Page 22 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)

Twenty-Two

COLE

“ M r. Fallon?” a woman with a long black ponytail asks as if I’m not the only person sitting in the waiting area, a situation needed due to my last name.

Just one more layer of secrecy so the reality of my sickness doesn’t become public knowledge—or Sienna’s.

God help me if my mother ever finds out.

The woman smiles as I stand and approach her. I haven’t seen her around before. Maybe she’s new.

It takes all my effort to ignore the subtle, consistent pulsing of pain just behind my eyes. As far as headaches go, it’s not the worst I’ve had to manage. But along with the nearly constant nausea? It’s not the best combination.

“How are you today?” she asks as we walk down the long hall of my neurologist’s office, stopping only to get an updated weight and blood pressure for my file.

“Well enough,” I offer.

She holds out a hand, indicating one of the three rooms with an open door.

The cabinets are a bland middle brown that stand in stark contrast to the white walls.

Large windows are covered in blinds, mostly shut.

On the only open wall, a watercolor of a bouquet of flowers sits framed in nearly the same color wood as the cabinets.

As I settle into one of the chairs rather than the exam table, she opens a small laptop and begins transferring her notes.

“Any new symptoms?” she asks.

Besides the worst state of need I’ve experienced in two years? I’ve never craved a knot so damn bad in my life and they only flew back to New York early yesterday morning. I shake my head, and she smiles again.

“Great. Dr. Wales should be with you in just a few minutes.”

The door closes with a heavy thud. My nerves rise in trained response, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

I tilt my head back, trying to work through the grounding exercises for when the realities of being an Omega become too much to handle in public.

I try to empty my mind, try to find some semblance of quiet center, but I can’t manage to quell all the thoughts.

What if she says I can’t come off the suppressor? What if the bloodwork from after the gala showed no improvement even after adding that awful new medication that still gives me dizzy spells if I move too fast or wait too long to eat?

God, I should probably bring up the heat suppressor, too.

At least to know my options. They’ll expect me to go into heat eventually, right?

Omegas have heats every six months unless a suppressant of some kind is used.

They’d notice eventually that I was suppressing mine, even if just enough to give my dads time to get me to a Haven and sedated.

I’ve never actually gone through a heat in its entirety.

The first two I sedated through, taking time off the sailing vessel to be treated in a nearby hospital.

And the last two years? I haven’t been allowed to have a true heat emerge, only the beginning stages of them so that the cumulative effect of the suppressant medication stays minimal.

Will I actually get to have one with them?

The thought has my stomach clenching with anticipation.

There’s a brisk knock on the door before it opens, tearing me out of the thought spiral.

Dr. Emilia Wales is a petite woman with pin straight gray hair cut blunt to her chin.

When in her office and clinic, she wears scrub bottoms and a sweater no matter the season.

Today, the pants are a dark blue and the sweater a soft pink.

Her deep set eyes are a warm brown that always feel like they’re seeing too much of me.

Her smile is soft and, this time at least, not so guarded.

She has her own laptop tucked under an arm as she holds out her hand to me.

“It’s nice to see you again, Cole,” she says in a happy alto.

“You, too, Emilia,” I offer as I gently shake her hand and then tuck mine back under my legs.

She settles onto the cushioned stool and opens her laptop, reviewing my file.

I don’t rush her despite my own nerves. She’s one of the best in the country, the first one to realize the specific version of OBS I had and got me onto the cocktail of medications that has kept it from getting to the absolute worst state.

“Have you gotten your match yet?” she asks without looking away from the screen.

“I have. We’re coordinating my move right now.”

She nods and types. “So you’re feeling decent about it? Have you seen Dr. Winters since receiving it?”

“I haven’t seen her, no,” I murmur. Her appointment is tomorrow, wedged right before the movers are supposed to show up to the house. It felt right to schedule my monthly psychiatry appointment only an hour or two before everything about my life physically changes. “I’m… feeling hopeful.”

She looks up, an eyebrow raised.

My laugh is dry. “Yeah, I know. That’s not a word we’ve gotten to use much the last year.”

“It’s not,” she agrees. “But I’m thinking it’ll be one we use now.”

She turns her laptop to me. My most recent bloodwork is on the screen. I lean forward, examining the numbers. It’s the lowest they’ve been in at least a year. Not quite where most who have OBS want their numbers to stabilize, but significantly better than I’ve managed in a long time.

“Wow,” I mutter. And then my stomach drops.

Damn it. That means she’s going to make me stay on the awful medication.

She laughs. “That was just about my exact response. How are you handling the medication addition?”

I can’t help but grimace. Her gaze sharpens, and she pulls the laptop back to her, serious again in a heartbeat.

