-E-T? he asks hopefully.
Okay, so that was her I'd talked to about the leak that horrible fucking day. "Yeah, actually. She knew you. She was nice."
He lets out a soft exhale, his eyes crinkling slightly. He still looks fucking terrified, but he unfolds himself successfully from the SUV, adjusting his hood and shoving both scarred hands deep into the front pocket of his hoodie.
The most imposing alpha I've ever seen, trying to make himself smaller.
I tuck myself against his side and slip my arm through his. "Just follow me. You can keep your head down if you want."
We cross the lot at a pace that wouldn't even alarm a sleepwalking turtle. His boots scuff the asphalt with each step. He keeps his head angled down, his blue eyes stuck on the ground three feet in front of us, flinching slightly when a car door slams somewhere in the lot behind us.
I steer him toward the entrance with gentle pressure against his arm.
"Almost there."
The doors slide open and Margaret is standing behind the desk with a tissue balled in her fist, and the smile she gives Wraith is completely warm and sweet.
He lifts a hand from his pocket long enough to wave to her.
"Room three. Liz is going to take you back. She's new, but I promise, you're seeing Dr. Jackson today." She gestures to a young beta woman in teal scrubs already waiting by the hallway door, smiling and holding a clipboard against her chest. "You go right in."
Wraith nods a little and signs a quick thanks.
Liz pushes the door open and holds it wide, stepping to the side to give him the widest possible berth.
Completely unnecessary, but okay.
He heads straight down the corridor to room three, pulling his hood even lower against the bright white lights. He hesitates in the doorway before ducking in, already stiff and radiating anxiety like a wolf that just stepped into a cage.
At least the room is on the larger side, and the overhead lights are dimmed all the way down. There's a reclining exam chair in gray leather, and beside it, a rolling medical tray draped with a light blue paper covering what I'm sure are implements.
Wraith's eyes are locked on the tray.
"Since you were here so recently, we don't need photos this time," Liz says from the doorway, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't agree to that anyway. "Dr. Jackson just wants to check you over, okay?"
Injections? he signs to her warily.
The nurse just blinks at him, opening her mouth. "Um… I'm sorry, I don't understand…" She points awkwardly back toward the waiting room. "I could get a translator—"
"It's okay," I say, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. "I can translate. He was asking if there will be injections."
Liz breathes an audible sigh of relief. "Oh. Right. Yes, um, I think so? For the pain."
Wraith seems equally relieved and freshly nervous.
I squeeze his arm.
"She'll be right in," Liz says, still awkward, and slips out, pulling the door closed behind her.
We're alone now.
Wraith wastes no time tugging his mask down, the fabric pooling around his neck as he crosses the room and lowers himself into the reclining chair.
The chair creaks under his weight and he settles back, stiff and upright despite the recline, his hooded head turned toward the covered tray the way you'd watch a snake.
I grab the rolling stool tucked under the counter and wheel it to the left side of the exam chair, right beside his arm. The stool is absurdly low compared to where he's sitting. I don't care. I park it, sit down, set my bag next to his legs, and reach for his hand.
His hand is ice cold even through the fingerless gloves.
They close around mine with a steel-bending grip.
"Ow," I say mildly.
His eyes widen and he quickly circles his free fist on his chest in a sorry, loosening his grip on my hand.
"Better. But you can crush it all you want if you need to when you get shots."
He lets his head fall back against the headrest with a groan.
I turn his hand over in both of mine and stroke my thumb across his knuckles through the worn leather of his glove. His hand is so big mine barely spans the width of his palm. Petting his hand like this seems to relax him, so I keep doing it, humming softly to fill the silence.
Would it kill them to at least put on some music?
I scoot the stool closer so my knee presses against the side of his thigh. His eyes close as I lift his hand and press his knuckles against my lips, holding them there, breathing warm air across the scars on his fingers.
They finally uncurl, one by one, loosening from the fist until his scarred hand is resting open against my mouth.
I kiss his palm.
His breathing deepens.
Please, I pray to any god that will listen, keeping my eyes shut tight and my lips pressed against his hand. Please don't let it be bad news.