Page 23 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)

Twenty-Three

MEGAN

“ I ’ll take you to the waiting area.”

Jake, the social worker managing the ER today, pats the back of the middle-aged woman standing out of the way of the surgical team occupying most of the room.

Her gaze is locked on the man on the bed, her lips tight with worry.

One of the assisting nurses notices and breaks from the group working to move him up to the surgical floor.

“We’ll have someone give you hourly updates,” she says with a warm smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. “And the doctor will discuss everything once he’s in recovery.”

That seems to snap the woman from her stupor. She glances from Jake to the nurse and then back. “All right.”

Without another word, they follow the surgical team as they move the man through the ER and up to an operating room where they’ll repair the nasty compound break in his arm. Jake gives me a quick smile as they leave.

And then it’s just me. I tip my head back, counting to ten, and then strip off my gloves and drop them into the trash tucked in the corner of the room with a heavy sigh.

I exit out of the man’s file and lock the room’s computer, then erase the whiteboard with his vitals and checklist of tests and labs.

When I step out of the room, the central desk swarms with motion, nurses moving between rooms and computers, trying to keep all of the patient charts updated while working through the neverending waiting room out front.

The doctors weave between them, discussing among themselves various cases. Jake and the woman are already gone.

Erica touches my wrist as she passes. “Is this one ready?”

“Yep,” I respond, twisting away from the frenetic room to mark the patient room as ready for cleaning. In another fifteen minutes, there’ll be a new patient in there needing my help.

“Great. There was a delivery for you, by the way.”

My eyebrows furrow. I drop my marker back into a pocket and look over my shoulder at Erica. “A delivery?”

She smiles and holds out her hand. In it is a narrow vase of green glass filled with flowers. It’s an automatic reaction to take it from her, like it’s a medication or warmed blanket and not an unexpected piece of beauty in this place.

“There’s a note tucked in there, too, so be careful.” Erica’s voice is light. “Anyway, I’ll get that room cleaned and ready for the next person.”

She disappears deeper into the ER without another word. I press up against the room’s door, keeping out of the way of the other staff, and focus on the sudden bouquet in my hands. It’s a handful of dark pink azaleas mixed with another small white flower I don’t recognize.

How in the world did someone find azaleas at the end of July?

Like Erica promised, there’s a small white card tucked in the center of the blooms.

I pull it and flip it over. There’s no note, just a delicate scrawl that says “From Your Omega.” Tears inexplicably line my lashes, and I blink them back before anyone can realize I’m crying over a small batch of flowers. I send a quick message to Cole.

They’re beautiful. Thank you.

It’s only a few seconds before the message is marked as read and the dots show up.

Hope it was ok I sent them to the hospital instead of the house.

Better than okay.

We’re still on for chatting tonight?

Absolutely. Gotta get back.

Be safe.

I smile as I tuck my phone back into my pocket and cross the department, dropping onto one of the cushioned stools and settling in front of an open computer.

I set the vase of flowers beside the monitor, careful to keep it far enough away that someone won’t knock it over on accident.

Warmth fills me, turning over my stomach, as I stare at the flowers.

He sent me flowers . I mean, I knew he’d been listening when I talked about losing my parents. But I hadn’t expected him to send me my favorite flowers while working, especially since it’s only been a couple days since we were in Seattle.

With a dreamy sigh, I turn to focus on my work. It takes two swipes of my badge to unlock the computer. By the time I have the patient’s chart pulled up, Riley’s dropped onto a stool next to me, his attention entirely on me.

“How was whale watching?” he asks slyly.

I can’t help but frown as I glance away from the chart. “How do you know what we did?”

Without missing a beat, he pulls his phone from one of the cargo pockets of his scrubs and pulls up an image.

It’s a screenshot of another one of those gossip articles like Charlotte and I had seen Sunday before flying back from Seattle.

This time, though, the article’s dominant photo is a grainy, pixelated image of Cole and me leaning against the railing of the yacht he’d borrowed.

Our arms are touching, our fingers are laced together, and our faces are turned toward each other.

Cole’s expression is obscured—blown out of detail from the crappy quality of the photo—but mine is nearly crystal clear.

I hadn’t realized anyone was paying attention to us so far out from the marina. Oh crap . Does that mean there are shitty photos of him and me making out, too? Or of him going back to the rental with us?

My skin tightens from the unwanted attention.

I force a swallow and turn back to the computer, entering in the final notes for the compound fracture I just helped admit to orthopedic surgery.

“Oh,” I manage to say with a neutral tone. “Yeah, it was fun.”

“So when do I get to meet him?”