She talks me through the last two weeks, from the dizzy spells to the near constant nausea to the body aches and how they’ve decreased but not gone away entirely.

Her frown deepens with each answer I give.

“Damn,” she whispers. “It might be the dosing, but I don’t want to reduce it yet since your numbers are better. Or it could be your bond suppressor. Let me pull up my reference list really quick and see if there’s a similar option that won’t impact quite so much.”

Well, I suppose that’s a good way to bring up Marcus’s request.

“I actually, uh, had a question about my suppressors,” I admit. My voice cracks just a bit, and I swallow the sudden lump filling my mouth and closing my throat.

Her eyes flash back up to me, surprise lighting them. “You do?”

“Y-yeah.” Damn, are my hands shaking? I press them harder into the chair. “I was curious if I could come off of them. Or at least the bond suppressor.”

Her wide eyes are almost comical. Her hands freeze over the keyboard.

“You want to come completely off of the bond suppression?” she asks. Her voice is politely incredulous rather than outright shocked.

“I do.”

One thin eyebrow lifts gracefully in silent question.

I suck in a breath and just say it. “The match from the Council included the Alpha.”

This time her shock is a palpable force in the room. Silence extends between us, veering into uncomfortable.

“I see,” she finally says. “And have you interacted since the gala?”

“They were here over the weekend,” I admit.

Her gaze flicks back to her laptop. “Well, that could explain your improvement beyond the new medication.”

Her lips purse. I can practically hear the gears turning in her mind as she mulls over my latest bloodwork in light of Marcus being around me again. My stomach clenches.

“All right,” she says finally. “When do you move? Where is the pack?”

“Manhattan.” My throat is so freaking dry right now. I swallow again. “I fly out there Friday.”

Her shoulders relax just a fraction.

“New York City is good,” she murmurs. She clicks something, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “I’ll send an email to Dr. Faulks and work on permanently coordinating your care.”

“Dr. Faulks?” I can’t help but ask.

“He’s one of the faculty at the Gallagher Center,” she explains distractedly.

Oh, he must be the doctor she’s worked with in tandem the last year or so while we were trying to limit the OBS progression. Without another word, she gestures to the exam table. I try to stand slowly, but the dizziness happens anyway.

“Damn it,” I mutter, palming the arm rest of the chair to keep me from falling.

Emilia steps up to me and grabs my elbow, wordlessly helping me find my balance again.

After a minute, my vision clears, and I drop onto the exam table.

I keep my eyes closed as she works through the various checks.

Every touch of her hands, despite the necessity, sends me a step closer to overstimulation.

Eventually, she moves away from me, the faint swish of her scrub pants grating on my frayed nerves.

I stretch my neck, trying to get my body to settle a bit at all the small things urging it into a panicked overdrive.

“Does your head ache?” she asks. There’s a soft click, and even with my eyes closed, I can tell she’s flipped off the overhead light.

“Yeah, just my typical,” I admit. When I finally force my eyes open, she’s sitting in front of me, her arms resting on her legs as she leans forward.

“I don’t want to decrease your dosage of the new medication,” she says. “Your bloodwork and exam are stable enough that I’m willing to bring you off the bond suppressors. I’ve calculated a plan to have you weaned entirely by Friday.”

Nervous excitement bubbles in my stomach. I’m going to get to feel him again, feel him for more than the brief flashes. Memories of yesterday morning flood me, and my skin tightens. God, now is not a good time to be thinking about the way he felt over me.

“Once you’re fully off of it and settled in with the pack, we can discuss the heat suppressor as well.

” When I nod, she purses her lips. “You have to be brutally honest with me as we’re adjusting everything.

As you know, any slight modification can have unintended consequences.

I want you to see Dr. Faulks within two weeks regardless of your symptoms.”

“Does he have privacy plans?” I ask.

Powerful people move through Manhattan all the time with minimal scrutiny—or at least no worse than typical. But going into a clinic that specializes in OBS? That will send every possible news outlet that’s ever kept a tab on me into a spiral.

She nods. “Yes, they have plans in place for patients who need shielding from the public eye. His office is very comfortable in handling the extra scrutiny.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief.

Her voice sharpens. “If your symptoms get worse, you need to tell me immediately. You have my direct number already. Use it. Make sure you always have your emergency interventions with you and ready. It’s possible that coming off the bond suppressor could kickstart a heat cycle despite the medications.

As of now, you’re not stable enough to get through one without some level of sedation.

You need to establish a plan of care if a heat happens, understand? ”

Those nerves twist and morph in the span of an instant. I breathe through them best I can and murmur an affirmative.

She smiles, and the seriousness of just a moment ago drips away from her. “Good. I’m excited for you, Cole. You deserve good news.”