Chapter 21 - Fern
Three days of nausea, and I’m sick of being sick.
I press my palm against my stomach as another wave rolls through me, waiting for it to pass before I reach for my coffee.
The medical center’s break room is quiet this early in the morning, just me and the ancient coffee maker that gurgles like it’s on its last legs.
I take a sip and immediately regret it. The smell alone makes my stomach lurch, and I have to set the mug down before I gag.
This is getting ridiculous. I’ve barely been able to keep anything down since the night Robbie broke into my cottage.
The pack tracked him all the way to the Ridgeback territory border before they had to stop, unable to cross without permission from the neighboring Alpha.
Connor told me they’re working on it, that Nic has reached out through official channels, but these things take time.
Diplomacy between packs is apparently just as slow and frustrating as diplomacy between nations.
In the meantime, I’m stuck here. Waiting. Wondering when Robbie will pop up again, because I know he will. He always does.
“You look awful.”
I glance up to find Skylar leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed with concern. She’s been my closest friend here since I started, always ready with a kind word or a piece of gossip about pack politics. Right now, though, I could do without her observation skills.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear first thing in the morning.”
“I’m serious.” She crosses to the counter and pours herself a cup from the same questionable pot. “You’ve been green around the gills for days now. Have you seen one of the doctors?”
“It’s just stress. It’ll pass.”
Skylar takes a long sip of her coffee, watching me over the rim. “Stress can do a number on the body, but this seems like something else.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs, but there’s a knowing look in her eyes that I don’t like. “I’m just saying. The timing is interesting.”
“Interesting how?”
“Well.” She sets her mug down and leans against the counter, getting comfortable like she’s settling in for a long conversation.
“You’ve been sick every morning for three days.
You can’t stand the smell of coffee anymore, which is new because you used to drink three cups before lunch.
Your appetite is all over the place. And unless my nose is completely broken, you’ve been spending a lot of time with a certain security officer lately. ”
My cheeks flush with heat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Skylar laughs, the sound warm but pointed. “Fern. I’m a shifter. I can smell him all over you. Have been able to pretty much since the ceremony over a month ago. His scent is practically embedded in your skin at this point.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. He’s been helping me with the Robbie situation. We’ve spent time together because of that.”
“Helping you.” She raises an eyebrow. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“Skylar, I’m serious.”
“So am I.” She grins, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“If a man smelled that strongly on me, it would be because we’d done a lot more than talk about security protocols.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
You two are fated, after all. The lottery matched you for a reason. It was bound to happen eventually.”
I open my mouth to argue, to insist that she’s reading too much into things, but another wave of nausea cuts me off.
I grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white, breathing through my nose until it passes.
When I finally look up, Skylar’s amusement has faded into something more serious.
“Fern, have you considered that maybe you’re not sick? That maybe you’re… You know.”
“No.” The word comes out too fast, too forceful. “Absolutely not. That’s not possible.”
“It would explain the symptoms. The morning sickness, the sensitivity to smells, the mood swings—”
“I haven’t had mood swings.”
“You cried at a commercial for dog food yesterday.”
“It was a sad commercial. The dog was waiting for its owner to come home.”
Skylar gives me a look that says she’s not buying it. “The owner came home at the end. It was a happy ending.”
“I was crying happy tears.”
“Fern.”
“I’m not pregnant, Skylar.” I force myself to meet her eyes, to hold her gaze without flinching. “Connor and I haven’t… We haven’t done anything. We’re just working together on catching Robbie. That’s all there is between us.”
The lie burns in my throat. I think of the kitchen counter, the way his hands held my waist, how he kissed me like he was drowning and I was oxygen.
I think of the clearing after our mating ceremony, the feeling of him moving inside me while my back pressed against rough bark.
I think of every stolen moment, every heated glance, every time we’ve given in to the pull between us.
Skylar studies me for a long moment, and I can tell she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
“Okay.” She holds up her hands in surrender, though her eyes still hold that knowing glint.
“But if you change your mind and want to talk about it, you know where to find me. There’s no shame in sleeping with your fated mate, Fern.
That’s literally what the lottery is for.
The whole point is to bring compatible pairs together. ”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I push away from the counter and dump my untouched coffee in the sink, watching the brown liquid swirl down the drain. “I should get to my office. I have a patient in twenty minutes, and I need to review my notes.”
“Fern, wait—”
“I’ll see you at lunch.”
I escape before she can say anything else. The hallway stretches ahead of me with the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, and my stomach churns with every step. I press my hand against it again, a habit I’ve developed over the past few days, willing the nausea to subside.
Pregnant. The word echoes in my head, bouncing around my skull like a pinball.
I can’t be pregnant. I’ve been careful. Mostly careful.
There was that first time in the woods, right after the ceremony, when neither of us was thinking about anything except each other.
Everything happened so fast, and protection was the last thing on either of our minds.
And the other time, after the break-in, when I was so scared, and he was so warm and solid and safe that I just needed to feel something other than fear.
Okay. Maybe I haven’t been that careful.
But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m on birth control. Although…birth control fails sometimes. But not that often. The odds are in my favor.
This is just stress, just my body reacting to everything that’s happened with Robbie.
The break-in. The constant looking over my shoulder.
