Page 20

CHAPTER 20

C hristophe

“I don’t need a doctor,” I tell Chance once I have his attention.

He’s just stopped in front of Dr. Drake’s clinic, which isn’t too far from my house.

Chance glances over at the clinic and then back at me. “Whether you need a doctor or not, you’re going in there to get those wounds cleaned up and bones set correctly.”

I grind my teeth together, wanting to argue, but my omega sense refrains me from being too pushy against a beta of the pack.

“It’s late, and it looks like he’s already in there with someone. I’m sure Dr. Drake is tired.” Dr. Drake has been the Nightwolf pack’s shaman or doctor for nearly five generations now.

I rarely needed to go to him before, but everybody in the pack respects him.

And you almost killed him along with everybody else in your pack. That mocking voice in my head returns to remind me of my crimes against my pack.

Chance tugs at the sleeve of my T-shirt. “You’re going inside.” His tone brokers no argument.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Chance how much more talkative he’s been. Over the past few weeks, since getting out of that house of horrors, it’s been Chance not Chael that’s had more words to say to me.

It used to be the other way around.

Chance was always more reserved, never asserting his own opinion or wants to anyone or the pack as a whole. As I look at him, memories of how reticent he was float through my mind.

Even though he’s not smiling at the moment, there’s a lightness in his face that wasn’t there before.

He looks happier.

His mate. This time it’s my wolf who utters the answer to me. My wolf understands what the relaxed expression in Chance’s face is all about. He’s found his other half. The half promised to him by Mother Moon.

Jealousy slices through my chest.

I’ll never know that type of contentment.

I do my best to not let that thought consume me as I get out of Chance’s truck. I spent most of my life ignoring even the mere idea of finding my fated mate. It was nothing I ever wanted or yearned for. As I grew deeper into my isolation from the back, I started to see my solitude as a good thing.

Somehow, I believed that foregoing matehood and having future generations would end the years of omega abuse within the pack.

But the reality is that ended long before I was willing to admit or acknowledge.

The honking of Chance’s car horn catches my attention just before I pull open the door to Dr. Drake’s clinic.

“I’m going to take this piece of scum to lockdown. You can head back to your house once Dr. Drake patches you up. Ms. Elsie left some chicken and dumpling soup and biscuits for you in the oven.”

I watch as he pulls off.

He’s trusting me to head back to the house by myself? I swing my head from left to right, looking for Mike or one of the other guys who’ve kept a constant watch in front of my house since my return.

No one appears.

It occurs to me then that Dr. Drake’s clinic does have cameras outside of it, and it’s likely that one of my guards will be here to escort me the short distance to the house by the time I’m done here.

They’re likely short-staffed with it being this late and Chael out of town.

I push through Dr. Drake’s door and come full-stop when two pairs of female eyes land on me.

“Alicia, Michaela,” I blurt out their names.

This is the first time I’ve had any contact with any female pack members aside from Ms. Elsie, and I suppose, Ashley now fits into that category as well.

Alicia rises from her seat, displaying a large, rounded belly.

My wolf stirs inside of me, our natural instincts to comfort showing up.

“We’re here for a late check-up,” Michaela explains, as she rises from her seat as well. These two are sisters, members of the pack that I’ve known since my childhood.

“You’re expecting,” I say, my voice a little in awe.

Alicia, still appearing stunned, nods but doesn’t say anything.

“Congratulations.”

“Jake’s working late at the shop in town,” she blurts out, speaking of her mate.

A lump forms in my throat.

“I-I should go.” I turn to leave, but a voice stops me.

“Christophe, Chance told me you are on the way. Glad you finally made it in.” Dr. Drake’s cheerful voice causes all three of us to swing our attention in his direction.

Dr. Drake, dressed in his usual dark slacks, light grey button-down shirt, and white coat with a stethoscope around his neck, grins as he emerges from the hallway. He stops short when he sees the two women.

“Alicia, did you need something else?”

“Oh, no, Doctor.” Alicia looks between me and the doctor. “We just stopped to chat for a few minutes and then …” She gestures toward me. “We’re leaving.” She grabs her sister’s hand.

Both women scurry past me, mumbling something about needing to get home for dinner.

My stomach twists in a knot. I’ve never been good with words. And I was never particularly close with either woman, but the hollow part in my chest makes me feel as if I should’ve said something more than congratulations.

“Well, come on in,” Dr. Drake says.

I turn and nod before following him toward one of his back examination rooms.

“Boy, this looks pretty nasty,” he says, while his wise eyes examine my hands.

