Page 23 of Omega’s Fever (Prime Match #2)

Kellen

The chair in the doctor’s waiting room is too small.

My knees jut out awkwardly as I watch Milo fill out forms. He’s pale this morning and there are dark circles under his eyes. He spent the night rushing to and from the bathroom.

Even when he wasn’t bent over the toilet bowl, I could scent the fear rising from him. He’s terrified that the baby has been hurt by the drugs. His terror is driving me crazy. I want to just hold him and take all of his fears away, but that’s not going to work.

Without the suppressants, his sweet omega scent is already filling the space between us. It would calm me if it weren’t for the terror threading through it.

“Previous pregnancies?” he reads from the form, then marks ‘none’ with sharp, decisive strokes.

An elderly omega across from us keeps glancing between Milo’s unmarked neck, then to me. I shift forward, letting my bulk block her line of sight. My protective instincts are getting worse by the hour. Every person who looks at him too long, every alpha who passes too close, sets my teeth on edge.

“Warren?” A nurse in purple scrubs calls from the doorway.

Milo shoots to his feet. I follow, ignoring the nurse’s slight frown when we both move toward the exam rooms. I never much cared when people gave me wary looks, but now it bothers me. I don’t like that Milo is being judged because of me.

“He’s with me,” Milo says.

The nurse just nods and leads us back to a small room with an exam table. “Change into this, opening in the front. The doctor will be in shortly.”

Milo stares at the paper gown after she leaves. “This is really happening.”

“Yeah.”

He’s been off the suppressants for all of half a day but his scent is driving me half-mad with want. I try not to look as he changes into the gown. I have seen every beautiful inch of him but that’s not going to stop me from wanting him afresh when I see his bare skin, and this is not the place.

When I look up, he’s perched on the edge of the exam table, the paper gown making him look younger, vulnerable. His hands twist in his lap.

“What if something’s wrong?” The words burst out of him.

“Hey.” I cross to him. My hands settle on his knees, grounding him. “Whatever happens, we deal with it. Together.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I mean it.”

He studies my face like he’s looking for the lie. I let him look. I’ve done plenty of wrong in my life, but this—him, this baby—this I’ll do right.

“And if you end up going to prison?”

The words hit me right in the stomach. He’s right. What then? I’ve just assumed that’s where I’m going to end up but things are different now.

Before I’d have taken the prison sentence if it meant saving Milo from Cobb, but now I have a son or daughter to consider too. I can’t go to prison and leave Milo to raise our child alone.

A knock interrupts, saving me from responding. The doctor enters, tablet in hand. He’s a small beta with silver streaking his black hair.

“Milo.” His gaze flicks to me, assessing. “And you must be...”

“Kellen.” I don’t move from Milo’s side. “The father.”

Something passes between Milo and the doctor, some silent communication I can’t read. Then he nods, all business.

“All right. Let’s see what we’re working with. Milo, lie back for me.”

The next twenty minutes are a blur of medical terms. Blood pressure, slightly elevated. Weight, concerning loss. He asks about symptoms, diet, stress levels. Milo answers in his lawyer voice, like he’s giving testimony. The wobble in his voice from just moments ago is gone.

“The suppressants,” he says. “I was on them for six weeks. What kind of damage...”

“Let’s do an ultrasound before we discuss that.” The doctor says, wheeling over a machine. “This will be internal since you’re still early. It might be uncomfortable.”

I help Milo lie back. His hands are on mine as when the doctor inserts the probe. His fingers tighten as he does his work.

“All right, let’s see...” He manipulates the probe, frowning at the screen. The silence stretches. Milo’s grip tightens until I’m sure he’s cutting off circulation.

Then, a sound. Fast, rhythmic, like a hummingbird’s wings.

“There we go.” He turns the screen toward us. “See that flickering? That’s the heartbeat. Strong and steady at...” She takes measurements. “Approximately seven weeks, which matches your dates.”

I stare at the screen. It doesn’t look like much, just a tiny blob with a fluttering pixel, but something fundamental shifts in my chest. That’s our kid. That tiny, impossible thing is half me, half Milo.

“The suppressants?” Milo’s voice cracks.

The doctor withdraws the probe, helps him sit up. “I won’t lie to you. Those medications do carry risks, especially in the first trimester. But what I’m seeing here looks good so far. Normal development for seven weeks. We’ll need to monitor very closely, but right now? Your baby appears healthy.”

