Chapter 4
FOUR
HOLLY
I push through the frosted glass door of the pharmacy, a little bell jingling cheerfully above my head.
The space is smaller than I expected—about a quarter the size of a standard chain pharmacy back home.
Shelves crammed with over-the-counter medications, toiletries, and what appears to be a bizarre collection of fishing lures line the narrow aisles.
The scent of antiseptic and old carpet fills my nose as I scan the store. No automated prescription pickup kiosk. No digital screen announcing wait times. Just a single counter at the back with handwritten signs on either end for drop-off and pickup.
Thankfully, Jackson is nowhere to be seen.
I’d hoped that coming during the lunch hour rather than the busier time after work would limit the likelihood of running into him.
Behind the counter stands a woman with purple-streaked hair pulled into a messy bun.
She looks up as the bell announces my arrival, eyes widening with interest when she spots me.
“Well, hello there.” Her smile is genuine, almost eager. “You must be the new doctor everyone’s talking about.”
Everyone? I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. The small town rumor mill must work with terrifying efficiency here.
“Holly Chang,” I confirm, approaching the counter. “I need to fill a prescription.”
“Aspen Ward,” she introduces herself, leaning forward on her elbows. “Pharmacy tech, gossip central, and your go-to guide for anything Heat Mountain related.”
I force a smile I hope seems natural as I slide the emergency prescription my doctor back home faxed over this morning. “Nice to meet you.”
Aspen takes the paper, eyes scanning it quickly. Her expression shifts, eyebrows rising slightly before she glances back at me with obvious curiosity.
“Heat suppressants?” She keeps her voice low, though we’re the only ones in the store. “Pretty strong ones too.”
My stomach drops. “Yes. How soon can you fill it?”
She taps the prescription paper against the counter, looking apologetic. “That’s the thing...we don’t have these in stock.”
“What?” My voice rises sharply before I can control it.
“We only keep a small supply of designation medications. Most omegas here fill in advance, if they use suppressants at all.” Aspen offers with an apologetic smile. “I can order them, but it’ll take at least two weeks with the shipping delays we’ve been having.”
Two weeks. I have four pills left. My hands tremble.
“That’s not acceptable,” I say, striving to keep my voice even. “This is a medical necessity.”
“I totally get that.” Aspen leans closer, dropping her voice even lower. “Look, there’s a heat supply store down on Spruce Street. They have some emergency products that can help ease you through until the shipment arrives.”
“I don’t need a heat supply store.” Heat flares in my cheeks. “I’m not an omega.”
“But the prescription is for—“
“I have a medical condition,” I cut her off, the lie bitter on my tongue.
I’m just glad I made a point of requesting my gynecologist’s office redact my designation before faxing the prescription.
Medical privacy laws, for the win. “An endocrine disorder that requires these suppressants to manage my hormone levels.”
Aspen’s expression shifts to skepticism. “Really? Because these are specifically formulated for omega heat cycle management.”
“I’m aware of what they’re designed for.” I keep my voice clipped, professional. “My condition mimics certain omega physiological responses, but I assure you, I am a beta.”
She studies me for a moment, head tilted. “That’s...unusual.”
“Yes, well, rare medical conditions exist.” I extend my hand for the prescription paper. “If you can’t fill it, I’ll need to look into other options.”
“The pharmacist is on lunch break right now,” Aspen adds quickly, seeing my distress. “He’ll be back in thirty minutes. We might be able to compound something similar to tide you over until the real prescription arrives.”
Compounding means getting the pharmacist involved. If Jackson isn’t an idiot, he’ll be on to me as soon as he sees the order.
“That won’t work,” I say, trying to keep the panic from my voice. “Switching suppressant formulations is going to give me…side effects. And you must know even omegas aren’t supposed to switch their heat suppressants without discussing it with their provider first, right?”
“Honestly, most of the omegas around here aren’t that interested in suppressing their heats.” Aspen’s eyebrows rise slightly, the question in her gaze before she puts it into words. “You seem to know a lot about omega medication for a beta with an endocrine disorder.”
I swallow hard. “I’m a medical doctor. We study all designations.”
My mind races through increasingly desperate calculations.
If I go into heat here, this rotation is over before it’s begun.
Back home, I could request medical leave—my residency program director thinks I have chronic migraines—but here, an unexpected week-long absence would destroy any chance at completing my wilderness medicine certification.
And this certification is everything I’ve ever wanted. I can’t put my career at risk this close to the finish line.
“I’ll need to make some calls,” I say, folding the prescription paper carefully. “Thank you for your time.”
The anxiety follows me out the door like a physical presence, constricting my chest with each step. Four pills. Two days to find a solution before my carefully constructed life falls apart completely.
“I really am sorry.” She hands back the paper prescription, genuine regret in her eyes. “The supply chain up here isn’t like in the cities. Sometimes basic medications take weeks to arrive, let alone specialty ones.”
My fingers close around the paper, panic building behind my carefully maintained expression. I need a different plan. Fast.
“The heat supply store,” I sigh. “What exactly do they carry?”
Aspen brightens. “Natural suppressants, like the homeopathic stuff. Not really the same as something prescription, but some people think they help. Comfort items too.” She lowers her voice again. “And toys, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.”
