In Bed #2
Warren steps in, reaching for me—ready to steady me, to drag me back, to do something—but I lift one hand, palm out.
He instantly stops.
I appreciate his worry. I really do. He wears it plainly, tension in every line of his body, sharp blue eyes tracking every twitch of mine like I might topple over at any second.
But there’s no need for it.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him quietly. A warning and a reassurance all at once.
Warren takes a step closer, eyes narrowing. “The doctor said you need bed rest until the antibiotics kick in,” he practically snarls, eyes narrowed. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m fine,” I snap. “I need to move.”
I plant my good foot on the floor and push myself upright, careful not to put any weight on the bad knee. The room tilts the second I’m vertical. My leg throbs, a deep, dragging ache that crawls up my thigh and hip, punching right into my gut. Sweat breaks fresh along my spine.
Beck makes a small, choked sound—half huff, half panicked whine. “Cass, please,” he begs, darting forward. “Please lie back down. You’re burning up.”
Before I can argue, the beta tucks himself under my arm, wedging his slim shoulder against my ribs like he’s bracing a falling tree. The top of his head barely reaches my sternum. His help is…not helpful. Not in any practical sense.
But it’s sweet.
And I can’t bring myself to push him away.
So I don’t.
I shift my arm, lowering it enough to rest across his shoulders, pretending like his small frame is actually helping. Beck beams like he’s won a battle no one else is fighting.
His aroma—clean linen with that faint edge of rain-soaked cedar—seeps into me as he presses closer. It settles around my ribs, softening the sharp edges of the pain. Beck always smells like comfort.
For a second, I let myself breathe it in. It makes the doctor’s comment about needing an omega feel like bullshit. I don’t need a goddamn omega. I have the most perfect beta in the world already.
The bedroom door opens, and Grason steps back inside. He fills the doorway with that massive frame, smoky-hazel eyes taking in the scene in one slow sweep—me half upright, Beck tucked under my arm, Warren coiled and ready to catch.
“Brought you a gift,” Grason says, holding something up. It’s a thick, black cane with a rubber handle and a bulky bottom that looks like it belongs in a hospital, not here. “The doctor had one in his car.” He crosses the room and rests it against the wall by the dresser.
I stare at it. “I’m not fucking using that.”
Beck immediately pulls back enough to gape at it. “That thing’s hideous.”
Warren sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t a fucking fashion show, Beck.”
“Maybe not,” Beck says, rallying fast, “but I’m pretty sure my grandma had that exact model. She might have some extra tennis balls for the bottom.” He glances up at me and smiles like he’s praying I’ll do the same. “The upside is people will start offering you their seat on the bus.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. Barely.
“How about you lie back down?” Beck gives me his sweetest smile. “I can make you something to eat.”
The thought of food makes my stomach roll.
“I’m good.” I force a smile, and Beck’s smile falls.
“You aren’t, alpha,” he whispers softly. Like he’s scared he’s going to offend me. “You’re very sick.” He reaches up, brushing my hair off my sweaty forehead. “Come on.” His blue eyes flicker to the bed behind me. “I’ll lie down with you.”
“No,” I say gently. “I’m done lying in bed. I’d like to get a bit of work done.”
“Cass.” Warren’s voice drops, firm enough to cut through the fever fog. “You can’t even stand up straight. The doctor said bed rest. Today is not an office day.”
“I’m fine,” I repeat, sharper, trying to make it true by sheer force.
Then the floor tilts.
The room lurches sideways, and my vision goes grainy at the edges. Beck lets out a startled, “Cass!” as my knee threatens to give.
Warren is on me in half a second. His hand clamps around my bicep, the other bracing my back as he guides—no, forces—me back onto the mattress.
“Easy,” he says, low in my ear. “Sit. Now.”
I don’t have a choice. My body folds, dropping back onto the bed harder than I mean to. The mattress creaks as cold sweat beads along my hairline.
Beck scrambles up beside me, hands hovering like he wants to touch but doesn’t know where. “Please just lie down,” he begs, voice cracking. “You’re scaring me.”
The worst part is he’s not wrong.
I let out a breath that feels a lot like defeat and ease back against the pillows, muscles shaking with the effort I already spent.
Once Warren is satisfied I’m not about to hit the floor, he eases back a step, giving me space. But Beck presses closer, tucking himself against my side like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
I close my eyes for a beat, breathing him in.
“Bed rest,” Warren says quietly. “Doctor’s orders.”
I want to argue. I want to tell them all to get the hell out and let me stand on my own two feet, even if one of them doesn’t work right. But the fight drains out of me as fast as it came.
The truth is, I’m exhausted.
I stay still, staring at the ceiling, and try not to think about how fucking weak and useless I’ve become.