23. Gray
Gray
The fluorescent lights of the Glenwood Springs Hospital hum a monotonous, soul-crushing tune. It's a sound I know intimately, a backdrop to my life in Denver, but here, in the pre-dawn quiet, it feels more oppressive.
I'm slumped in one of the ridiculously uncomfortable vinyl chairs in the waiting area, my elbows on my knees, staring at a crack in the linoleum that resembles a distorted map of Colorado.
Every muscle in my body aches with an exhaustion that goes beyond a simple lack of sleep.
It's the kind of weariness that seeps into your bones, the kind that comes from seeing someone you care about look small and fragile in a hospital bed.
A pair of squeaky sneakers approaches, and I look up to see a woman in blue scrubs, her dark hair pulled back in a messy but efficient bun. She's holding a tablet, and her face is a mask of professional fatigue, but her eyes light up with a flicker of recognition when she sees me.
"Grayson McAllister, as I live and breathe," she says in a low, warm alto. "I heard there was a McAllister in the building. I should have known it'd be you hovering like a mother hen."
I push myself up, a smile touching my lips despite the circumstances. "Maggie Thorne. I didn't know you'd ended up out here."
"After a few years at Denver General, I decided I'd had my fill of big-city chaos," she says, leaning against the wall opposite me.
"I took the nursing post at the clinic in Sweet Creek.
Thought a small-town clinic would be quieter.
Turns out, it's just a different kind of chaos.
I'm covering here tonight—half their staff called out because of the storm.
" She gives me a once-over, her gaze appraising.
"You look like you could use a cup of that terrible coffee from the vending machine.
And a bed. Speaking of which, if you're ever in town and want to pick up a shift, we'd take you in a heartbeat.
A doctor with your ER experience? We'd kill for that. "
I appreciate the offer, but my focus is a narrow tunnel, and the only thing at the end of it is the room down the hall where Tess is sleeping. "I'm on vacation, Maggie," I say, my voice softer than I intend. "I just want to make sure Tess is well taken care of."
Her expression softens, the professional mask slipping to reveal genuine concern.
"Of course. Your friend is in good hands, Gray.
Dr. Evans is top-notch. We're just rehydrating her, giving her some anti-nausea meds.
She'll be right as rain in a day or two.
" She gives my arm a light squeeze. "Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all."
She gives me a small, significant look before turning and walking away, her sneakers squeaking a retreat down the hall.
I sink back into the chair, rubbing my eyes.
I barely have time to process the interaction before the main doors swing open and Daniel strides in, his coat dusted with new snow.
He looks as exhausted as I feel, his face grim, his shoulders hunched under an invisible weight.
He doesn't say anything at first, just drops into the chair beside me with a heavy sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "God," he mutters, staring at the ceiling. "I wish I had a cigarette."
I arch an eyebrow. "I didn't know you still did that."
"I don't," he says, dropping his hand to his lap. "But right now, it feels like a really good idea." He glances down the hall in the direction Maggie went. A slow, tired smirk tugs at his lips. "Well, well. Maggie Thorne. She was totally flirting with you."
I let out a short, exasperated breath. "No, she wasn't. She was being friendly. We worked together at Denver General."
"Friendly?" He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. "Gray, buddy, your 'friendly' radar is broken. That woman was undressing you with her eyes. I overheard your conversation. She practically offered you a job and her phone number in the same breath."
"She was offering me a job because they're short-staffed," I counter, my patience worn thin. "Can we focus? Did you… did you find anything? In the databases?" I lower my voice, the words a conspiratorial whisper in the empty waiting room.
Daniel's smirk vanishes, replaced by the same grim intensity that's been shadowing him since yesterday. He glances around, making sure we're alone.
"Yes," he says, a quiet, heavy confirmation. "But we can't talk about it here. Not now."
Before I can press him further, the doors open again, and this time it's Margaret and Henry, their faces etched with a worry that's palpable even from across the room. Margaret rushes toward us, her coat half-unbuttoned, her eyes searching mine for answers.
"Gray? How is she? Have you seen her? Can we see her?" The questions tumble out, a frantic, desperate stream.
I stand up, placing a calming hand on her arm.
"She's okay, Margaret. She's sleeping right now.
