Chapter 23 Wren
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Wren
The grass is cool beneath my thighs, damp with the spray that drifts from the waterfall. My skin is still flushed from what we just did in the water, but Beau’s hand moves over my back in slow, calming circles.
It feels grounding in a way I didn’t know I needed. Every time his palm drags across my shoulder blade, I sink a little more into this odd sense of safety that I don’t quite know how to accept yet.
We’ve pulled the blanket closer to us, spread across the bank where the sun is beginning to dip through the trees, throwing everything into a golden haze.
He nudges a sandwich toward me, the one he’d packed in the basket.
My fingers brush his when I take it, and the corner of his mouth lifts like he can’t help it.
I bite into the bread and hum quietly because it tastes simple and good, the kind of food you only enjoy outdoors.
He’s eating his too, his long legs stretched out, bare feet drying in the breeze.
“This feels unreal,” I admit softly, watching the way the light catches on the water.
Beau glances over, chewing. “In a good way?”
“In a… dangerous way.” I smile faintly. “Like I might actually get used to this.”
His laugh rumbles out of him, low and warm. He reaches over and wipes a crumb from the corner of my mouth, casual and intimate. “Good. Then I’m doing something right.”
I roll my eyes, but my chest tightens, because he is doing something right. Too right.
After a moment, I tilt my head toward him. “Tell me about your family.”
He leans back on his palms, looking out at the water like he’s deciding where to begin. “You mean the loud, nosy, Idaho circus?”
I smile, waiting.
“My parents still live on the same property I grew up on. Big house, lots of land. Dad’s retired now, Mom keeps him from driving her crazy by making him garden.
” His mouth quirks at that. “I’ve got two older brothers.
Both married, both with kids. So, whenever I go back, I’m the fun uncle who gets swarmed the second I step through the door. ”
I picture him there, all broad shoulders and easy smiles, kids climbing all over him. “You like that?”
He shrugs, but the fondness in his voice gives him away. “Yeah. I do. I like being that guy for them.” His eyes cut to mine. “Sometimes I think about what it would’ve been like if I’d stayed and settled down there. But I needed something different. So, firehouse. New town. New life.”
I nod, tracing patterns into the blanket with my fingertip. “You sound close with them.”
“Yeah. Loud, annoying, but close.” He tilts his head. “What about you?”
The air in my lungs thickens. My instinct is to deflect, to make a joke, but Beau’s gaze is patient. And maybe it’s this place, the sound of rushing water, the warmth of his touch on my back—it makes me braver than usual.
“My mom is wonderful,” I begin carefully. “She’s soft, kind. Always tried to keep the peace.” My throat feels tight. “My dad is… not. He isn’t kind. He controls everything—what she wears, where she goes. What I could do. And when he didn’t like something…” I swallow hard. “He made sure we knew.”
Beau’s entire body goes still, like every muscle has locked in response. His jaw flexes, his eyes darken, and I know he’s picturing the kind of man my father is.
He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t try to fix it. He just lets me get it out.
“I left as soon as I could. My mom’s still with him, but I couldn’t—” My voice cracks. “I couldn’t stay and watch her fade like that.”
His hand slides down my spine, steady and grounding. “Wren,” he says softly, and it makes my eyes sting. “I hate that you went through that. I hate that any man thought he had the right.” His jaw works again, harder this time. “If I ever met him—”
I press my palm against his chest, stopping him. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”
His hand covers mine, holding it against his chest. I can feel the strong beat of his heart beneath my fingers. “You’re worth it,” he says.
Something inside me cracks open at those words, because no one has ever said them to me. Not like this. Not like it’s the most obvious truth in the world.
My eyes blur with tears, and I lean in and kiss him before I can lose my courage.
The kiss is soft at first, our mouths just brushing, tasting. Then it deepens, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of my neck. I melt into him, into the warmth and certainty of his body.
When we part, I tuck myself against his chest, and he wraps his arm around me, as if holding me is as natural as breathing. I feel like I can exhale.