A sudden surge of possessive greed rushes through me. I barely manage to swallow the snarl that tries to rise with it. I close out of the file and then pull up the triage list, seeing who is next to be brought back for treatment.

“Not sure yet,” I hedge. “He’s not moving out here until Friday, and then he’ll need time to settle in after that.”

“Fair enough,” he says.

He starts to say something else, but the EMS radio cuts him off. He grabs the microphone and responds to the paramedic. After another moment, Holden’s steady, warm voice cuts across the open air.

“We’re about ten minutes out with a 70-year-old male experiencing cardiac arrest.”

As Riley takes down the necessary information and begins paging the proper response team, I jump to my feet and race to the crash cart, the list of waiting room patients forgotten for the moment.

CHARLOTTE

“It feels strange to not be picking him up,” I admit, hopping onto the peninsula that separates the kitchen from the dining space.

Marcus casually palms my thigh from his perch on the barstool just beside me, his focus entirely on his phone.

“I mean, I get why we aren’t. That airport is an hour away in the best circumstances, and we don’t have a car. But still…”

I trail off, not really sure how to put it into words.

There’s an itch just under my skin that’s gotten worse over the last week—since we flew back from Seattle, really.

It needs me to be where Cole is, make sure he’s safe and protected.

Which isn’t really something I can do sitting in my townhome in the heart of SoHo while he’s being driven by some fancy service from Farmingdale of all places.

“His fathers have been flying in and out of this city his entire life.” Marcus’s voice is low and soothing, and I know he’s pushing some of that innate ability all Alphas have to calm those around them. My stomach clenches anyway, though. “I’m sure they have the routine memorized at this point.”

My irritation bleeds into my scent, souring it. Marcus sets his phone down and looks up at me. His eyebrows are furrowed low over his eyes, making a line appear between them.

“Lottie, he’s fine,” he murmurs. “I would know, remember?”

The innocent question triggers a rush of jealousy I’m definitely not proud of. I swallow down my response, the unspoken words more acerbic than most I’ve ever thought.

“Is it odd being able to feel him again?” Megan asks from her quiet sentinel position on the other side of the kitchen.

Thank God for her. The last thing I want is to get in a fight with Marcus minutes before Cole shows up on our doorstep. Marcus moves his hand to grip my ankle and then rests his head on my thigh. The touch soothes me more than his fancy voice trick did, and I manage to relax just a bit.

“It is,” Marcus says after a long silence.

“I… I’m not sure if I can accurately describe it.

It’s an overwhelming sensation that’s mostly gone away in the last two years.

It’s disorienting to have it back.” He snorts.

“Which is ridiculous I’m even saying that since I’m the one who tactlessly begged him to go off the damn suppressor before we left Seattle. ”

His nutmeg scent billows out from him as he says it, and Megan rolls her eyes.

“I do not need to know the specifics, I assure you,” she says, though her lips curl into a smile. “I’ve managed to live with you for over a year and have never seen more than I care to see, thank you very much. I don’t need it to change now.”

Marcus chuckles. “What if Cole wants something that would require it to change?”

Megan narrows her eyes and purses her lips, seriously considering the question.

Want something that would require them both undressed? It takes me a minute to realize what they’re implying.

“You mean… like both of you at the same time?” My voice squeaks. I can’t help it.

That sounds… well, not terrible. Just really freaking vulnerable. How do you keep track of everyone? Make sure that everyone is satisfied?

Megan sighs and shrugs her shoulders. “Then I guess I’ll have to get over it. You know Omegas get what they want. And having to see you naked is a whole lot cheaper than some things I’ve heard Omegas demand in their matched packs.”

She’s not wrong.

“Omegas get what they want” might as well be the tagline for the Council’s informational classes all Alphas are required to take when they first designate.

It’s the cornerstone of every lesson, every fact the Council gives.

Your Omega wants to sleep with you rather than in their own bed or nest?

Better make room. Your Omega prefers white sauce on their pizza? Better get used to the change ASAP.

I’ve heard the Council wasn’t always so Omega-forward, but that it’s changed a lot in the last twenty years.

Mostly, it was in response to the rise of Omega-Specific Bond Sickness that spiked at the turn of the century.

So many Omegas were being accidentally—and sometimes forcibly—bonded and then developing the nasty neurological disease when the Alphas would get bored and move on to someone else.

After a lot of public pressure, the Council began revamping their informational campaigns.

The knock at the door makes me jump, just a bit. Marcus squeezes my ankle before sitting up. I adjust the crop tee and shorts I’m wearing, then move my hair so it falls over one shoulder. Megan pushes off the counter as I’m landing on my feet. The three of us start toward the door.

Time to welcome Cole to New York.