Until now, I’ve ignored the pain in my hands. It’s a small price to pay for having beaten Junior. Oddly, the knowledge that I didn’t kill him feels like a burden.

I’ve never had the urge to kill anyone or anything.

Not even when I betrayed my pack.

“Shall I ask what caused these injuries?” he inquires while holding both of my hands in either one of his gloved palms.

“Small fight,” I mumble.

That makes him chuckle.

“Doesn’t look so small to me.”

I dip my head to hide the tiny grin on my lips.

“Let’s take some X-rays just to be on the safe side before I clean your wounds up and reset these bones.”

“I’m sure you don’t have to do all of that,” I tell him. “My wolf will heal me within the next day or two.”

Dr. Drake gives me a sympathetic smile. “Your wolf has been through a lot in the past …” He trails off, clearing his throat.

He’s referring to the months of torture I endured. Yes, my wolf did have to heal me a lot during that time, which was made even more strenuous by the fact that we were given sedatives and who knows what else to suppress our wolves.

That more than doubled my healing time, and yes, made the pain that much more excessive.

“In the past,” he continues. “Why don’t we give your wolf some assistance, okay?”

I dip my head slightly, relenting and allowing him to treat me. After a round of X-rays that reveal both of my middle knuckles and my right pinky finger and the left index and middle fingers are broken, Dr. Drake stands before me with some sort of solution in a small plastic holder.

“This might sting a little, but it won’t last long. First, let me set the bones, that’ll be the most painful part of this,” he says with an apologetic note in his voice.

I refrain from telling him there’s no need to apologize or even explain what he needs to do. I simply nod.

He was right, the setting of the bones was painful, but I suspect my tolerance for pain has increased greatly considering everything else I’ve endured. The pain washed through me and then faded to just an underlying level of discomfort.

“There we are. I put some of my special herbs into the solution, which should help speed the recovery along. Your wolf won’t have to do too much. By tomorrow morning you should be able to remove the casts and be good,” he explains.

“Thank you, Dr. Drake … for everything,” I add.

He tilts his head to the side, smiling. Dr. Drake doesn’t say anything for a minute as he observes me while ripping off his latex gloves and tossing them in the tin trashcan in the corner of the room.

“I have something for you,” he suddenly says.

A wrinkle appears in my forehead. “For me?” I ask as if I didn’t hear him correctly.

He nods and then rises from the rolling stool he was sitting on. I watch as he walks over to one of the cupboards and opens it. I don’t see what he pulls down from the cupboard before he comes to stand in front of me.

Dr. Drake holds out his hand, opening it. In his palm is a cell phone. It looks second-hand.

“Someone dropped this off the other day and asked that I pass it along to you.”

I don’t reach for the phone, still not fully understanding what’s going on.

“Go on,” he encourages. “It’s yours. Take it.”

“Wh-Who asked you to pass it on to me?” I turn the phone over and over, as if it will give me the answers I seek.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He snaps his fingers before turning back to the cupboard. “This is the cord and charger.” He hands me the accessories that presumably go along with the phone.

“Thanks. But who?—”

Dr. Drake holds up his hand.

“I’m just the middleman.” He nods at the phone in my hand. “You’ll figure it out. Now, I think we’re done here. And this old man is hungry for supper.” He chuckles.

“Sorry,” I apologize, hopping off the exam table. “Thank you, Dr. Drake. I … um, thank you,” I murmur before heading out of the room.

“Come back tomorrow morning so I can check on those wounds to make sure the herbs worked. You should only have some minor bruising left by then,” he tells me.

I nod and wave over my shoulder before heading for the clinic’s exit. No one is in the lobby as I pass through. What’s even more surprising is that there’s no one waiting for me outside of the clinic when I step outside.

A quick sweep of the periphery tells me that I’m not making it up. There aren’t any betas waiting to escort me back to my house.

As I head across the street, I wonder about the lack of security, but also about the phone in my hand. I have one suspect in mind who would’ve smuggled me this phone, which brings a smile to my lips.

“Hey, Christophe.”

At the sound of my name, I snap both of my hands behind my back. Looking up, I come face to face with Mike, standing in front of the door of my house.

“How was your visit with Dr. Drake?” he asks, his tone almost friendly.

“It-It was good.” I transfer the phone and cord to my left hand while bringing my right hand up for Mike to see the cast.

He makes a hissing, pained sound at the same time he screws up his face. “Man, I had to get a cast about six months ago. I took an ugly tumble while out for a night run. Broke both of my legs.”

