Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Hendrix’s fingers hovered over the laptop keys, the quiet hum of his small desk fan nudging the stale air around as he tried to focus on the patient notes blinking back at him. He’d just finished with a kid complaining of dizzy spells—nothing serious, likely low blood sugar—and had another appointment in twenty minutes. The office was cramped, just enough room for his desk, a second chair, and a bookshelf bursting with patient files. It smelled faintly of antiseptic wipes and the lavender diffuser stick he’d shoved in the corner weeks ago, more for his own sanity than anyone else’s. Overhead, a fluorescent bulb buzzed softly, competing with the muffled tread of a nurse’s shoes scuffing past his door.
Pausing, he shifted the laptop slightly to realign his posture and smoothed a hand over his tie. He really needed to stop constantly thinking about Zavian. He had work to do, but his mind kept wandering back to his mate.
It had been like that since they’d met in the café, but now it was becoming a distraction.
That’s because you can’t figure him out. He couldn’t. How was Zavian Fate, but vehemently denied Hendrix? The worst thing a nonhuman could experience when finding one’s mate was rejection.
How cosmically fucked up was it that Hendrix was being rejected by Fate himself?
Put it out of your mind and get your work done.
Before he could settle back into typing, his cell phone lying next to a manila folder on his desk buzzed. Unknown number, the screen read. Not unusual. Patients sometimes blocked their numbers.
“Dr. Baldwin.” His voice came out a little rough, so he cleared his throat.
Silence greeted him. He lifted his gaze from the desk to the small window, watched a branch of the old oak outside scrape against the glass, and tried again. “Hello?” Still no response. He leaned back in his chair, pressing the phone more snugly against his ear and wondered if the call had dropped.
Then, on a quiet breath, he said a name that had lingered in his thoughts since last night. “Zavian?”
The silence stretched until the faint sound of a breath betrayed Zavian’s hesitation, like he was weighing whether to speak at all .
Hendrix’s heartbeat kicked up a notch, as if thinking of Zavian since last night had brought his mate sharply into the moment.
Leaning back into the chair’s thin padding, Hendrix let a small smile tug at his lips. The thought of Zavian, standing somewhere far off, phone in hand, and choosing to call him, had just turned into the best part of his day.
Finally, Zavian spoke, his voice low and just rough enough around the edges to feel solid. “You just took a stab at who it was, didn’t you?”
Hendrix exhaled slowly, letting his shoulders drop. “I did.” He rose from his chair, drawn up by a sudden need to move, and crossed to the office door.
The office felt less private now, and Hendrix wanted to give his mate his full attention. He nudged the door closed, careful not to let it slam, and as it clicked into place, he allowed himself a more genuine smile. “I’m that good.”
A soft huff came over the line, something like a laugh. “You sure you’re a doctor and not a detective, Hendrix?”
It was the first time Zavian had said his name out loud and damn if Hendrix didn’t like the way it sounded coming from him.
“I dabble,” he said lightly, his voice dropping into something smoother. He leaned back against the door, letting the warmth of the phone against his ear settle him. “But detective work costs extra, so you’re lucky I’m feeling generous.”
For a moment, Zavian said nothing, but it didn’t feel awkward. It felt like stepping into a clearing, quiet and untouched.
There was tension, maybe uncertainty, but also something softer. Hendrix could practically sense Zavian tilting his head, possibly running a hand over his bearded jaw before speaking again. When the man’s voice came, it was gentler than Hendrix remembered, like a musician playing a quieter key. “I…was thinking about something, and I’d like your opinion.”
Hendrix cocked his head, amused but also a bit stunned. So far, their interactions had been, at the very least, strained. But he was honestly glad his mate had reached out to him.
“I’m all ears.” He crossed back to the desk, sliding a fingertip along the edge of the lacquered surface, feeling the tiny bumps in the finish. Outside, footsteps passed again. He could tell from the heavier tread that was probably Nurse Mallory. He kept his voice soft, this moment feeling too private to broadcast.
“Hypothetically,” Zavian began, his tone drier than the Sahara, as if daring Hendrix to take the bait. “if you had a… friend who was behaving surly…hot and cold, how would you make sense of that?”
