Page 16 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas (Hollow Haven #2)
Willa
S aturday afternoon at Pine & Pages should have been routine. Sort returns, help customers, handle the register during the weekend rush. Simple tasks that usually felt manageable, even pleasant after two weeks of settling into small-town rhythms.
Instead, I was fighting to keep my hands steady while ringing up Mrs. Peterson’s romance novel purchase, hyperaware of every customer who walked through the door and the way their nostrils flared slightly when they passed the counter.
My suppressants were failing.
The shaking had started that morning, subtle at first. Easy to dismiss as too much coffee or not enough sleep. But by noon, I could barely grip books without dropping them, and my jasmine and summer rain scent was definitely stronger than it should be with functioning medication.
“You okay there, honey?” Mrs. Peterson asked when I fumbled her change for the third time.
“Just a long week,” I said, forcing a smile while my hands trembled betrayingly.
She gave me the kind of look that suggested she wasn’t buying my explanation, but thankfully didn’t push. Small-town politeness had its advantages, even when it felt like pity.
By two o’clock, I was gripping the counter edge to stay upright as waves of dizziness hit without warning. My suppressants weren’t supposed to fail for another week, but my body apparently hadn’t consulted the medication schedule.
This couldn’t be happening. Not at work. Not in public, where people could see.
But denial wasn’t stopping the biological crisis unfolding in my endocrine system.
My scent was definitely destabilizing, growing warmer and more complex with each passing hour.
Customers were noticing, their conversations trailing off when I approached, their instinctive awareness of omega distress making them uncomfortable.
I was trying to shelve returns in the nature section when the worst wave of dizziness yet made me grab the bookshelf for support. Books scattered to the floor, and I found myself sinking down among them, vision swimming dangerously.
“Willa?” Hollis appeared at my side, his normally friendly face creased with concern. “What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically, though we both knew it was a lie. “Just moved too fast.”
“Mm-hmm.” His expression suggested he wasn’t buying my explanation any more than Mrs. Peterson had. “When’s the last time you saw a doctor about your suppressants?”
The question hit too close to home. Dr. Walsh had warned me that moving to a new environment, especially one with multiple alpha scents, could destabilize my medication. But I’d been so focused on staying invisible, staying controlled, that I’d ignored the warning signs.
“They’re supposed to last another week,” I said weakly.
“Bodies don’t always follow the schedule medicine expects,” Hollis said gently. “Especially when you’re under stress or experiencing major life changes.”
Before I could respond, the bell above the door chimed and Wes walked in. He took one look at me sitting on the floor surrounded by scattered books and his entire demeanor shifted from casual to concerned.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, crossing to us in three quick steps.
“Nothing,” I started to say, but Hollis cut me off.
“Suppressant problems, looks like,” he said matter-of-factly. “And she’s too stubborn to admit she needs help.”
Wes’s nostrils flared slightly, and I watched his pupils dilate as he caught my destabilized scent. The jasmine and summer rain that should have been chemically muted was definitely stronger, warmer, more complex than it had been this morning.
“When did this start?” he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
“This morning. It’s not a big deal, I just need to adjust my dosage or maybe see a doctor or…”
“Willa.” Wes’s voice was gentle but firm. “You’re shaking. And your scent is definitely not suppressed anymore.”
Great. Wonderful. Perfect timing for a biological crisis.
“I can handle this,” I said, though another wave of dizziness made me grip the shelf tighter.
“I know you can,” Wes said, and something in his tone made me look at him more carefully. “But you don’t have to handle it alone.”
“The store…”
“Needs to close early today,” Hollis interrupted firmly. “Wes, you mind helping her get somewhere she can rest? I think she needs to be away from all the alpha scents passing through here.”
I wanted to protest that I didn’t need help, that I was perfectly capable of managing my own medical crisis. But another wave of dizziness chose that moment to hit, making my knees wobble dangerously.
“Come on,” Wes said, offering me his arm. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He looked at me like I was something worth protecting instead of something that needed fixing.
The walk to his truck was embarrassing and comforting in equal measure. Wes matched his pace to mine, one hand hovering near my elbow in case I stumbled, his cedar smoke scent providing an oddly stabilizing counterpoint to my own chaotic signature.
“This is humiliating,” I muttered as he helped me into the passenger seat.
“Why?” Wes asked, genuinely puzzled. “Because your body is having a normal reaction to medication changes and environmental stress?”
“Because I’m supposed to have this under control. I’m supposed to be independent and capable and not the kind of omega who needs alpha assistance with basic biological functions.”
Wes was quiet as he started the truck and pulled away from the bookstore. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful.
“Willa, needing help doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. And suppressant failure in a new environment with multiple alpha scents is completely normal.”
You don’t understand, I wanted to say. Independence is all I have. If I can’t take care of myself, what happens when the next Sterling comes along?
But I didn’t say that. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to stop my hands from shaking while Wes drove me somewhere I could fall apart in private.
For the first time since the suppressants started failing, I felt like I might actually be okay. Not because the crisis was over, but because I wasn’t facing it entirely alone.