I make the same sound that he’d made a moment ago. My wolf whines in empathy right along with me.

“Yeah, I actually fell the equivalent of about three stories.” He shakes his head but has a smile. “Anyway, doc patched me up and gave me some of his herbs. Cast came off within a day. Thank Mother Moon for our wolf genes, huh?” He chuckles then slaps my shoulder.

“Belinda was worried as shit.” He chuckles again.

“Belinda?” That name isn’t a familiar one.

“Oh shit, right. I don’t think you ever met her since we met out West.”

I nod. Mike had lived out in Arizona, overseeing the Nightwolf pack’s real estate ventures out there. He’s returned back to New Mexico to live full-time in the period I’ve been away, apparently.

“She’s my mate.” He grins from ear to ear. Mike steps forward and pulls a wallet out of his back pocket. He removes an actual photo, not just one from the gallery of his cell.

“We met when I was still living out West, working at one of our construction sites,” he confirms.

He looks up at me with glowing eyes. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

I nod. “She is,” I say, looking at the beautiful woman with olive skin and long, dark hair.

He chuckles as he smacks me on the back so hard that I almost tumble. I cringe, recalling how much he liked to roughhouse when we were younger.

“What’s the matter?” he questions, still chuckling. “I thought you bulked up with all of those damn push-ups and wall squats I see you doing in there.” He elbows me as if conspiratorially.

“I …” I hesitate to finish my thought, but something pulls the words out of me. “I don’t like it when you roughhouse like that.” A truth I never expressed with Mike or any of the other male pack members before.

As the omega, it was always my job to be their emotional outlet. At times, their roughhousing got too uncomfortable, too aggressive, especially if one of them was pissed off about something.

Yet, I never felt I had the power to speak up about my truth before. Maybe I still don’t.

Mike’s eyes widen, and I brace myself for the inevitable outburst of anger. But he surprises me.

“Shit,” he mutters. “You’re hurt. I thought it was just your hand. Are your ribs alright?” He actually starts to reach for me as if about to check for himself.

“My ribs are fine,” I quickly tell him. “I never liked being pushed around. Brings back too many memories from … that prison,” I explain, though that’s not the total truth.

It also reminds me too much of my biological father and his meanness.

“Fuck me,” Mike curses himself. “I’m a fuck up.”

“No,” I immediately blurt out. “You’re not.” I start to run my hand through my hair, but then remember the cast, before dropping my hand to my side. “Light teasing is fine, just not too much,” I say before clearing my throat.

Mike takes a step back, his lips spreading into a half-grin. He looks me up and down, as if with renewed eyes. “Thanks for telling me,” he says, surprising me again. “I’ll keep it in mind from now on.”

It feels as if something’s just shifted between the two of us, but I don’t quite have the words to explain it.

Instead of trying to, I gesture toward the photo still in his hand.

“You’re lucky to have found her. Your Belinda,” I tell him. “Make sure not to mess it up.”

Mike’s eyes widen before he bursts out in laughter. He nods his head. “Thanks for the advice. Go on inside, Ms. Elsie’s meal is waiting for you.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to invite him inside, but then I remember the phone in my back pocket. Hearing Mike talk about his mate, has a desperation coursing through me to find out if my suspicions are correct on who sent me the phone.

I nod before heading toward the door. “Have a good night,” I tell him.

Once behind closed doors, I pull the cell phone out. It lights up a second after I press the power button.

It only takes a few moments for it to power up, and I notice there’s already a couple of text messages.

Unknown Number: Hey! It’s me *smiley face*

Unknown Number: Now we can always communicate.

My heart beats rapidly against my ribcage. She didn’t have to tell me who it is for me to know.

My butterfly.

I quickly program her number into my contact lists under the nickname only I call her.

Me: Hi.

I reply lamely.

I stare and stare at the screen, but no message comes across. Moving to my bedroom, I start to yank my T-shirt over my head, with some difficulty due to the casts on my one hand and on one of the fingers of the other.

The phone buzzes.

My Butterfly: I miss you.

My stomach bottoms out. I hate to think of her as sad or longing for anything, least of all me.

Yet I can’t help but reply.

Me: Miss you too, butterfly.

Me: Why did you buy me a phone?

My Butterfly: Because you should be able to communicate with other people. Especially me *winky face emoji*

I chuckle.

Me: This is the best present anyone has ever given me.

I tell her honestly.

No, it’s not real, touch-to-touch communication, but it’s still enough to push away the constant, pressing loneliness that continues to pervade my being most days. I’ll relish this way to communicate with Ashley until I have to give it up.