25. Jeremy
Chapter twenty-five
Jeremy
I manage to grab the back of Willow’s head as we fall. A popping sound rips through my ears at the same time the dog yelps.
We land hard. Pain drills through my fingers as the omega’s weight squishes them to the floor. But I barely register it over the searing agony that hurtles through my groin. I shout, certain I’ve broken my leg.
Fuck, it burns!
But what about Willow?
“You okay?” I huff out, rolling my head to the side.
The omega scrambles to her feet. “Oh, shit! Shit!” She spreads her hands, checking herself and her dog.
I squeeze my eyes shut as agony steals my breath. She’s okay. I made it in time. Mr Shares leans into me and licks me, leaving a cold streak down the side of my face.
“Jeremy?” Willow’s shadow looms over me. “Stop that, boy.” She drags the dog back by his collar and kneels down. “Jeremy, are you all right?”
“I’m half left.” I can’t help cracking jokes; I just want to ease that bitter scent flowing off her.
She clicks her tongue, and her bathrobe brushes my side as she edges closer. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I’m dying? Who knows if I’ll walk again? I keep the fears locked behind my teeth, but a groan slips out. “I . . . I’m not sure, to be honest.”
Mr Shares bounces forward, all rippling fur and heavy paws. When he bumps my hip, another moan ripples through me. I roll toward that side, hunching in against the pain. Visions of metal rods and full leg casts add to the torment.
“Fuck, Jeremy! What is it? Wait a sec.” Willow grabs Mr Shares and tows him down the hall, her uneven steps loud on the tiles. A door slams shut and then she thumps back to my side. Her fingers shake as she flutters over me. “I’ll, I’ll call the ambulance. Don’t move.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I quip back.
“Then quit talking too,” she snaps, searching for a phone she doesn’t have on her.
I fish mine out of a pocket, glad it wasn’t on the other side, crushed beneath me.
“Here,” I croak.
Tears fill her eyes as she dials, and her breaths come sharp and fast.
“Why are you crying?” I mutter, resting my hand on her knee. “Did you get hurt after all?”
“It’s because you’re hurt, you big dummy,” she says, voice sharp.
The genuine fear leeching off her distracts me from my pain.
“It’s gonna be okay.” I stroke her kneecap.
“You don’t know that!”
“It’ll heal.” Eventually. Probably?
Sweat beads on my forehead. I’ve broken bones before, playing football in high school. This feels different, but with the same pain level. Throbbing needlepoints rush up and down my leg and across my waist with every breath.
Shit, what if I’ve broken my hip? That’s gonna be a sucky healing time.
Willow speed talks with the operator on the 911 call. I blink hard to keep track of their conversation, but the sounds blur together at times.
“Jeremy?”
“Hmm?”
“Stay awake. You may have hit your head. The lady says to keep you awake.”
“Okay.” Oh, another concussion? Or maybe the first one never quite healed. I slither one hand across the tiles, and she takes it in hers. “S-Sorry. For r-ruining your heat.”
She scoffs. “You didn’t. And it was over, remember?”
“Right.” That’s why she was telling me to leave. “I didn’t want it to be over.”
She stays silent but squeezes my fingers. The warmth is nice; reminds me of our time together.
“Oh. A g-guy came looking for you.” Gotta tell her now while I remember. “Lawnmowing business. Something about a f-fence?”
“Alessandro.”
“Sounds right. Do you l-like him?” Must be the pain making me blurt out stuff I have no business saying. And making my teeth chatter.
Willow makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “He’s nice. He rescued Mr Shares when he jumped over the back fence.”
I attempt a whistle, but it only comes out as a pathetic oooh. That cute dog is trouble central, my present condition a case in point. “Explains why Mr Shares likes him so much. Must be a great guy, then.”
She snorts, fingers grazing my cheek as she cleans up the dog spittle. “He likes you too.”
“Who, Alessandro? Sorry, I don’t swing that way.”
Her soft laugh does more for me than Morphine could. “No, silly. I meant Mr Shares.”
I squeeze her hand tighter. “What about his owner?”
She brushes hair off my forehead, our roles reversed now that I’m the one lying helpless on the floor. “She likes him too.”
Her voice wavers, telling me it’s not that simple. I guess that’s the contract talking.
“That’s a good start,” I muse.
“But Jeremy, I can’t—”
Oof, I’d prefer she cursed me out. I squeeze her fingers in protest. “Hey, don’t you know you gotta say nice and positive things to a patient? Give him something to live for.”
She shakes her head, but her shoulders quiver with suppressed humor, and I smile to myself.
I can tolerate any amount of pain, so long as she’s happy.
A siren wails in the distance, signaling the end of our time together and the beginning of far more intense pain.
If I don’t move or breathe much, it’s kinda just a faint throb.
Willow still has my phone, and I think there are people I need to call. But I don’t want to release her hand.
“Hey, Willow?”
“Yeah?”
“Think you could call Heat Wave for me? I’m supposed to check in after leaving here, but pretty sure I’ll be checking in somewhere else.” I throw her a silly grin.
She nods, swiping at a suspicious glisten on her cheeks. “I can do that.” She gets to her feet, and I miss her warmth immediately. The tiles burn like ice on my back and a chill sets in.
The omega taps a panel on the wall; I assume to open the front gate. It’s only when footsteps sound on the porch that embarrassment sets in. This must look so pathetic, a man downed because he tripped over a dog or a bag on the floor.
Willow guides the paramedics in, and I lose sight of her behind their bodies.
They check my vitals, trying to talk to me, which is hugely irritating. The only one I want to talk to is my omega. When they load me into a stretcher, I almost black out from the pain.
“Wait!” Willow calls, shoving through their arms. This time, the tears in her eyes are clear to see.
I reach out, searching for her hand. “I’ll be okay. Just look after yourself, yeah?”
She nods and sniffs as she squeezes my fingers. “I can’t go with you, sorry. But could you . . . call me, to update me?”
“Hmm. I can’t. I don’t have your number. Well, I mean, I have it . . .” I squint, trying to focus enough to make sense. “But I don’t have permission to call it, outside of work.”
The omega nods and holds the phone to my finger so she can unlock it before tapping away on the screen.
“Ma’am,” one of the paramedics urges. “We need to get him to the hospital.”
“Don’t rush her,” I growl out, harsher than I intended. Pain, or alpha instinct? I can’t be sure which one’s at work.
“I’m done, I’m done,” Willow says, handing the phone to the paramedic. “I’ll keep your bags here until you’re released.”
“Thanks. And I enjoyed our time.”
She stands back and waves, her jaw working overtime. The paramedics carry me out, the bright sunlight blinding me. As they load me in the back of the van, I squint around the yard, and discover my truck parked right by her door. Well, at least that gives me another reason to come back.
Although the omega, despite showing concern, was clearly trying to reject me back there and that stings far sharper than the pain in my leg.
But I’ve never been a quitter. I just need to find a way to worm into her affections.
“Can I have my phone?” I ask as the paramedics settle me in.
He passes it over and I check the recent messages, finding one she’s sent to herself. I snort at how she’s saved her profile as “Mr Share’s Owner.”
Yeah. I think I’m in love.