The knowledge that he’s out there somewhere, watching, waiting for another opportunity.
Once they catch him, once I can finally relax and feel safe again, the sickness will go away.
It has to. Because the alternative is too terrifying to consider.
I round the corner toward my office and stop dead in my tracks.
The door is open. I always close it when I leave. Always.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I approach, one careful step at a time.
Maybe I forgot this morning. I was distracted, still groggy from another restless night.
Maybe the cleaning staff came through early and left it open by accident.
Maybe there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation that doesn’t involve—
“Hello, Fern.”
The voice freezes me in place.
Robbie stands in the middle of my office with his hands clasped behind his back.
A bruise covers his right temple where I hit him with the lamp, purple and yellow around the edges, a week old and still healing.
He looks thinner than I remember; his cheeks are hollow, and his eyes sunken with dark circles beneath them.
But the smile on his face is exactly the same. Warm. Charming. Dangerous.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he continues in a conversational tone. “We need to talk.”
“Get out,” I snap. “Get out of my office right now.”
“That’s not very friendly.” He takes an unhurried step toward me. “I came all this way to see you, drove for days, tracked you across state lines, and that’s the greeting I get? Not even a hello?”
“I mean it, Robbie. Leave, or I’ll scream for security.”
“Go ahead.” He gestures toward the door with an open palm. “Call for help. But you might want to hear what I have to say first.”
I should run. I should turn around and sprint down the hallway and find Connor or Dylan or anyone who can make Robbie disappear. But something in his tone roots me to the spot. A warning. A threat hiding behind that pleasant, practiced smile.
“Say it and get out.”
“I know about your new boyfriend. The big one with the muscles and the attitude. Connor, isn’t it? I’ve been watching you two together. The way he looks at you. The way you look at him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me.” He takes another step closer, and his hands drop to his sides. “I hate it when you lie to me, Fern. You know that. You know how much I hate it.”
“We broke up, Robbie. Over a year ago. You don’t get to have an opinion about who I spend my time with anymore.”
He barks out a laugh and asks, “Broke up? We didn’t break up. You left. In the middle of the night, like a coward. I woke up, and you were just gone. No note, no explanation, no forwarding address. Nothing. And then you did it again six months ago.”
“Because you hit me.” The words burst out before I can stop them. “You hit me, Robbie. You choked me. You made me feel like I was losing my mind, like I couldn’t trust my own memories. I left because I was afraid you were going to kill me.”
“I never would have hurt you.” His voice drops low, wounded, like I’m the one who wronged him. “Everything I did was because I loved you. Because I wanted us to work. You’re the one who gave up. You’re the one who ran away instead of fighting for us.”
“There was nothing to fight for. There was nothing left worth saving.”
“And now you’re here.” He spreads his arms wide, gesturing at my office, at the medical center, at Silvercreek itself.
“Hiding in the middle of nowhere. Playing house with some new man who thinks he can protect you. Did you tell him about us, Fern? Did you tell him what you did? How you abandoned me without a word?”
“I told him enough.”
“I bet you made yourself the victim.” Robbie’s lip curls. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Twist everything around so you’re never the one at fault. Poor little Fern, always running away from her problems.”
“I’m not running anymore.”
“No?” He takes another step, and suddenly, he’s right there, inches away, close enough that I can see the broken blood vessels in his eyes. “Then why do you look so scared?”
“Stay away from me.”
“Or what? You’ll call your new boyfriend to come save you?” His voice drips with contempt. “I’ve seen him, you know. Watched him patrol this little town like he owns the place. He thinks he’s so tough. But he’s not here now, is he? Right now, it’s just you and me. Just like old times.”
I back up until my shoulders hit the wall. “The people here will find you. Connor will find you. And when he does—”
“When he does, what? He’ll beat me up? Call the cops?” Robbie leans in close, his breath hot against my face, stale and sour. “Let him try. I’m not afraid of your boyfriend, Fern. I’m not afraid of anyone in this backwards little town.”
“You should be.”
“And you should remember who you belong to.”
His hand closes around my throat. Not squeezing, not yet, just resting there. A reminder. A promise of what he could do if he wanted. He presses his thumb against my pulse point, and I know he can feel how fast my heart is racing.
And that’s when I bring my knee up hard between his legs.
Robbie doubles over with a grunt of pain, and his grip on my throat loosens. I shove past him and lunge for the door, freedom just steps away—
His hand closes around my ankle before I make it halfway there.
I hit the ground hard. My palms slap against the tile, and the impact drives the breath from my lungs. I try to kick free, but his grip is iron as his fingers dig into my skin hard enough to bruise.
“You stupid bitch.” He drags me back toward him while I scrape my nails uselessly against the floor. “Did you really think that would work twice?”
I twist onto my back and kick at him with my free leg. My heel connects with his shoulder, then his chin, and he swears and loses his grip. I scramble to my feet, heart pounding, lungs burning. The door is so close. Five steps, maybe less. I can make it.
But Robbie tackles me from behind.
We crash into my desk, and something shatters. My elbow connects with his face, and he howls, but his weight keeps me pinned against the wood. I thrash beneath him, screaming for help, praying someone will hear me through these walls.
His fist connects with my cheek, and the world goes white.