We start packing up the blanket and basket, his movements efficient while I fold the corners carefully. As he shakes the crumbs from the fabric and rolls it under his arm, I catch myself staring at him—broad shoulders, easy smile, the way he seems entirely at ease in his skin.
I don’t know what I did to land here, with him, with them, but a part of me is terrified of how much I want to hold onto it.
When he laces our fingers together and leads me back toward the trail, my heart feels too big for my chest.
Beau insists on walking me to the hospital entrance, his hand brushing over the small of my back like he can’t help himself. I don’t think he even realizes he does it.
My chest is warm with something dangerously close to affection, but I keep it tucked deep because if I let it spill out, I’ll drown in it.
He leans down, murmurs that he’ll see me later, then jogs back to his truck. The echo of his scent—cinnamon and smoke—clings to me as I step into the cool, sterile air of the hospital.
By the time I find Simon’s office, my palms are damp, and my thighs press together in reflex at the memory of the lasttime I was here—his hands on me, his voice in my ear, my body unraveling around his fingers while he whispered that I needed relief.
My face heats, and I cross my legs tighter in the waiting chair, willing myself to think of anything else.
The door opens with the soft click of a handle, and Simon steps in, crisp white coat over his shirt, glasses perched on his nose. My stomach flips.
He’s calm, collected, everything about him professional—and then his eyes land on me, and his expression shifts.
“Hey,” he says quietly, like the word is meant only for me. Then, without hesitation, “Can I kiss you?”
The question steals my breath. My heart knocks against my ribs as I nod, and he closes the space between us. His hand cups my jaw, and his mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s firm and deliberate.
It’s not rushed; it’s controlled, like everything about him, but the heat that sparks in my belly is immediate.
When he pulls back, his thumb strokes my cheekbone. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my pulse stuttering.
He gestures for me to sit on the exam table, and once I do, he takes a seat on the rolling stool, flipping open a chart. “How have you been feeling?”
“Okay,” I answer honestly. “Better than I thought I’d feel after… everything.”
His gaze flicks up, like he knows exactly what everything means. “Good. I’m glad.”
He clears his throat and points to the folder. “I got your bloodwork back. The main issue appears to be that your body isn’t metabolizing the suppressants as it should. It’s not that they’re ineffective—it’s that your system processes them tooquickly for them to be fully functional. That’s why the heat broke through so strongly.”
I bite my lip. “So, what does that mean? Am I just… broken?”
His eyes soften immediately. “You’re not broken, Wren. This isn’t unusual, especially in Omegas whose chemistry shifts with age. What it means is that we’ll need to adjust. Higher dosage isn’t always the answer. Sometimes we combine suppressants with a stabilizer to extend their effectiveness.”
I nod slowly, absorbing the information.
He continues. “I’d like to try you on a dual regimen. It’s safe. I’ll monitor you closely, and if we need to tweak it, we will.”
“All right,” I say, still uncertain but trusting him in a way that unsettles me. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he says, scribbling a note in my chart.
I hesitate, then shift on the table. “Can we… also talk about the birth control you mentioned?”
He looks up. “Of course.” He sets the chart aside, rolling a little closer. “There are a few options, but the one I’d recommend for you is a simple oral contraceptive. Low dose. It won’t interfere with your other medication. You’ll need to take it consistently, but it will give you added protection.”
“So… does that mean my heat is going to keep breaking through?” I ask, voice a little shaky.
Simon leans back, studying me like he always does when he wants to make sure I understand. “Not constantly. The stabilizer should lengthen the suppressant’s effect. But it’s important you pay attention—your body will still tell you what it needs.”
I fidget, thinking of how hard it is to control, how it takes over without warning. “And if it doesn’t work?”
