37. Callisto
Chapter thirty-seven
Callisto
An unnatural shiver runs down my arm as the line goes dead. I slowly lower the phone from my ear, each inch of movement accompanied by a growing agony in my chest. Red only wants a business relationship with me. I had the chance to sweep her off her feet and give her everything she needed, and I blew it.
With my own two hands, I obliterated a future with my omega.
I stare at my phone, frozen with unfamiliar despair, like the world around me clouds over in a way that’s got nothing to do with the sunset. Then I grit my teeth. I can’t blame anybody other than myself. I can’t hide from this pain. I’ll examine it in every dark hour when I sit alone at my desk, and I will endure it.
First, I need to print a new engagement contract and then get back to the OCB headquarters to clean up the mess of haze oil I spilled everywhere.
Grunting, I break free of my daze. With a plan, I can accomplish anything. I dial my paralegal, and he answers on the first ring. “Hale, I need you to look into a man by the name of Hudson Vatters. We’ll be going up in a domestic violence case against him, so see if there’re any social media posts about relationships or whereabouts over the past twelve months and grab copies before they get taken down.”
Hale grunts softly. “On it. Which of our clients?”
I rub my brow, suddenly feeling like I’ve run a marathon today. “Hasn’t signed on yet. I’ll need two new engagement contracts for representation in all legal matters. I’m texting you their details now. Print and leave them on my desk and I’ll swing by tonight.”
“No problem,” Hale replies, keyboard clicking as he speaks. “I’ll leave the case files for the Kipman case on your desk as well. First hearing is Friday.”
I swear mentally. I’ve never minded working eighty hours a week before, but suddenly the workload’s daunting because I need more time. After hanging up, I catch a cab to the closest shopping center to pick out a gift for Rickon. Usually you give flowers to people in hospital, but I don’t think that’s his kind of thing. This whole situation is unnerving enough.
I feel awkward as fuck strolling through the aisles. Like I’m a turtle stuck on its back, swimming madly but going in circles. My confidence in everything I believed has been shaken today, including how well I thought I knew my friend.
I opt for a gift bag, which I fill with a fashion magazine, chocolate milk, a fantasy novel that has amazing reviews online, and a selection of ten different kinds of snacks. I throw in a combined puzzle and adult coloring book with a selection of color pens for good measure. And because I still feel uneasy, I add a stuffed bear in his favorite teal hue. I think it’s his favorite, anyway. He wears that shade of eyeshadow a lot. On the way out through the checkout, I belatedly remember to grab an entertainment magazine—that’s his industry, after all.
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing outside his hospital room, steeling myself to see those dark bruises on Rickon’s neck again. I wait too long like an idiot and a nurse comes bustling through with a trolley loaded with a computer and bristling with medical equipment.
“You going in, sir?”
I nod, and open the door for her to proceed me. Time to man the fuck up.
“Hey, Ricky,” I murmur as I enter. Then I stop short in shock. Next to the area where Rickon lies, three other beds fill the room, each one occupied. The one at the end even has, like, a dozen children mobbing it. Well, at least four on the sweeping count I do.
I frown as I duck into the tiny alcove hosting Rickon and draw the curtain between him and his neighbor. “Why don’t you have your own room?”
He blinks up at me, flashing a tiny smile I don’t like because it seems to have a hidden meaning. Maybe he has more things in his life I don’t know.
I settle for a question he might be able to answer without a voice. “Have the doctors said how long you might be here?”
He lifts three fingers.
I lump the gift bag on his bed and scratch the back of my neck. “This is for you. I didn’t really know what to get, sorry.”
He grins as he pokes his nose in to see what I bought. “It’s like a Christmas stocking,” he croaks out.
A child from the horde cries and the patient next to us has a coughing fit. I wince. He won’t be able to sleep a wink like this.
“Hang on a tick, Ricky.” I veer out of the room, nearly tripping on a fifth child, who appears out of thin air holding what looks like used toilet paper and yelping for “Mama.”
At the nurses’ station I flag down a harried-looking woman and sign Ricky up for a private room. The only reason I glance at the cost as I sign the bill is because I want to know if that’s why he hasn’t paid for it. Maybe he doesn’t have private medical insurance. Another thing I don’t know.
It’ll take a while for them to prep a room, apparently, so I drag the visitor’s chair closer to Rickon’s bed while I wait. “They’re getting you a new, private room, Ricky, so wait a while they sort it out.”
“You . . . didn’t have to,” he croaks.
“You won’t be able to sleep with all this racket,” I grumble. “Besides, I wanted to.”
His hand flops onto the edge of the bed and he smiles weakly. I take his pale hand in mine, staring at the long, elegant fingers with pronounced knuckles.
Looking at the price on the bill made me think of the apartment where Ricky lives. It’s not exactly a terrible house, but it’s tiny, with no additional security. He always wanted to be independent, so I thought I was doing the right thing not getting involved, but now I don’t think that’s the case.
