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“Maybe she knows an omega at the shelter?” I hazard. “And doesn’t want us to know?”
“But why? She really doesn’t trust us at all?” Hurt laces Roman’s voice. “After what we’ve been through with her, she thinks we’d do something to endanger a friend of hers?”
“Guys, shut up,” Kyrian says. “Look.”
The shelter isn’t her destination. She keeps walking, turning the corner of the block, vanishing once more.
“What’s that building?” I frown at the spot where she disappeared. “What’s there?”
“It’s a hospital,” Archer mutters. “Grace Memorial Hospital.”
I blink. “A hospital.” A weight presses against my chest.
Well, fuck.
That’s not possible. Not fucking possible. Scenarios unfold inside my mind. Clues drop in with dizzying speed.
“Her debts,” I say. “The mention of expensive medicine. Medical bills. Was that why she was dancing at that fucking club?”
“That would make sense,” Roman mutters. “Hospital bills can drown you, even if you are covered by State Medic-Care and copays can sometimes be…”
“A goddamn rock hanging around your neck,” Kyrian supplies. “Not to mention extras.”
I don’t want them to agree. I want them to tell me that this is crazy, that there has to be another explanation, because if not…
“Is she…?” I clear my throat. Breathing is becoming harder and harder. “Do you think she’s…?”
“Sick?” Archer is scowling, hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Sick enough to need the hospital on a regular basis?” Roman is scowling, too. “She’s never seemed unwell. Has she?”
Kyrian grunts a curse. “Not sure we’d be able to tell that easily. Not all diseases are obvious. And she’s stubborn. I bet you she can take a lot of pain and hide it well.”
I can’t… fucking can’t. My knees are giving out, the air sucked out of my lungs. Darkness is seeping into my vision.
Fucking embarrassing, I think, but the thought is distant. I’m going to faceplant in the street, in front of the pack who asked me to join them. That will give them some second thoughts.
But strong hands grab me, and it’s Kyrian holding me up, hauling me to his side. “Breathe, Sawyer. Nobody’s dying.”
Yet.
“Nobody’s dying on our watch,” he repeats. “We don’t know if she’s sick, even. What if she’s not?”
“Only one way to find out,” Archer says. “We ask her.”
Nobody says we shouldn’t, that we’d give ourselves way, let her know we’ve followed her, scare her off worse.
The possibility of her being sick or worse, is too fucking much. We have to know.
Even if I don’t know if I can take such news…
42
BRINLEE
I’m so angry. Furious.
But also happy.
