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Not just because I don’t want to, in general, but because I’ve never felt less prepared for anything in my entire life.
If I had known this was going to happen, I would have?—
Well, I would have locked Tristan up.
But, if I had had time to prepare, I would have done some research. Set up special doctors and therapists. Made sure we at least had an empty guest room.
At that thought, I whip my phone out and send Myles a disordered list of tasks. Hating that there isn’t time to categorize them by importance or send more detailed notes.
My brother buzzes in place beside me. When his restless gaze shifts over my phone, he mumbles, “Tell him to order blankets. Pillows. And underwear.”
While my brain stumbles over how absurd and unacceptable this situation is, Archer Monroe ducks back into the interrogation room. I hit send on the message and scowl at his back, rankled.
Isn’t this whole thing bad enough without being humiliated in front of one of the few colleagues I respect?
But no. He’s here to witness me shirtless and squirming.
It’s almost worse that he’s been so kind about this. No mocking or scorn or even judgment. I suspect it’s less for my benefit and more for Jonah’s—since Dr. Monroe actually likes Jonah.
As a rule, people do not like me.
Especially the ones who have to work with me.
I suppose it may also have something to do with Tristan, though. Despite the absolute mess he’s caused, my brother is typically a very respected member of the community. Happily bonded alphas like Archer tend to support his politics because he’s the foremost advocate for omega rights in all of Congress.
Which would make this extremely ironic, if I currently had a sense of humor.
“She’s agreed to go home with you and stay through her next heat,” Dr. Monroe reports, nodding as he strides out of the room. “Which I’d estimate will be here in four to six weeks. I’ll prepare some notes on her care and email them over to you all.”
Tristan’s face doesn’t flinch, but his eyes shift. I’m probably the only one who can sense the relief buried there. That’s a logical reaction—any distance from Serena will cause him pain until the half-bond is completed. And being away from her during her heat would be miserable for both of them.
“It will be best to keep her out of the public eye,” I mutter. “Less risk of a scandal if she decides she wants to leave after her heat.”
Tristan's voice drops into a warning snarl. “Spencer.”
I gesture around the abandoned police station, narrowing my eyes at him. “Don’t start with the self-righteous bullshit. You cleared this place out for a reason. You—the senator leading a national charge for omega workplace rights—biting and half-bonding an unwilling omega? It’s the scandal of the century, Tristan.”
“No one will find out anything we don’t want them to know,” my brother replies, some of his innate dominance returning. “It’s my job to protect her now. And I will.”
I lean to the side, peering through the window strip into the small, sterile room. Archer is there again, holding his tablet, explaining Serena’s birth control options as Jonah frowns in concentration and the small, underfed omega hides the lower half of her face in Avery’s sweatshirt.
Something unfamiliar pangs in my breast.
Serena.
It is a pretty name.
There’s no denying she’s beautiful. Well, what little of her I can see, that is. So far, it’s just the full, dark fall of her hair and the shape of her down-turned face.
I follow the line of her gaze to the platforms dangling from her ankles. They’re thicker than anyone should ever wear—a safety hazard—and thoroughly scuffed, with duct tape holding one of the buckles together.
Something about them clenches everything inside of me until I can barely breathe.
My brother stares, grim and determined. “From now on,” he says, “she gets whatever she wants.”
chapter
thirteen