Milo sags against me. I catch him instinctively, arm around his shoulders.

“However,” he continues, “we need to discuss ongoing care. The stress you’re under, the weight loss, these are concerns. And without suppressants, your hormones are going to be in flux. Have you considered taking time off work?”

Milo laughs, sharp and bitter. “I’m in the middle of a major criminal trial.”

“My trial,” I clarify. “Milo’s my lawyer.”

The doctor blinks.

“We’re a prime match,” Milo says defensively. “It’s not... we didn’t plan...”

“No judgment here.” He types something into his tablet.

“But we need to discuss management strategies. Your pheromones are already significantly elevated. Your body is under stress. As the pregnancy progresses, they’ll only get stronger.

You need to consider rest. I’m prescribing prenatal vitamins and a mild anti-nausea medication,” she continues.

“I want to see you back in two weeks for another scan. Sooner if you experience any bleeding, severe cramping, or other concerning symptoms. And I’m going to recommend a colleague who specializes in high-risk pregnancies. ”

“High-risk?” I echo.

“Given the suppressant exposure and the ongoing stress factors, yes. It’s precautionary, but I’d rather be safe.”

He prints out papers, ultrasound images, prescriptions. I pocket one of the grainy pictures while Milo gets dressed: the little blob with its flickering heart. Our baby.

The word sits strange in my mind. I’ve never thought about kids. Never thought I’d live long enough, free enough, to even consider it. But now...

“Ready?” Milo emerges from behind the curtain, fully dressed but somehow looking more fragile than he did in the paper gown.

“Yeah.”

We’re quiet on the way to the pharmacy. This time I drive. His car is a beauty. I’ve never been behind the wheel of a drive this smooth and expensive. Milo is used to this kind of thing. I’m not. I have no idea what our future together is going to look like even if we get past this court case.

I’ve never been a high earner. I don’t know how I’m going to keep Milo in the style to which he’s accustomed. Is he going to be the earner? And I’ll... I have no idea what I’ll do.

Milo stares out the window while I navigate traffic. The ultrasound picture is burning a hole in my pocket. Seven weeks. Size of a blueberry, according to the chart on the wall. A blueberry with a heartbeat.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Milo says suddenly.

There was never any other option. “Of course. How are you feeling?”

“Scared,” Milo admits. “For the baby, for you. Because my whole life has been upended and I don’t know what to do about it.” He’s silent for a moment, then he says, “Are you scared?”

I consider lying. Consider playing the stoic alpha, unmoved and unshakeable. But he deserves better than that.

“Terrified,” I admit. “I don’t know how to be a father. Don’t exactly have a good model to follow.”

“Neither do I.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I barely remember my dad and my uncle isn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I say. “Do better than what we had.”

“You really believe that?”

I pull into the pharmacy lot, park, turn to face him fully. “I know I’m not what you planned. Ex-fighter facing life in prison isn’t exactly prime father material. But Milo, I swear to you, I’ll do whatever it takes. Win this case. Build a life. Be the man you and this baby deserve.”

He’s quiet for so long I think I’ve overstepped. Then, soft: “What if I’m bad at it? Being a parent. Being... yours.”

The last word hangs between us. Being mine. My mate. My omega. He didn’t get to choose it. I wish he had.

“Then we’ll be bad at it together.” I reach over, cup his face gently. “But I don’t think you could be bad at anything you set your mind to. I’ve watched you in court. You’re brilliant. Fierce. You fight for what you believe in, even when everyone’s against you. This baby’s lucky to have you.”

He leans into my touch, eyes closing. “I want to believe you.”

“Then believe.”

A car honks somewhere in the lot. The moment breaks. Milo pulls away, swipes at his eyes.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get these prescriptions before I completely fall apart in a CVS parking lot.”

Inside, the pharmacist goes over the medications in excruciating detail.

Safe for pregnancy, take with food, may cause drowsiness.

Milo nods along, but I can see his attention fragmenting.

He’s thinking about court tomorrow. About facing everyone without suppressants. About what this means for his career.

I’m thinking about Cobb. I can no longer just keep my head down and avoid dealing with him. There are people I need to speak to. I have a family to protect now. That changes everything.