Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Simon
By the time I get to the hospital, I’m running on fumes and sheer muscle memory. My body’s here, but my brain is still in the mess of heat, sweat, and scent I left in that bed.
I go straight to my office without speaking to anyone.
There’s a plastic garment bag hanging on the hook behind my door. I keep a couple extra changes of clothes here for emergencies, but I’ve never been more grateful for that foresight than I am right now.
I strip quickly, dropping the wrinkled T-shirt and jeans into the small laundry bin in the corner. Everything still smells like her. I could burn it all and still smell her for a week.
My skin is clean—we all showered before we left—but the phantom heat is still under the surface.
I pull on fresh scrubs, the light blue fabric a little too crisp after three days in soft cotton. Next, a white coat, sleeves rolled to the elbows.
My hands move automatically, tucking my stethoscope into my pocket, checking for my penlight, and ID badge clipped to my chest. I’m functioning, but my head’s nowhere close to clear.
The extra peppermint bottle sits in its usual spot on the corner of my desk, next to the ceramic mug full of pens. I pick it up, unscrew the lid, and inhale sharply.
The bite of it hits my sinuses hard, a clean, bracing sting. I close my eyes and force a slow breath in.
One. Two. Three.
If I don’t reset, I’m going to spend the entire night imagining her here in my office. Bent over this desk, her cheek pressed to the cold surface, her scent thickening the air until I can think of nothing but driving into her repeatedly…
“Stop,” I mutter under my breath, setting the bottle down harder than I mean to. The sound echoes too loudly in the small room.
I press the intercom button on my phone.
“Becca? Can you come in here for a second?”
The door opens a moment later. Becca steps in, sharp-eyed, one of the best nurse practitioners I’ve ever worked with. She doesn’t waste words.
“You get the Sensurex delivery I told you about?” I ask, reaching for the clipboard on my desk. My voice comes out rougher than intended.
“It came in yesterday morning,” she says. “You want me to pull some for you?”
“Yes. We’re running low on the on-call stock.” I pause. “Anything else I should know about before I start rounds?”
She runs me through the patient list—one appendectomy post-op, a couple of OB checks, and an elderly Alpha with pneumonia in room six. I nod through it, making notes on my clipboard.
When she’s gone, I take another deep breath and focus on the stack of charts waiting for me.
Paperwork is grounding—methodical, transparent, predictable. I review the patients’ vitals, lab reports, and progress notes. My pen moves steadily down the pages, signing off orders, jotting clarifications.
By the time I step out into the hallway, the ward is in full swing. Voices carry down the corridor—a baby crying in pediatrics, the low murmur of two residents discussing a case.
I head toward the first patient room, chart in hand.
The whispering starts about halfway there.
It’s subtle at first—a nurse’s voice cutting off mid-sentence when I pass, two orderlies glancing my way before ducking into a supply closet.
My jaw tightens. I ignore it. Or I try to.
Rounds take an hour. By the time I’m heading back toward my office, the tension in the air is thicker than it was when I arrived. I find Becca at the nurse’s station, tapping notes into the computer.
“What’s going on?” I ask quietly. “Everyone’s looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.”
She hesitates. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
Becca glances toward the hallway, then back at me. “Your car. People saw it parked outside Fox and Fern for quite some time. And Mick says that the night before you parked it there, you and your friends basically hightailed out of The Smokehouse.”
I freeze.
She keeps going. “And since you’ve never been seen there with any Omega before, and no one’s seen you in three days… you know how this town is. They’re curious.”
“Curious,” I repeat flatly. “Meaning they’re gossiping.”
Her expression is careful. “Pretty much.”
I curse under my breath. “Tell them to mind their own business. Shut it down.”
“Simon…”
“I’m serious. I don’t care what they think they saw. It’s none of their damn concern.” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but I’m in no mood to soften it.
She nods slowly. “I’ll see what I can do.”
When she’s gone, I head back into my office, shutting the door harder than necessary. I press the heel of my hand to my eyes, willing the spike of irritation to fade.
I knew this was a possibility. I’ve lived in this town long enough to know how fast stories spread—faster if there’s no concrete detail to pin them to.
And still, it’s only been three fucking days.
Three days of not thinking about the outside world. Three days of letting biology and instinct drive every decision. Three days of her.
And now I’m supposed to walk back into my life like nothing happened.
I drop into my chair, rubbing a hand over my face. My body’s exhausted enough that I could fall asleep right here, but my brain’s wired.
It keeps trying to replay the last seventy-two hours in high-definition detail—the sound of her voice breaking, the way her skin flushed when she came, the exact pitch of her scent when she begged.
I need to focus. I have patients. I have a hospital to run.
But the truth is, I could use another three days off. Not just to rest, but to get my head on straight before I run into her again.
Because right now, the idea of seeing her in daylight, fully clothed, and pretending we’re just acquaintances?
I’m not sure I could pull it off.
It’s barely light out when the knock comes.
