Page 5 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)

Five

COLE

“ M r. Fallon?”

The nurse is quiet, her footsteps light enough I can’t accurately place her in the room. I don’t bother to open my eyes. If they need to give me something, she won’t let me just lay here, so there’s no reason to track her around the space.

I’ve spent enough time in hospitals to resent every single facet of them.

The rhythmic beeping of the monitor, the periodic tightening of the blood pressure cuff, the grating of the metal curtain holder every time someone comes in and out of the sterile, no-frills room.

Even the mechanical whir of the hand sanitizer that signals an employee is about to touch me.

It’s a sensory nightmare, and I hate all of it, especially tonight.

Or this morning, I guess, since it’s been hours since the paramedics brought me in, cutting off my suit and sending me off for rounds of tests.

It was after midnight by the time the doctor was finally able to set my nose after confirming the asshole hadn’t broken anything else.

At this rate, they’ll have to contact my doctor back in Seattle so they can give me the treatment cocktail I take every morning.

The pain meds, at least, are still working, so the throbbing headache is gone for the moment. Small mercies.

“Cole?” Dad’s voice this time.

That has me opening my eyes and cautiously rolling onto my back. The nurse quickly moves all the cords around so I don’t mess any of them up. The room swims for a minute, and bile burns the back of my throat. I can’t help but groan.

“Do you want something for the nausea?” the nurse asks in her quiet voice.

Dad’s woody scent fills the room between one moment and the next, soured by his rage. I swallow down the burning and mumble a “no.”

I just want to get out of here so I can smell something comforting rather than the astringent cleaner that seems to permeate the damn walls of hospitals.

At least the hospital in Seattle has an Omega-specific section, designed to reduce the stresses the hospital puts on Omegas.

Do I want to be admitted due to a sickness flare?

Absolutely not. But at least those rooms have plush blankets and dim lights and minimal contact.

“All right,” she says. “You’re due for another round of pain meds in about fifteen minutes. We’ll get those on board and then get you back home, Mr. Fallon.”

As she turns, she offers a small smile to Dad.

“I’ll be just outside if either of you need something,” she tells him in the same soft timbre. She doesn’t quite meet his eyes, though, like she can sense his anger, though I know Betas can’t tell the subtle differences in scents that betray feelings in both Alphas and Omegas. Good on her.

Dad gives a single, silent nod, and she leaves the room. I grimace as the metal grates when she slides the curtain back into place.

“The doctor said it’s just your nose?” Dad phrases it like a question. Before I can say anything, he picks up one of the lackluster chairs and sets it beside the bed, close enough he can touch me if needed. “She also doesn’t think it’ll need surgery.”

“Yeah, guess I’m lucky for once,” I say in the same dry humor he has.

A corner of his mouth lifts, but his eyes are still worried. With a sigh, he leans forward until his elbows rest on his knees and his chin is propped on his fisted hands.

“You want to press charges?” he asks. “He’s being held overnight to help him cool off.”

I start to shake my head but stop when it sends a throbbing pain down my face.

His scent grows stronger. Dad is the calmest of my fathers, always taking whatever happens in stride—until the last month.

He took Sienna’s treachery against Violet the worst. Now, he’s always on a razor’s edge of control.

And sitting here in the ER with my face probably looking like an extra in a low-budget horror film?

The sooner we get out of here, the better for us both.

“No, I just want to go home,” I admit.

His jaw clenches, his calm facade cracking for a moment, his scent souring around us. Then he closes his eyes and breathes deeply. His voice is gravel rough when he speaks again.

“All right. Let’s see what the doctor says and get you home.”

“I thought I told you to not need to leave early so I could have one unique experience.”

Violet’s leaning against the sofa table centered on the far wall and popping a grape into her mouth, an eyebrow raised in challenge. I pull the plush blanket over my nose and bury my head deeper into the pillow beneath me.

“No, you told me to not need to be extracted from the bathroom by my friend,” I say in a low, dry voice. “Which I, in fact, left to you alone. Paramedics are not friends.”

And the Alpha I’m bonded to certainly isn’t, either, though I keep that bit to myself.

Violet knows about the bond, of course. Impossible to keep something like that a secret when it’s why I’ve been so sick the last two years, even with her doing her best to be scarce over that time.

But I’m just not in a place to talk about it all right now.

I don’t bother to move from where I’m sprawled along one side of the large sectional in my dads’ new place.