Hendrix’s brow furrowed slightly. His mate was calling him about this? A “hypothetical”? He rested a hand on the back of his chair and lowered himself into it again. “Hmm. That’s a good question.” He took a moment, tapping his thumb against the desk’s edge, trying to understand what Zavian was asking. Also, was he referring to himself, or was it really a friend?
“Someone who runs hot and cold often means they’re struggling with something. Fear, confusion, maybe they’re overwhelmed by feelings they don’t know how to handle. Often times people lash out or withdraw because they don’t know how else to protect themselves.”
Zavian let out a low sound, as if turning the words over. He didn’t respond right away, and Hendrix could almost hear him thinking. He pictured his mate’s beautiful face—a strong jaw, intense eyes—softening in thought.
A subtle clink sounded over the line, maybe Zavian fiddling with something metal, keys or a ring. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. “And how do you respond to that? Do you push? Back off?”
Swiveling his chair slightly, Hendrix pressed the phone to his other ear, resisting the urge to ask about specifics. His mate hadn’t offered any names, but Hendrix’s gut was starting to believe Zavian was the “friend.”
“It depends. People aren’t puzzles you can force together. Sometimes the best approach is patience, let them know you’re there but give them room. If they see you’re not going to run just because they’re inconsistent, maybe they’ll let you in.”
Hendrix wasn’t running. If Zavian needed room, he would give it to him. He’d waited over three hundred years to find his mate, and now that he’d found him, he would give the man whatever he needed to feel safe with him.
A hum of acknowledgment. Hendrix waited, curious. The clinic’s computer in sleep mode cast a faint blue glow over the papers on his desk. Outside the window, a breeze dragged leaves across the pane. In the muffled quiet, Zavian’s breathing was almost companionable. There was an intimacy in this call, a private line strung between them that felt remarkably easy, given how hard it had been to read Zavian before.
“You ever…find that… relationships are not what you expect?” his mate asked, and there was the smallest pause before “relationships,” as though the word itself was foreign on his tongue. “You get this idea of how it’s supposed to work—two people meet, they connect, and it’s smooth sailing. But that’s not how it actually goes, is it?”
That was a bit strange coming from someone who was responsible for those two people meeting. Although Hendrix didn’t know the details of how Zavian wove those destinies, it was perplexing that his mate didn’t understand the dynamics of a relationship.
Hendrix let out a soft chuckle. “If that’s how it went, half of us would be out of a job and all the romance writers would be broke.”
Since meeting, Zavian had been prickly, his demeanor guarded. From their brief interactions, Hendrix would have never pegged the guy as someone who would ask anyone for advice.
Something had changed. Today, Zavian seemed human in a way he hadn’t before. Less guarded. “Real connections can be messy,” Hendrix went on. “People come with histories, insecurities, habits they can’t shake. Things almost never go the way we script them in our heads.”
Zavian’s voice warmed a fraction. “Messy.” He said it like he was tasting the word. “I guess I’m learning that. I’ve seen a lot of different kinds of couples, people I’ve destined for each other. There shouldn’t be any hiccups or complications.” He paused. “But maybe I’m just high off of my own hubris.”
Hendrix allowed himself a small, private smile. “Hubris isn’t the word I’d go with. More like idealistic. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a nice thought, that fate”—he paused, seeing the irony of his words—“would guarantee smooth waters. But life doesn’t work that way, Zavian. Even the best matches get tangled in their own knots.”
The slightest sound came over the line, like a chair creaking. He imagined Zavian settling back somewhere quiet, maybe leaning against a doorframe as he talked. “So, if my friend,” Zavian ventured, “kept pushing you away, even though he might want the opposite…you wouldn’t just toss them aside?”
Hendrix tilted his head, eyebrows lifting. “Not if I cared about them,” he answered softly. “I might be confused or frustrated, sure. But I’d want to understand what was making them act that way, instead of just judging them for it.”
Zavian quietly exhaled. Hendrix felt a warmth spread through his chest at the fact his mate had turned to him, had thought of him when he needed someone to talk to. A day or two ago, he wouldn’t have thought Zavian cared what he had to say.
Now, here they were, sharing something personal, even if it was hidden behind the veneer of a hypothetical friend.
On the other end, there was the soft sound of breathing again, steady and thoughtful. Then Zavian surprised him.
