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Even as my anger spiked, part of me felt even worse for blaming the omega. She sure as hell hadn’t asked to be kidnapped and held captive for years. She hadn’t asked Jude to step in and take a bullet.
Truth be told, she looked as distraught as I’d felt when he’d been bleeding out on the ground.
Movement at the opening of the waiting room snagged my attention and I straightened when I spotted an older doctor in green scrubs. She flashed me a tired, but encouraging smile. “You’re here for Jude Morris-Dutton, correct?”
It had been forever since I’d heard someone use his formal name.
I nodded, my throat dry as I stood. “I’m Rhett Coulson-Dutton. Is he?—”
“He’s going to be fine,” she assured me. “The bullet clipped part of his subclavian artery, but we were able to stop the bleeding. He’s going to need a lot of rest the next few weeks to recoup the blood loss, and likely some physical therapy for his shoulder, but I see no reason why he won’t make a full recovery.”
Air rushed from my lungs in a fast wave, leaving me dizzy enough to slump back into my chair. I took a beat to compose myself. “Can I see him?”
“Of course,” she replied. “He’ll be moved up to the pack suite you arranged and you can join the others up there. Your omega is almost settled in.”
Wait.
What?
“My omega?”
She nodded, not noticing the way my muscles had locked up. “Yes. The rest of your packmates are already with her. I’ll have someone show you up to the suite in just a minute.” She turned and left without another word.
All I could do was gape at the space she’d occupied as I wondered what the hell I’d missed.
21
Hazel
The pack suite was infinitely nicer than the stark hospital room had been. With a flannel blanket tucked around me and Kellan’s shirt on my lap, a quick, private elevator ride—where I was relegated to a wheelchair Crew insisted on pushing— had brought me to my new room.
“Okay, Miss Jones—I’m sorry. Do you prefer Dutton?” My new nurse, Evette, looked at me with kind brown eyes, rimmed with sparkly gold eyeliner that beautifully accentuated her dark complexion, as she moved around the room, ensuring the windows were all covered with heavy drapes that would block out the light.
It took me a moment to remember her question, and when I did, I stammered out, “J-Jones is fine.”
Hazel Dutton.
I’d once doodled that name on my middle school notebook. That was when my Crew crush had been at peak intensity. I’d buried the notebook between my mattress and the box spring so Calla would never see I was so into her oldest brother. But Crew had always been larger than life; alpha before his designation officially hit as a teen. People were drawn to him.
Crew moved around to my front and plucked me out of the chair with ease before swinging me around and depositing me into the unusually wide hospital bed.
I tucked my legs into the soft sheets with a soft sigh, amazed at how the material seemed to whisper against my bare legs like a caress.
“What’s wrong?” Crew demanded, his gaze darting around as he tried to find what had upset me this time.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. I leaned back in the bed too quickly, the branding mark searing with pain. Gasping, I leaned forward.
“What?” Crew was right there, his eyes searching for the problem.
“My shoulder,” I whispered, humiliation tinging my cheeks.
Evette glanced at her chart. “Dr. Labine noticed you had a small, circular burn that looked fresh.”
I nodded.
“We can get you pain medicine,” she offered.
“No,” I said quickly, not wanting my brain to be any foggier than it was. I flashed Crew what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “I’m good.”