My cheeks burn hotter. “I’m not!”
“Hey, no judgment.” She raises her hands. “Even betas can appreciate a good knot—“
“Thank you for your help,” I interrupt, turning toward the door before she can finish that sentence. “I’ll look into alternatives.”
“Dr. Chang?”
I turn halfway toward her, itching to leave. “I really need to get back—“
“Just so you know, there are more omegas per capita in this town than pretty much anywhere else in the country. And we get plenty of bonded packs that come here for vacation. The heat supply store might be the best-stocked one in the world. Even as a beta, you should definitely check it out. There’s a good chance they have something that might help. ”
I clear my throat. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Aspen watches me go with a curious look on her face, and I try my best not to read too much into it. Whatever she thinks she suspects about me is something I just have to hope she keeps to herself.
Outside, the mountain air feels suddenly thin, insufficient for my lungs. I feel like a old blanket with loose threads, unraveling further with even the smallest amount of tension.
I could call my mother. She might be able to overnight me a new bottle of suppressants and is probably the only other people in the world who understand the urgency.
But then I’d be inviting a lecture about being so stupid as to waste a nearly full bottle of suppressants in the first place. I just refilled a 90-day supply for this rotation. Plenty to make it through if I hadn’t let most of them tumble down a sink drain.
Though a lecture is probably better than putting my entire medical career at risk.
I get back in my car, glancing at the dashboard clock. Thirty-seven minutes left on my lunch break. Just enough time to make the call I’m dreading but can’t avoid.
I pull my phone from my pocket and find my mother’s contact. My finger hovers over it for a long moment before I press call, holding my breath as it rings.
“You have reached Mei Chang. Please leave a message.”
Straight to voicemail. A mix of relief and frustration washes over me. I open my mouth to leave a message when my phone buzzes with an incoming video call—from my mother.
Of course, my mother wants to video chat.
With a sigh, I quickly smooth my hair with one hand before accepting. My mother’s face appears on screen, her expression already set in that familiar look of assessment and mild disapproval.
“Holly,” she says, studying me closely. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I answer automatically, my brain unable to keep up with the learned response to reassure her. “I just wanted to—“
“Your eyes have dark circles, like you’re not sleeping. And you’re calling in the middle of a workday. Something is wrong.”
I force a smile, any intention of asking her about suppressants withering. “Everything’s fine, Mom. I’m just settling into my rotation. Thought I’d check in.”
Her eyes narrow. “This rotation is critical for your career, I hope you’re keeping that in mind. You can’t afford mistakes. Please remember that.”
How could I possibly forget when she reminds me during every conversation?
“I remember. I’m working hard.”
“Working hard is not enough. You must be exceptional.” She adjusts her perfectly styled hair. “Do you know what I would have given for an opportunity like this at your age?”
I brace myself for what’s coming next.
“When I was young, I wanted to be a doctor too.” Her voice softens for a beat, before she takes a deep breath and she is back in tiger mom mode. “I don’t have the options that you do now.”
The weight of her sacrificed dreams settles on my shoulders once again. It’s why she pushed so hard for me to hide my designation, to suppress my biology. To have the opportunities she never had.
She wants me to be grateful, even though she knows my options aren’t exactly perfect.
I don’t hide my designation for fun, but because of how much it would hold me back if anyone knew.
It isn’t technically legal to discriminate, but that doesn’t stop medical schools from shuttling the few omegas who make it through almost exclusively into gynecology or pediatrics or denying them residency slots for the flimsiest reasons that won’t trigger a lawsuit.
Getting matched to a residency program is so competitive that it’s impossible to prove why any individual person wasn’t selected.
And if they catch you lying about your designation, the true accusation of fraud is enough to justify kicking out any omega who gets caught.
Emergency medicine has an even lower amount of designation diversity than even surgery does.
The traditional, old guard alphas who still dominate as medical chiefs and department heads will find any excuse they can to claim that an omega doesn’t have what it takes for the more demanding specialties.
Not giving us time off class or clinical rotations for their heats because it would be unfair to our peers.
Or claiming that having an omega doctor might be triggering for an alpha patient in a crisis are just a few examples that I’ve seen with my own eyes.
The day that my residency program discovers I’m omega will be the same one that they toss me out on my ass.
My voice sounds small even to my own ears. “I know, Mom.”
“You have everything I didn’t have. The right paperwork. The right medications.” Her eyes bore into mine through the screen. “You are taking your herbs like you’re supposed to, right? Two times a day, with an extra dose for the last week of every month?”
If only I’d accidentally trashed the foul-tasting herbal supplement she buys by the barrel-full from a TCM shop in Chinatown.
She basically gave me a lifetime supply of it before I left for college and I have at least three extra bottles of it in my luggage.
The stuff is completely unregulated, but it works better than anything else to hide my scent and ensure I present as a beta.
“I’m using the herbs every day, Mom. I promise.”
“Good. This a great opportunity for you. Don’t do anything to let it go to waste.”
The irony of her statement—as I sit here with five conventional medicine pills that I’m somehow unable to replace standing between me and disaster—makes my throat tighten. I should tell her about the medications, ask for help. But the disappointment that would follow feels impossible to bear.
“I won’t,” I promise, the lie burning my tongue.