“I don’t talk about these things.” The admittance had been murmured, as if confiding something that sat heavy in his gut. “I don’t usually have anyone I can talk to when I’m…” He cleared his throat. “Doesn’t mean I’m not grateful to have an option now.” He let that settle, a confession wrapped in casual tones.
Hendrix felt an ache in his heart for his mate, knowing how hard it was to lay yourself bare, especially when you were such a strong person.
He didn’t say “I understand” because that might sound patronizing. Instead, he shifted in his chair and kept his voice easy, warm. “I’m glad you called. It’s nice to talk to you when you’re not, you know, storming away from me.” He let out a gentle laugh. “Your phone etiquette is much better than your exit strategies.”
Zavian softly chuckled, a low rumble that made Hendrix’s lion purr. “I’ll admit that my exits can be a bit rough.” Another hesitation, as if he was selecting his words carefully. “Let’s say I wanted to try to understand where my friend is coming from. I’m not really sure where to start. I can see someone’s entire existence, but when it comes to emotions and feelings, I just… I’m not very good at them.”
Hendrix half closed his eyes, imagining his mate’s life. He seemed like a man used to action and decisions, someone who was a stickler for rules. Not someone who liked messy, unresolved feelings. “Maybe start by asking them questions, getting to know them on a deeper level. Just an honest, open-ended conversation. If you truly want to understand, your friend has to feel safe sharing. Low pressure. See what they’re afraid of or what’s weighing on them. Maybe they just need that one person who they know will be around.”
“Maybe.” Zavian made another soft sound, like he was considering how to phrase something. “You think people push away good things because they don’t believe they deserve them? Or because they’re afraid it’ll all fall apart?”
Hendrix nodded to himself. He’d seen it, hell, he’d lived it. “Often,” he replied. “Fear of losing something good can make people sabotage it before it has a chance to disappoint them. Or maybe your friend just never learned how to handle the intensity of closeness. Hot and cold might be their way of testing if you’ll stick around or walk away.”
“Intense closeness was a problem in my—his past.” The curse was almost imperceptible. Zavian had just given himself away, but Hendrix didn’t point that out.
For a moment the line fell silent. Hendrix let it, listening to his own breathing and the buzz of the overhead light, wondering how Zavian was translating these truths. The man had a confidence about him that suggested he rarely found himself at a loss. Now, it seemed, he stood at the edge of something he couldn’t easily categorize.
Hendrix leaned forward, elbows on the desk, easing himself into a more comfortable position. “I’m not sure if you’re really looking for advice or just perspective, but either way, don’t let confusion scare them off. Most of us are confused half the time anyway.”
A quiet laugh escaped Zavian. “I guess I assumed other people had all this figured out. It’s good to know confusion is a universal pastime.”
“Its membership is free and includes complimentary headaches,” Hendrix said lightly.
Zavian’s voice was more thoughtful. “What if…hypothetically, I feel like I’m out of my depth? If I’ve never really had anyone to discuss these things with, and suddenly I’m finding I want that? I want to understand. I want to do right by this person. But I’m not sure how. Does that sound strange?”
Hendrix’s heart warmed at that. He straightened a stack of folders on his desk, letting a small grin tug at his lips. “No, Zavian. Actually, I think it’s refreshing. Most people try to fake it, pretend they know how to handle everything. Admitting that you don’t know is the first real step to learning.”
“You’re making it sound easy,” Zavian whispered.
Hendrix smiled into the phone. “I never said it’d be easy, just worth doing. And anyway, you’ve got a resource now. A phone call away, apparently.”
Zavian chuckled, deeper this time. Hendrix had a feeling that his mate’s laugh was a rare sound. “Be careful. I might take advantage of that.”
Hendrix ran a thumb over the folded corner of a sticky note, hoping his mate would. “I’m willing to risk it. God knows you’re not the only one who’s called me with relationship questions. Usually, though, it’s a friend who thinks because I’m a doctor I know everything. Which I don’t. But I like to think I’ve seen enough people make enough mistakes to have gleaned a little wisdom.”
Zavian’s breathing softened. “I appreciate the honesty, Hendrix.”
The quiet hung between them until Zavian spoke again. “I don’t trust easily. You’re actually the first person I’ve confided in.”