I clear my throat. “Red’s at the Bureau, giving her statement. She sounded a little shaken, but peppy enough to give me cheek.” I grin, hiding the ache in my heart. “She asked how you were doing, and she called herself Red Jones.”
Rickon’s eyes slide shut in relief, and he smiles.
“They’re also hunting for that bastard, Hudson. I’ll be notified when he’s in custody.” I check my phone, but I have no new notices. “Look, until this case is tried, I think you should come and stay with me.” I run my thumb absently over his knuckles.
Reoffending often occurs in domestic violence cases, usually with increased aggression, and I couldn’t bear for this to happen to Ricky again. “Please don’t refuse.”
I glance up and catch a strange look on his face that makes my insides heat.
“Red’s welcome too, once we get her out. I won’t interfere in what you have, I just want to make sure you’re both safe.” I drop his hand, realizing that I’m caressing it, and he probably won’t like that after experiencing relationship trauma. Plus, most alphas are touch-sensitive and I’m not his pack.
He points a finger at me. “Red?” he rasps.
I shake my head. “I’ll be representing her as her lawyer, nothing else.” My voice cracks as I say it, threatening to expose my turbulent emotions. Best to change the subject. “Stay at least until we find you a new house, one with a nest and a sewing room for you. Some place where Hudson can’t reach you.” Persuasion comes naturally to me as part of my line of work, but a little guilt rides me as I tap into my best friend’s fears to motivate his choice. Well, so long as he’s safe from now on, it doesn’t matter.
Ricky’s chest heaves with a wheezy sigh, and he nods slowly. “For . . . now.”
A pulse of victory washes through me and I curl my fists up on my knees to contain the excitement. It’s a start—although of what, I’m not sure. The strange thing is, my hand starts to shake. I grind it down into my thigh to hide the tremor. Weird. Is it because my omega refused me, or because Rickon was injured? Or maybe something else is trying to claw its way free through my skin.
A rustle of paper catches my attention. Ricky opens the puzzle book and folds the spine all the way back to hold it with one hand. A different kind of itchiness overtakes me at such heathenish mutilation of a book. I jump up and roll over the bed table, carefully positioning it so he can set the book down flat.
He gives me a thumbs up while absently holding a pen between his lips. I can’t look away, and I can’t avoid the bruising around his neck.
I drop into my chair, gaze locked on him. A million things need my attention, but I don’t want to leave his side. What if I’d lost him today?
“You’re staring,” he whispers, not looking up.
“Is that a crime, or are you going to start charging me?” I mutter.
The corners of his mouth draw back in a smirk.
Rickon’s always been interesting to look at. He’s shaped differently from the alphas and betas I grew up around. More delicate, but without being fragile. He possesses a quiet intensity. And I know others can’t help looking either. Even the guy in the bed next to us was sneaking glances when I first walked in.
Rickon’s eyes flick up to me, and then he writes something down on the edge of his crossword. I don’t come cheap.
“Ha!” I dig into my pocket and drag out my wallet, secretly glad he’s feeling well enough to be playful. The bills crinkle softly as I draw out $250 in notes and set them down on the table. “That should get me half an hour, right?”
Ever so slowly, Ricky moves his pen across the table and uses the end to slide a fifty back toward me. Then he writes, I’m not as qualified as you.
I smile and tuck the note back in my wallet, pleased he’s taking the two hundred. I suspect he’ll spend it on his omega, but that suits me fine too. He proceeds to use the notes as a bookmark, making me chuckle. Yeah, I always knew he leaned toward being chaotic neutral. It also means I can stare at him as much as I want now.
It could be the evening light slanting through the window at the far end of the room, or maybe the unforgiving LEDs overhead, or maybe the bruises are darkening, but they stand out even more on his pale skin than before.
“I’m sorry, Ricky,” I say.
He glances up in surprise.
“I let you down, not knowing about your boyfriend, or what you were going through. I should’ve been with you when you brought your omega home, and when you went through your rut.” I flinch as I realize how that might sound. “Not, you know, with you like with you, but nearby, to see if you needed anything or whatever.” Fuck, this is like walking through those shop aisles to pick out a gift all over again. Land mines everywhere.
I scrub my hand over my face. “I’m sorry. That’s all.” He tilts his head to the side, studying me, and I heat with shame under that searching look. “I really am.”
Ricky nods. I’d like to hear the words of forgiveness, but he’s been wincing with every swallow, so I think he’s in too much pain to speak.
I lick my dry lips and glance at his crossword puzzle. “Also, two down is ‘susceptible’. Eleven-letter word meaning easily influenced.”
He rolls his eyes and flashes his middle finger.
The jumpy wariness in my heart settles as I cross my ankle onto my knee and lean back with a grin. “What’s another one you’re stuck on?”
While I tease him, another phrase settles into my vocabulary. Slow down . I never knew what Mom was asking when she told me to slow down, but for the next half hour I spend with my best friend at his hospital bedside, time really does seem to flow differently. Maybe it was never about what I do with my time, but about whom I spend it with.
And I’m discovering that much too late.