Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
SKYLAR
A smile plays on my lips as I step into the Buchanan Center, Riann’s vial of blood tucked securely in my messenger bag. I haven't been able to get her out of my head since I left her room.
I never planned to stay the night—it was possibly the dumbest thing I could have done—but I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
I'd fall asleep next to her every night if she'd let me.
Having her tucked up against me, her soft snores the only thing to break the silence, quieted something inside me that I hadn't realized was fighting to be heard. For the first time, possibly ever, my alpha instincts were completely content. Settled. Reassured.
And that scares the shit out of me.
As much as I've tried to shove the thought from my mind, a dark truth lurks at the corners of my mind, threatening to rip apart the fairytale I've found myself in.
What happens when she leaves? What happens when she goes home and we move on with our lives?
What then?
I can't afford to think about it right now.
Like I promised Riann, I woke up early this morning, before sunrise. I took her blood sample, went home to change, and still made it to the office before anyone else. All the better for me.
If I can get things moving quickly this morning, I can have the sequenced DNA by the end of my shift.
I can have answers today…
A mix of adrenaline and nerves fuel my hurried steps as I make my way to the lab upstairs, flipping on the lights and firing up the machines.
The room is long and narrow, with stainless-steel tables spaced evenly throughout and bulky equipment shoved against the walls. Glass shelves are topped with a wild array of tubes, vials, and solutions, the fluorescents overhead glaring against the white floors and walls.
A sense of nostalgia sets in as I make my way across the room—it’s been at least five years since I’ve done any hands-on lab work like this.
Muscle memory kicks in, and I go through the motions like I haven’t missed a day in the lab.
Extracting the DNA is the easy part; it’s everything that comes after that makes this difficult.
Sequencing an entire strand of DNA could take days or weeks, but I'm starting small by focusing on a single chromosome; the same one the alpha and omega markers exist on.
If there’s something different about Riann’s genes, my best guess is that I’ll find it there.
I load the DNA into the sequencer—a large metal box with a window in the front—and hit the start button.
Then I pull out my phone to check the time. It's early, but I told Riann I would keep her updated, especially since she isn’t coming into the office today. Besides, sending her updates gives me a reason to talk to her.
Good morning, preciosa. I've just loaded your DNA into the sequencer. We should have results by this afternoon.
To my surprise, she replies right after.
Riann: You work fast. I’m excited.
Riann: Will I get to see you again today?
A smile works across my face at the message. How could I possibly tell her no when the only thing I want to do after work is go straight to her hotel room?
Do you want to see me?
Riann: It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
My laugh echoes through the lab, and I can’t fight the goofy grin that crosses my face. How did I go from railing her in my office to being giddy like a high-schooler talking to their crush?
This is insane.
And I’m enjoying every second of it.
That could be arranged. I’ll let you know for sure by the end of my shift.
Then, I head back downstairs to my office to get ready for the day.
The hours drag, the minutes crawling by on their hands and knees. I do everything I can to distract myself, from reorganizing my filing cabinet to stretching and doing upper body workouts on my lunch break. But nothing helps speed up the time; if anything, it makes it pass slower.
In an attempt to abate my restless boredom, I send an email to some of the other leading designation research facilities that we work with, and even some that we don’t. Hopefully one of them will have seen someone like Riann, with her peculiar symptoms and test results.
Then, I wait some more.
I’m dozing in my office chair, head propped on one of my hands, when someone knocks on the door. I shoot upright, blinking as I get my bearings.
“Yes?” I blurt, straightening my tie. “Come in.”
I expect to see one of the nurses, but a lanky lab tech pokes his head in the door.
“Your sequencing is finished, Dr. Morales,” he says. “Figured I’d let you know on my way out.”
“Thanks, Zakk.”
Adrenaline slams into me as he closes the door again, and I reach for my laptop with shaky fingers. It takes seconds to log into the research center database, but it feels like much longer. My body is threatening to vibrate apart at the seams, and I can’t seem to move fast enough.
A few clicks and the link to a massive zip file appears, glowing in the middle of my screen like a ray of hope. I brace myself, taking a deep breath, and then wait for the sequence to load.
Everything so far has led to this moment, and my chest constricts with the possibilities. Riann’s life—and mine—could all change in a matter of minutes.