His chest tightened at the vulnerability in his mate’s voice, another rarity he was sure of. “Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is admit you’re a little lost.”
Outside, another staff member passed by, and Hendrix caught a snippet of low conversation through the door. He glanced around his cramped office—diplomas on the wall, a half-eaten granola bar in the top drawer, a plant in the corner that had seen better days. He’d never pictured having a conversation like this here, inside these pale yellow walls.
Yet somehow, it felt right that it was happening in this quiet, ordinary moment between patients. Intimacy didn’t always require candlelight and sweeping views. Sometimes it was just two voices, separated by miles, connecting through a phone line.
He heard Zavian shift again. “You sound like you’ve given this speech before.”
“I’ve been there.” He thought of Michael and how lost he’d been after his husband had died. It had taken six months before Hendrix had smiled again and even longer to laugh. Now all he wanted was to hear his mate laugh as often as possible.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
No, Hendrix didn’t. “I’m glad you reached out. It shows you care about your friend. About understanding them. That’s already a big step.”
A pause. Zavian seemed to weigh this. “I think I do care. That’s what’s throwing me off.” Another pause. “But I think if something matters, it’s worth the risk of confusion, right?”
Hendrix nodded slowly, even though Zavian couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Real connections mean risking confusion, vulnerability, maybe even disappointment…or even heartache. But they can also lead to something worth having.” Like us. “A level of understanding that can ground you. It’s like that feeling you get when you’ve been away for too long and you finally come back home. That unimaginable comfort that settles deep in your bones.”
A soft exhalation. “Home.” Zavian rolled the word around in his mouth, like he was tasting it for the first time. “I’m not sure I know what that feels like,” he said. “But maybe I can figure it out.”
Hendrix swallowed, pressing his palm flat against the desk to steady himself. “I know you can.” He smiled. “And when you do, you can write a manual for all the rest of us. Because we’re all still learning, too.”
Zavian let out a low laugh, and Hendrix could imagine a faint curve to his sensual lips, maybe a slight softening around his eyes. “I’ll think about it. Might have to consult you again for footnotes.”
Anytime. “ I’ll charge a fee next time. A cup of coffee sounds about right.” A reminder of how they’d met.
Zavian didn’t answer, possibly debating on whether to say more or end the call.
The silence wasn’t heavy or strained. It felt warm, like they’d stumbled onto a shared wavelength they didn’t quite understand yet but wanted to.
“Thank you.”
Two simple words, but Hendrix felt them deeply. “Anytime, hon.”
“I should let you get back to work. But I appreciate this. More than you know.”
Hendrix glanced at the clock. He had a handful of minutes before his next patient. “I’m glad I could help. And you know, if you feel like talking again, I’m also available in person.”
“Have a good day, Doc.” The line clicked off.
Slowly lowering the phone, Hendrix placed it gently on the desk.
The room seemed a little quieter now, the hum of the fluorescent light more pronounced, the lavender scent drifting across his senses. He tapped a pen lightly against a folder and considered what just happened. He tried not to overanalyze, but there was a strange warmth glowing inside him, something quiet and steady.
He stood and opened the door a crack, letting the faint noise from the hallway seep back in. The world returned with its usual hustle, but he could still hear Zavian’s masculine voice, softened by the act of asking for perspective.
There had been vulnerability and sincerity in a man who probably didn’t offer those things easily. And maybe it was subtle, but Hendrix had glimpsed a person looking for understanding of his own self, of feelings so foreign to him they confused him.
He ran a hand down his tie to straighten it. One more patient then lunch. But today, he’d carry this conversation with him. He’d remember the way Zavian had called without introduction, simply breathing on the other end, hesitant yet determined to speak. He would remember the quiet laugh, the confessions wrapped in hypotheticals, the careful questions. They had found common ground, talking about so many things, all compressed into one small phone call.
Sitting back down in his chair, he felt that subtle electricity still lingering in the air. And as he opened the laptop again to finish his notes, he knew that this connection—tender, vulnerable, lightly humorous—was something worth nurturing, even if it grew slowly and carefully, one conversation at a time.
Because Zavian was his mate, and if they needed to start out as friends, that was okay with Hendrix.