The world is hushed except for the roar of the falls and the sound of us breathing together. My body hums with a mix of exhaustion and contentment.
That’s when my phone buzzes against the blanket. I groan and reach for it.
The name flashing on the screen makes me smile. “Simon,” I say, more to myself than to Beau.
Beau arches a brow, curious, but doesn’t say anything as I swipe to answer.
“Hey, Dr. Hale.”
“Wren.” His voice is rich, warm, and the low timbre sends a ripple through me. “You sound… happy.”
I glance at Beau, who’s grinning at me like he knows exactly why my cheeks are warm. “I am,” I admit. “I’m sitting by a waterfall with Beau.”
There’s the tiniest pause on the other end, then Simon clears his throat. “That sounds… nice.”
“It is.”
His voice softens, now more professional. “Listen, your bloodwork came back. Could you come in today so we can go over it?”
The calm tone of a doctor, but I know him well enough now to hear the undercurrent beneath it.
“Of course,” I say, glancing at Beau. “What time?”
“Whenever you’re able. I’ll be at the hospital until late.”
“All right. I’ll come by.”
We exchange goodbyes, and when I hang up, Beau is watching me with quiet amusement.
“Simon wants to see me,” I explain. “To talk about my bloodwork.”
He nods and reaches for my empty sandwich wrapper, tucking it into the basket. “Then we’d better get you back.”
I search his face, waiting for a flicker of annoyance or jealousy, but there’s nothing like that. Just calm acceptance. Maybe even something softer I can’t quite name.
“You don’t mind?” I ask carefully.
Beau smiles, brushing my hair back from my face. “Not one bit, baby. You deserve answers.”
The simple sincerity of it nearly undoes me.
We start packing up the blanket and basket, his movements efficient while I fold the corners carefully. As he shakes the crumbs from the fabric and rolls it under his arm, I catch myself staring at him—broad shoulders, easy smile, the way he seems entirely at ease in his skin.
I don’t know what I did to land here, with him, with them, but a part of me is terrified of how much I want to hold onto it.
When he laces our fingers together and leads me back toward the trail, my heart feels too big for my chest.
Beau insists on walking me to the hospital entrance, his hand brushing over the small of my back like he can’t help himself. I don’t think he even realizes he does it.
My chest is warm with something dangerously close to affection, but I keep it tucked deep because if I let it spill out, I’ll drown in it.
He leans down, murmurs that he’ll see me later, then jogs back to his truck. The echo of his scent—cinnamon and smoke—clings to me as I step into the cool, sterile air of the hospital.
By the time I find Simon’s office, my palms are damp, and my thighs press together in reflex at the memory of the last time I was here—his hands on me, his voice in my ear, my body unraveling around his fingers while he whispered that I needed relief.
My face heats, and I cross my legs tighter in the waiting chair, willing myself to think of anything else.
The door opens with the soft click of a handle, and Simon steps in, crisp white coat over his shirt, glasses perched on his nose. My stomach flips.
He’s calm, collected, everything about him professional—and then his eyes land on me, and his expression shifts.
“Hey,” he says quietly, like the word is meant only for me. Then, without hesitation, “Can I kiss you?”
The question steals my breath. My heart knocks against my ribs as I nod, and he closes the space between us. His hand cups my jaw, and his mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s firm and deliberate.
It’s not rushed; it’s controlled, like everything about him, but the heat that sparks in my belly is immediate.
When he pulls back, his thumb strokes my cheekbone. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my pulse stuttering.
He gestures for me to sit on the exam table, and once I do, he takes a seat on the rolling stool, flipping open a chart. “How have you been feeling?”
“Okay,” I answer honestly. “Better than I thought I’d feel after… everything.”
His gaze flicks up, like he knows exactly what everything means. “Good. I’m glad.”
He clears his throat and points to the folder.
“I got your bloodwork back. The main issue appears to be that your body isn’t metabolizing the suppressants as it should.
It’s not that they’re ineffective—it’s that your system processes them too quickly for them to be fully functional.