The first page of the file is a colorful diagram of chromosome 8, each line representative of what makes Riann exactly who she is. It’s always been fascinating to me how something so complicated as a human can be broken down into billions of letters on a screen.
My eyes jump to the part of the chromosome where the alpha and omega genes reside, searching in vain for either marker.
I’m not surprised at all when neither is turned on, but I had to be sure.
Reassured, I comb over the surrounding area, zooming in and looking for unusual markers I’ve never seen before.
Blood pounds in my ears as my eyes rove over the data, and my heart trips over itself when I notice an unfamiliar marker lit up on the screen. It’s equidistant between where the alpha and omega markers should be.
“That’s not possible,” I whisper to the empty room, trying to understand what I’m looking at.
My head spins as reality crashes around me, and I sit back in my chair, unable to tear my eyes from the screen.
Whatever this gene is, I’ve never seen it before. It shouldn’t be there, and yet… there it is.
What does it mean? I don’t know.
All I can think about is Riann—my sweet, precious omega—and what this means for her.
That, as she feared, she’s not an omega.
Her blood tests weren’t wrong, she lacks the alpha and omega compounds in her blood, but it didn’t tell us anything else because we don’t have a test for whatever the hell that is.
I force an unsteady breath and run trembling fingers through my hair. I can’t breathe, and I can’t think, faced with this new information.
My phone pings, but I barely hear it. My pulse is pounding in my ears, and I’m struggling to keep up with my whirling thoughts.
I’ve never had a panic attack, but I’m pretty sure I’m on the brink of one.
I drag Riann’s tank top out of the top drawer of my desk and bring it to my nose, inhaling deeply to calm myself.
Once my anxiety has settled, I reach for my phone and find a message from her.
Riann: Any news?
Fuck. I stare at those two simple words, and my stomach knots.
I want to tell her what I found, even though I’m not sure what it is yet, but that’s too heavy of a topic to broach over a text. I could call her, but it still feels too impersonal.
I could go to her room…
But then what? I’d drop this bombshell on her and expect her to be just peachy afterward. Would I end up holding her as she sobs all night?
I wouldn’t mind—I’d do whatever she needs me to do—but that still feels unfair. The responsible thing to do is wait until she comes into the office tomorrow. It’s professional, respectable. It’s what I’m supposed to fucking do. It’s what I would do for any other patient…
No, I can’t go to her room, and I can’t tell her about any of this until she’s here at the clinic. No matter how badly I want to.
Working my jaw back and forth, I punch the call button and put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” She answers a beat later.
“Hey,” I say, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. “What are you doing?”
“Just watching TV; there’s not much else to do here at the hotel.” She pauses. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything is…” My voice trails off before I can lie and tell her everything is fine.
I quickly backtrack and try again. “No real news yet, but we’re making progress.
” I wince; that’ll have to be good enough.
“I wanted to call and apologize instead of just texting you. Something came up, so I won’t be able to see you after work today. ”
“Oh…” My heart wrenches at the disappointment-laden syllable.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose, mentally kicking myself for doing this, but it really is what’s best. And I have to remind myself that I’m her doctor first. Lover—or whatever I am to her—second.
“I’m truly sorry,” I say, rocking my head back to stare up at the ceiling. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“It’s okay, I understand. Shit happens.” She chuckles lightly, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about the situation. “Should I come into the office tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I answer a little too quickly and clear my throat to cover it up. “Yes. Preferably early. It doesn’t matter what time; I’ll fit you in when you get here.”
“Alright, I’ll see you then.”
With a pang of disappointment, I hang up and scrub my hands over my face. Now that that’s handled, I can try to focus on more important things: like how the hell I’m supposed to break this news to her tomorrow.
How can I possibly sum up what it means for her? What it means for me?
Hell, what it means for the entire world of research?
After staring at her sequenced DNA for another minute, I close out of the program and hop over to my email, on the off chance that any of the other research facilities have replied. It’s a long shot, being that it’s Friday, and I didn’t send the message until after lunch.
My eyes flick over the subject lines in my inbox:
Beat the heat with savings! 10% off all suppressants
The rut, the bad, and the ugly; Fix those alpha pheromones.
Undetermined Patient
My heart threatens to slam through my ribcage as I click the most recent email, and my eyes grow wide as I read over the message.
“Oh shit…”