Almost Home #2
The space isn’t super big, but it has its own window, a walk-in closet, and a full-size bed with a plain white comforter.
"Thank you." Elowen turns to me. “Seriously, Adam. Thank you so much.”
She looks so small standing in the middle of that guest room. I'm not exactly tall myself, but she barely reaches my chin, and in Raff's oversized T-shirt with her wavy hair tucked behind her ears and her bare feet on the hardwood, she looks so fragile and kind of scared.
Everything about this makes my gut twist with guilt.
And I hate it.
“No problem.” I nod once, then head back to my room. It takes everything in me not to run down the hall.
I close the door behind me and lean against it for a second, letting the silence settle.
"Meds," I whisper to myself as I cross to my desk and pull open the drawer.
I grab my pill organizer and flip open today's compartment. I tip the four pills into my palm, and swallow them dry like I have every day since I was eleven years old.
My shoulders are already stiff. I roll my neck and feel it crack twice, the tension sitting in my muscles like concrete.
Please don't be a flare.
I press my thumb into the space between my knuckles, testing. The joints are tender, and slightly swollen. Not terrible, but not great either.
Given the last twenty-four hours, the stress alone could trigger a flare. It wouldn't be the first time my body decided to punish me for not sleeping or eating right.
Restless, I decide to check my meds.
I open the top drawer of my desk and pick up each prescription bottle, one at a time, giving them a shake. The calcium supplements are full. The anti-inflammatory is about half. The Verenthicin rattles light in my hand. I hold it up to the light and count through the orange plastic. Two pills.
Shit.
“You need to call Dr. Ellison,” I remind myself. “Running out of these is not an option.”
The last time I missed a dose for more than a day, I ended up in bed for a week with a fever and joint pain so bad I couldn't even hold a fork.
I plop down on the foot of my bed, squeezing the bottle in my hand. I should call, but Dr. Ellison's office doesn't open until nine, and it's barely past eight.
Tossing the bottle aside, I pull out my phone.
I sit there for a moment, phone in hand, doing nothing. Then, from down the hall, I hear the faint groan of pipes and the hiss of water. Followed by the soft click of the guest bathroom door pulling shut.
Elowen's in the shower.
Something about that hits me in a way I don't expect. It’s strange. The ordinary sound of it. Like she's already slotting into the house, filling in the quiet spaces, and the house is letting her.
I look down at my phone.
My thumbs move, unlocking it and bringing up the browser. Then I type out:
How a pack beta can support their newly mated omega
I stare at the words for a second.
Then I backspace over all of it.
I don't know why. Maybe because reading about how to take care of her feels like a bit too much right now.
So I type something else instead:
Can a newly mated alpha and omega separate
The results are not encouraging.
Apparently, separation within the first thirty days of a fresh bond carries significant health risks for both parties. For omegas, early separation from their mate can present as fever, disorientation, and acute distress. Alpha Severance Syndrome, in rare cases, has been documented as fatal.
I read every word.
The article goes on with recommended links that discuss Bond Rejection Syndrome, Post-Mating Aggression Syndrome, and all kinds of symptoms related to bond instability.
I stare at the screen for a long moment.
So that's that, then.
I'm not sure what I was hoping to find. Some loophole? A footnote that said in rare cases the alpha realizes it was a mistake and the omega is perfectly fine?
But biology doesn't do footnotes.
Someone knocks on my door, and I hold my phone to my chest.
"Yeah?" I call.
The door opens and my pack alpha fills the frame. He's changed out of the clothes from Odette's. Dark jeans and a plain gray shirt that shows off his muscular arms. His knuckles are still wrapped. He takes in the room in one sweep, before his eyes settle on me.
"Got a minute?"
"Sure." I set my phone face-down on the mattress.
He comes in and pulls the desk chair out, positioning it in front of me and sitting down so his knees nearly touch mine. He leans forward, elbows on his thighs, and looks at me for a moment without speaking. I've known him long enough to know the silence means he's choosing his words carefully.
"How are you doing, baby?" His hands find my knees, squeezing gently. "Really?"
"I'm fine."
His expression doesn't change, but something behind his eyes does. "Adam."
I look down at my hands. They're folded in my lap, too still, the way they get when I'm working hard to keep them there. "I'm trying to be," I say.
He nods slowly, accepting that. "I need to talk to you about Elowen."
My chest tightens, but I keep my face neutral. "Okay."
Cliff is quiet for a moment, and I can see him working through it. He's not a man who stumbles over words often, but this is new territory for all of us.
"My bond with her is fresh," he finally says. "Do you know what that means?"
"I looked it up, actually." My voice comes out steadier than I expect. "Just now."
His brows raise like he’s surprised. "Then you know I need to spend time with her," he says. “Real time, tending to our bond.” His voice is so soft, like he’s worried he’ll scare me. “And this isn’t something I can put off.”
"I know." And I do know. I read it in plain medical language two minutes ago.
Bond reinforcement is essential in the first weeks post-mating. Neglect of the bond can result in deterioration of both parties' wellbeing.
“I'm not asking you to put anything off,” I say.
"I know you're not." He holds my gaze as his hands slide onto the sides of my thighs, holding me. "But I'm telling you anyway, because you deserve to hear it from me directly. Not left to yourself to figure it out when I'm not around."
I swallow.
That's the thing about Cliff. He’s so kind and tender, but he’s also very direct. It’s a quality I usually love.
"It's okay," I say.
“I know it’s not,” he says gently. “At least not yet. But it will be.”
I hate that my eyes sting. I blink the sensation back hard and look at the pill bottle on my desk because it gives me somewhere to put my eyes that isn't his face.
"I don't want to make this harder than it already is," I say quietly.
"That's not—I'm not trying to do that. I know she didn't ask for any of this, and I know you didn't either, and I know the bond is real and it's going to need what it needs.
" My throat tightens, but I push through it.
"I need a little time to get my head around it. That's all."
Cliff is quiet.
Then he stands, sets the chair back at the desk, and crosses to where I'm sitting on the bed.
He crouches down in front of me so we're eye level, and he puts one hand on the side of my face.
His thumb brushes my cheekbone. His dark eyes are steady and close and so familiar that the sting behind mine gets worse.
"I love you more than you could ever know," he whispers.
I press my lips together.
"Take your meds," he says. "Get some rest."
He kisses my forehead. Holds it there for a second. Then he straightens up and walks out, pulling the door almost closed behind him.
I sit in the quiet for a long time after that.
The ache is still there. It hasn't moved. But underneath it, something is trying its hardest to settle, and I let it. I don't know what else to do.
I reach over and pick up the Verenthicin bottle, give it one more rattle.
Still only two pills.
I really need to call Dr. Ellison.