According to the ER doctor—and most of the internet—the pain should mostly be gone in the next day or so.

But that doesn’t negate the fact I still feel awful.

I’d accidentally mistimed my last round of pain meds, and my head throbs enough that I’m mildly nauseous.

Though that might be from the new medication my neurologist started me on as soon as I got back from New York last week.

My blood levels from before the gala had come back higher than we’d expected, and she’d immediately instructed me to add in this new drug in an attempt to keep them from progressing to the point I risked a crisis event, something no one wants.

Flares are bad enough, the pain and numbness and fatigue.

A full crisis? Well, most of the time they leave the Omega hospitalized for extended periods. No, thank you.

So far, the medication has left me feeling even crappier than a broken nose on its own would. Because I should be so lucky.

Violet sighs, pops the last grape in her mouth, and sets the empty bowl on the table. She crosses the room and sits on the coffee table just out of reach, her eyes taking in every pathetic inch of me.

“Are you alone?” I ask.

The last two times she’s been by, one of her Alphas has been with her, and so has the Beta in her pack, the guy she dated in high school. The Council matching them has given me hope that maybe I’ll get lucky with Marcus, too.

Just the thought of his name has a zing of something too similar to hope rushing through me. God, I don’t want to feel that. Every time I’ve felt it before, it’s led to disappointment.

Before Violet can say anything, there’s noise from the entrance to the large den.

“Hey, Cole,” Rylan says.

I can just barely see where he leans against the wall under the stairs from my vantage. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his jeans, and his eyes are worried as they scan over me, too.

“I’m never alone anymore,” Violet says with feigned indignation, rolling her eyes.

I can’t help but laugh, though it makes the nausea worse. “Yeah, such a pain in the ass to have a pack that gives a shit about you. Those damn Alpha bonds are a real hassle.”

I keep my voice dry but smile just a bit so she knows I’m joking about her bonds and not my complete clusterfuck of one.

Violet blushes, tracing the ragged bite under her ear, but doesn’t say anything.

“Give her a break,” Rylan drawls, though his voice is light. “It’s been a rough couple weeks for her.”

I frown. “What’s wrong?”

Had Sienna done something since our dads filed the dissolution paperwork?

I haven’t seen her since they quietly moved into this place last month under her nose.

Maybe she’d seen Violet, though? The thought has rage burning through my veins, so hot it temporarily overrides my nausea.

Hasn’t she done enough to fuck up all three of her kids?

“Faedra got hurt while we were out in Denver for Violet’s birthday,” Rylan explains without moving. “Between that and you, she’s feeling guilty.”

Violet scrunches her nose and looks over her shoulder to her bonded Alpha. He smirks before she can say anything, though, and her fight fizzles. I’ve never seen her drop a fight so quickly. And blushing? Not once.

“Damn, bonding’s done a number on you, hasn’t it?”

“Shut up,” she snaps, but it has no fire.

“Might be the double knotting,” Rylan says, his southern roots more prominent, a smug satisfaction in the words. “But it’s probably the bonds.”

“ Rylan Montegue ,” Violet hisses, glaring at the Alpha now. “This is my little brother .”

Rylan chuckles. “Yeah, and it’s not like he doesn’t know anything about knotting.”

Now it’s my turn to blush. It flames down my neck and onto my chest. Violet smirks, but before she can gloat, the doorbell rings.

She looks over her shoulder with a frown.

The sliding door opens just as I’m trying to convince myself to get up.

It’s been a week since the gala, so it should be a council intern with the list of cities for me to rank.

Of course they’d come when I’ve felt the worst I have in days.

“I’ve got it, Cole,” Papa says as he strides across the room.

He lets a hand run across my shoulder as he passes, and the small touch soothes a bit of my unease away. I settle deeper into the sofa, some of the tension loosening in my shoulders.

No one bothers to say anything as Papa answers the door. Whatever words are said are too low to be understood this deep into the house.

“Those must be your cities,” Violet says, a new nervousness in her tone. “Have you thought about where you’d like to end up?”

I give a noncommittal grunt, and she frowns. “What is that supposed to mean? You have to have met at least one Alpha that caught your attention. That’s just statistics.”

“New York City,” I admit. “He said he lived in SoHo.”

She smirks, a spark in her eye. “You’d do well in Manhattan. You love Dad’s condo there.”

Before I can decide just exactly how to respond to that, a new voice fills the room.

“Mr. Fallon?”