They have her on an IV to get her fluids up.
Dr. Evans said it was a nasty stomach bug, but the stress and exhaustion from the last few days made it hit her a lot harder.
She'll be admitted for a day or two for observation, just to be safe. "
Henry puts a steadying arm around his wife, his own relief evident in the slight slump of his shoulders. "An IV? Poor kid."
"Let's go see her," I say, leading them down the quiet corridor.
Tess's room is small and dimly lit. The only light comes from the monitors beside her bed, their glowing green lines a reassurance. She looks so small under the stark white blanket, her face pale against the pillow.
A thin plastic tube snakes from a bag of clear liquid hanging on a metal pole, disappearing under a piece of white tape on the back of her hand. The slow and steady drip of the IV is the only sound in the room, a rhythmic patter that counts out the seconds.
Margaret moves to her daughter's side, gently brushing a stray curl from her forehead. Henry stands behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder, his gaze fixed on Tess's face. Daniel lingers by the door, a silent sentinel.
And I stand there, the doctor, the friend, the pack member, feeling the weight of all their worry, and I know that no matter how many lives I save in a Denver ER, this matters more.
We visit Tess once more before we leave.
The room is quiet now, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor the only sound.
Margaret is asleep in a chair pulled up to the bed, her hand resting on Tess's arm, her head lolling to the side.
Henry is standing by the window, looking out at the snow-covered parking lot, shoulders slumped with a weariness that goes deeper than just a long night.
He's made the decision. They're staying.
"She'll be okay. Right? You said she'd be fine," Henry says, low and gruff, not taking his eyes off the window.
"She will be," I reply, my own voice thick with exhaustion. I place a hand on his shoulder. "She's strong, Henry. She'll be through this in no time. I'm only a phone call away."
He just nods, a silent acknowledgment. Daniel and I slip out of the room, leaving them to their vigil. Our footsteps sound loud in the hushed quiet of the hospital corridor. We don't speak again until we're out in the biting cold, the truck's engine a welcome, rumbling comfort.
The drive back to Sweet Creek is a descent into a different kind of silence.
The hospital's fluorescent hum is replaced by the swish of tires on slushy roads and the low thrum of the heater.
The world outside is a monochrome painting of black and white, the towering pines heavy with snow, the road a narrow ribbon of gray.
Daniel is staring out the passenger window, his jaw tight, his reflection a pale, ghostly shape against the dark glass. He's been carrying this secret since last night, and I can feel the weight of it from across the cab.
I can't take it anymore. The not knowing is a physical itch under my skin. "Okay," I say, my voice cutting through the quiet. "We're alone. Spill. What did you find out?"
He doesn't turn from the window. He just lets out a breath, a plume of white in the cold air of the cab. "It's worse than I thought, Gray. A lot worse."
"Worse than a pack of Alphas treating their Omega like property? I find that hard to believe."
"It's more than just property," he says, finally turning to look at me. The dashboard lights cast his face in stark relief, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. "It's a system. It starts with Evercrest."
"The Academy," I say, the name tasting like ash. "Your sister's pretty excited to join. I thought it was a reputable institution."
"That's what they want you to think," Daniel says, his voice clinical.
"It's set up just like some elite boarding prep school.
Omegas go there at sixteen, graduate at twenty or twenty-one.
The official purpose is to 'refine and prepare' them for pack life.
They learn etiquette, biology, pack politics, even law.
Some self-defense, for all the good it does. "
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles white. "And the unofficial purpose?"
"It's a marketplace, Gray. A high-end, polished, very legal marketplace.
" He pauses, letting the words sink in. "The final year is something called the Showcase Gala.
High-ranking Alphas and Betas are invited to come and…
mingle with the graduating class. Packs pay placement fees, huge sums of money, to the Academy to secure a desired Omega. It's all perfectly above board."
My stomach turns. "Placement fees? You're telling me they buy them?"
"They pay for the privilege of courting them, for the Academy's endorsement," Daniel corrects, but there's no conviction in his voice.
"And an Omega can theoretically refuse, but the pressure is immense.
Refusal is a social scandal. It's blacklisting yourself.
Most of them don't feel like they have a choice. "