For a second, I think I’ve imagined it. I’m half-buried in my bed, head still heavy from only two hours of sleep.
I dragged myself in at six-thirty this morning, dropped my bag by the door, and collapsed without bothering to undress.
The knock comes again—sharper this time. Persistent.
I curse under my breath, pushing myself upright. My muscles protest. Every part of me feels sluggish, like I’m still wading through the aftermath of Wren’s heat and three days of no real rest.
When I open the door, Beau’s standing there with a cardboard drink carrier in one hand. He looks irritatingly awake.
Levi’s behind him in a jacket, dark jeans, hair in place.
“It’s barely eight,” I mutter. My voice comes out rough.
Beau holds up the coffees like a peace offering. “Brought you this.”
I eye him. “Why the hell are you here? And how are you not more tired? You pulled an all-nighter like I did.”
He shrugs. “Slow night. Caught some shut-eye.” Then, without waiting for an invitation, he shoulders his way past me and heads for the living room.
I curse quietly and take one of the cups from the carrier before he gets too far. The heat of it seeps into my hands, the bitter smell cutting through some of the fog in my head. I take a sip. Strong. Thank God.
“Why are the two of you here?”
Levi raises both hands like he’s distancing himself from whatever’s happening. “Don’t look at me. Beau caught me as I was heading to work.”
We end up in the living room—me sinking into the far corner of the couch, Beau sprawling in the middle like he owns the place, Levi perched on the armchair opposite.
Beau glances around, sipping his coffee. “We really should come over one day and paint this place. Give it some color.”
I arch a brow. “Is that why you’re at my door at eight in the morning?”
He grins. “Not exactly.”
Levi leans back, one ankle propped on his knee. “Then what?”
Beau sets his cup down on the coffee table, expression shifting from casual to something a little more serious. “The town knows.”
Of course they do.
Levi groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Fuck. I do not want to deal with this.”
Beau’s quick to shake his head. “That’s not it. I mean, yeah, Roxy told me that’s what everyone’s been talking about, but…” He hesitates. “I wanted to know if either of you talked to her since we left.”
Levi and I answer at the same time. “No.”
Beau nods like he suspected as much. “She hasn’t texted the group chat either. I was wondering if maybe she heard the rumors.”
“Possibly not,” I say, setting my coffee down. “If we’re this exhausted, she must feel like a truck ran her over. She’s probably just resting.”
Beau tilts his head, considering. “We could go see her. Check in.”
Levi nods. “Yeah.”
I hold up a hand. “No. Not a good idea. She needs space. Let her come to us.”
They both look at me like I’ve grown a second head.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “She’s only ever been with Betas.
There’s obviously something bigger going on there—something we don’t know.
And the fact is, we as a pack had a group session.
We fucked her… a lot. It must have been new and a lot to take in, especially for an Omega who had never even experienced it in the first place.
That’s not nothing. But if we show up on her doorstep right now, we risk pushing her into something she might not be ready for. ”
Levi frowns. “Something like what?”
“Like her joining the pack? Look, I’m sure she’s confused and flooded with hormones. What if the sex convinced her that this was something it was not?” I try to explain.
“I don’t like your implication, Simon. We like her, don’t we?
And if we just ghosted her, wouldn’t that be worse?
If there are as many hormones in her as you say, wouldn’t she feel abandoned?
I don’t want her to think the sex was just out of convenience.
I want her to know that we like her. Or at least, I know for a fact that I do,” Beau bites back.
“I know,” I say, unable to admit to my friends just how much I like her too, or how much it fucking terrifies me.
“But liking her doesn’t mean we rush her into anything.
Not to be a downer, but what exactly would we even be rushing her into?
We’ve never talked about claiming an Omega.
Ever. That’s a decision we make as a pack—without pheromones clouding our judgment. ”
Beau smirks faintly. “You saying the sex wasn’t worth it?”
I give him a flat look. “It was fantastic. That’s not the point.”
Levi shifts in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “You’re saying… give it time.”
“Exactly. We don’t know if she’s here to stay. We don’t know anything other than she went into heat, we were there, and it happened. So, we wait. Let her approach us. Then we talk about what this is.”
Beau blows out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “I hate waiting.”
I smirk faintly. “You’ll survive.”
Levi’s the first to nod, reluctantly. “Alright. We wait. But if she reaches out—”
“Then we take it from there,” I finish.
They both seem to settle at that, the edge of restless energy in the room easing slightly. Beau leans back against the couch cushions, crossing his ankles. Levi checks his watch, then stands, smoothing the front of his jacket.
“Gotta get to work,” he says.
Beau grabs his coffee, standing too. “Guess I’ll head out. Call me if you hear from her.”
I walk them to the door, leaning against the frame as they step out into the hallway. My coffee’s still warm in my hand.
When the door shuts behind them, the apartment feels too quiet.
I set the cup down, rub the back of my neck, and try not to think about how much of what I just said was for their benefit—and how much was me trying to convince myself.
Because the truth is, every instinct I have is telling me to get in my car and drive to her place.