Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
SKYLAR
I slowly swivel side to side in my desk chair, staring blankly ahead as my mind wanders. I’ve asked myself the same question at least a dozen times, but I’m no closer to an answer than I was an hour ago when I left Riann’s exam room.
What the hell was that?
I take a deep breath, then another, trying to collect myself. Riann’s marshmallow perfume is burned into my brain, as is every stunning detail of her face. Her vibrant red hair, her piercing blue eyes, her pouty lips…
My heart hammers in my chest, the thud of my pulse loud in my ears as I try to understand what’s happening.
She’s not my scent match—at least, I don’t think she is—but there’s definitely something there. A desperate need, an intense desire. I’ve never felt like this about an omega before, especially one I just met.
It's unsettling, and I blow out a hurried breath, dragging a hand through my hair.
None of this makes sense.
She's a patient, not a potential mate.
Not to mention, she's not an omega. She probably doesn’t even want an alpha in her life.
And she's nineteen… That’s a seven year age gap.
I groan and drop my head back, staring up at the ceiling. There’s no way I can entertain this—any of it. I just have to get through the tests, figure out what the last clinic couldn’t, and send her on her way.
A knock at the door makes me jump, and I quickly compose myself.
“Dr. Morales,” a beta nurse says, poking her head in the door. Her dark hair is tied back into a long ponytail. “The test results for Miss Saunders are in.” She waves a folder in the air. “Do you want them on your desk?”
“Umm, y-yes. Yes.” I clear my throat. “That’ll be fine.”
Her brows knit together, and she purses her lips. “Are you okay?”
I freeze, mustering every shred of professionalism I can. “I’m fine, Mackenzie. Why do you ask?”
“You just seem a bit… frazzled, that’s all.” She hesitates like she’s trying to decide whether or not to press the issue, before stepping inside to put the folder on my desk. Then, she slips back into the hall.
I wait until the door clicks closed before I snatch up the folder, desperate to know the results.
I ordered a deep pheromone diagnostic, as well as the most in-depth blood panel we offer, to rule out anything the last clinic might have missed.
Basically, a charcuterie board of tests, and I have high hopes that one of them will have picked up on something.
Hopefully, it’s an easy fix, and I can start putting all this behind me once Riann leaves.
My eyes spill over the paper inside, drinking in the information. I read the results once. Blink like it’ll somehow change the text on the paper. Read them again.
“What the…?” I slow down and read them for a third time.
Every last test is normal.
Fuck.
So much for an easy diagnosis…
Normal results mean we’re back to square one. We’ll have to run more obscure tests, but I can barely focus enough to consider which ones. The only thing I can think about is marching back to that exam room and drowning myself in the sweet, gooey scent I can’t get off my mind.
The minutes drag by as I sit at my desk, staring down at the results. When I realize I’ve stalled too long, I grab up the folder and head for Riann’s exam room.
Mulling over the information in my hands—or lack thereof—I run through the practiced script I use to break unwanted news to patients. Then, I try to reword it to soften the blow.
How can I break the news to her so she resents me a little less?
How would I break the news if she was my mate?
I stop short, just outside her door, and scold myself. My insides twist at the thought, and I quickly shove it away.
She’s not my mate.
She could never be my mate.
Even if she was an omega, she wouldn’t want an alpha like me. I can’t offer her a pack or a mansion, though my two-story house on the lake is spacious enough for two people. Besides, the omegas I’ve dated didn’t think I was enough to keep them happy.
Why would she?
Pressing two fingers against my temple, I massage away the headache starting to form. If I can’t control myself, I might see if our part-time specialist—Dr. Martin—can take her on as a patient when he gets back. She can stay in the hotel next door until then.
I could say something came up, that there was a conflict of interest.
I could tell him that I can’t properly diagnose her when the only thing I can think about is nuzzling my face into her neck and breathing in her scent until it's permanently embedded in my lungs…
That I want to pin her against a wall and kiss her until neither of us can breathe…
Shit.
I’m in so much trouble.
With a knock, I step into the room. The second her blue eyes find mine, heat spreads through my center, and I try my best to ignore it. I divert my gaze, pretending to be interested in the chart I’m holding and not the way her pouty lips are parted.
“So,” she says. “What’s the verdict? Am I broken?”
At her question, I’m able to summon a bit of my professionalism. She’s here for answers, not to have an unbound alpha pining over her. She wants to get her life back to normal, and right now I’m the only person who can help.
“The good news is that I don’t think you’re broken,” I start, trying to lighten the mood before I deliver the test results. I look up again and catch the hint of worry in her gaze, which makes my chest tight. “The less good news is that we didn’t find anything abnormal with our first set of tests.”
Her face falls, and my knee-jerk impulse is to step forward and place a hand on her shoulder. I want to comfort her, in whatever way I can, but I know that touching her in any capacity will ruin me. I won’t want to stop.
Fighting the urge, I stay rooted to the spot.
“That isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” I assure her. “It just means that the most common things we test for have been ruled out, so we’re one step closer to answers.”
She doesn’t look reassured, and the disappointment on her face twists my insides into knots.
“And if they all come back normal?” she asks, glaring at me. “If you run every test you can think of, and there’s not a diagnosis?”
The fear in her voice is clear. There’s no telling how many tests she’s already gone through if the last clinic wasn’t the only one she visited. I doubt it was; no one would fly here without seeking a second or third opinion first.
“Try not to worry,” I say, rubbing the back of my head to relieve some of the awkward tension building in me. Keeping my hands occupied abates the need to touch her, to comfort her, if only a little.
I definitely need to work out some of this frustration on my lunch break, and I don’t think squats are going to cut it.
Maybe some reverse lunges…
Or a ten-mile run…
“We’ll get it figured out, alright?” I try to smile.
She nods and shifts, her feet swinging off the edge of the exam table. She’s small and petite, with the typical build of most omegas. Cute. Adorable, even. I bet she’s the perfect size to be a little spoon.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, Skylar.
“I trust you,” she says finally, but her tone isn’t very convincing.
Is she saying it for my benefit? Or trying to make herself believe it? Normally, I’d think it was the latter, but a waft of marshmallow makes my knees weak and my head spin.
I’ve got to get out of this room now, before I do something I’ll regret.
“What I’d like to try next is a low-dose pheromone injection,” I say, eager to escape the room that’s growing smaller by the second.
Rather than moving to sit at the desk, which is closer to the exam table, I stand next to the door and write notes in Riann’s chart.
“You’ll come in tomorrow morning and we’ll check your levels to see how you respond to them. Then, we’ll go from there. Sound good?”
“Umm… yeah. Sounds good,” she says quietly. She opens her mouth like she wants to say something else, but quickly closes it.
Before I’m tempted to ask what’s on her mind, I flash another smile and take a backward step toward the door, fumbling to reach for the handle behind me.
“Great. I’ll send the nurse back in, and she’ll get that for you.”
Then, I fly out of the room and hurry toward my office, nearly barreling over a nurse in the process.