That’s why the heat broke through so strongly. ”
I bite my lip. “So, what does that mean? Am I just… broken?”
His eyes soften immediately. “You’re not broken, Wren. This isn’t unusual, especially in Omegas whose chemistry shifts with age. What it means is that we’ll need to adjust. Higher dosage isn’t always the answer. Sometimes we combine suppressants with a stabilizer to extend their effectiveness.”
I nod slowly, absorbing the information.
He continues. “I’d like to try you on a dual regimen. It’s safe. I’ll monitor you closely, and if we need to tweak it, we will.”
“All right,” I say, still uncertain but trusting him in a way that unsettles me. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he says, scribbling a note in my chart.
I hesitate, then shift on the table. “Can we… also talk about the birth control you mentioned?”
He looks up. “Of course.” He sets the chart aside, rolling a little closer.
“There are a few options, but the one I’d recommend for you is a simple oral contraceptive.
Low dose. It won’t interfere with your other medication.
You’ll need to take it consistently, but it will give you added protection. ”
“So… does that mean my heat is going to keep breaking through?” I ask, voice a little shaky.
Simon leans back, studying me like he always does when he wants to make sure I understand. “Not constantly. The stabilizer should lengthen the suppressant’s effect. But it’s important you pay attention—your body will still tell you what it needs.”
I fidget, thinking of how hard it is to control, how it takes over without warning. “And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then we adjust. That’s why I’ll monitor you closely.” His thumb brushes over the edge of the chart. “This isn’t a failure. It’s just… fine-tuning.”
Relief floods me, mingling with the familiar flutter that comes whenever he speaks to me like I’m the only person in the room. “Okay… thank you.”
His gaze softens, almost tender. “You don’t need to thank me.”
I pause, fingers fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve. “And… the pill—do I just take it at the same time every day? What if I miss one?”
Simon explains it carefully, making sure I understand the exact routine I should follow. The closeness, the way he leans slightly toward me as he speaks, makes my chest tighten.
He writes out the prescription with precise strokes. “If you notice any side effects—nausea, headaches, mood shifts—I want you to tell me right away.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
He hands me the slip of paper, his fingers brushing mine. “You can pick it up at the pharmacy downstairs.”
I tuck it into my bag. “Thank you.”
His mouth lifts in a faint smile. “You’re welcome.”
There’s a pause, heavy with the unspoken memory of everything that happened between us. Then I blurt, “You lured me here with promises of ice cream, you know.”
His laugh is low and rough, a sound that slides over my skin. “I remember. And I fully intend to keep that promise. But right now, I’ve got a ward full of patients. There’s a flu going around; half the town is streaming in.”
I grin despite myself. “So, I’ll have to wait?”
He leans closer, his voice dropping just for me. “Only a little. I’ll bring you ice cream later.”
The warmth in my chest spreads. “I’ll hold you to that.”
At the pharmacy, I hand over the slip and wait while the tech prepares the medication. Behind me, a pair of nurses whisper in low tones.
“Did you hear? Dr. Hale’s seeing that new Omega.”
“They say she’s gorgeous. No one’s ever seen him with anyone before.”
“Maybe she’s the reason he’s been working fewer hours.”
My ears burn. I keep my head down, pretending not to hear, but every syllable feels like it’s aimed at me. The whole town knows—or thinks they know. And I’m standing here, cheeks hot, pretending I don’t.
I grab the little bag when it’s ready, mumble a thank you, and slip outside.
My phone buzzes as I step onto the sidewalk. The screen reads almost three p.m. I dial Norah.
“Where are you?” I ask when she picks up.
“At the Smokehouse,” she says, her voice tight. “Grabbing a drink.”
Something in her tone prickles at me. “I’ll come meet you.”
The bar is dim when I walk in, the smell of beer and fried food heavy in the air. Norah is at a small table near the window, a half-full glass of wine in front of her. Her eyes are shadowed, her shoulders tense.
“What’s wrong?” I slide into the seat across from her.
She takes a long sip of wine, then sets the glass down with a sharp clink. “Dorian’s back in town.”