Page 11 of Puck Your Bunny

I turn the shower on cold. After peeling off my sweat-soaked pajamas, I kick my ruined underwear into the corner. The freezing spray shocks my system. I grab a bar of pheromone-suppressant soap and a washcloth, scrubbing until my skin turns pink. I have to wash away the scent of arousal. Walking into Bren's room smelling like sex and panic will trigger his Alpha instincts in a heartbeat.

Once I'm scrubbed clean, the throb in my core fades to a manageable ache. I yank the shower curtain back and stop midstep out of the stall. My wet foot hovers an inch above a pile of calico fur. Cali sits right in the middle of the bath mat, her tail wrapped around her paws. Her bright green eyes stare up to judge my cold shower.

"Stop looking at me like that." I step around her to reach the towel rack. "You have no idea the kind of morning I'm having. Keep your judgments to yourself, please."

Cali blinks in a slow, unimpressed rhythm.

I dry my shaking body with the rough towel. Back in my bedroom, I pull on a clean pair of worn-out yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt. I sink onto the edge of the mattress and take deep, calming breaths to force my heart rate back to normal. I shove the guilt and arousal into a locked box in my mind. Staying calm and focusing on the routine keeps me from losing my grip on reality.

I walk down the short hallway to Brendan's room. I push the door open, taking in the scent of clinical antiseptic wipes and his faint, familiar smell of rain and driftwood.

Bren is awake, lying flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling fan with a blank expression. His left hand twitches against the quilt.

I move to the side of the hospital bed and force a cheerful smile. "Happy Monday morning, Bren. Did you sleep okay?"

He blinks and turns his head. His mouth curves into a crooked smile while a small, contented hum vibrates in his chest. He recognizes my voice and my scent. The relief washes over me. Some mornings pose a massive challenge, but today he seems calm and present.

"Alright, let's get you cleaned up and into your chair." I pull the thick quilt down to the foot of the bed.

The familiar motions of the morning routine take over. I check his brief. It held up fine since his middle of the night change. Waking up at three in the morning to swap him out is just part of the schedule, but sometimes he needs an extra change before dawn. I swap the damp brief for a fresh one, then get him strapped into the canvas Hoyer sling.

Once the loops hook onto the metal cradle, I press the up button on the remote. The machine whirs, lifting his body weight into the air. I pivot the lift to position him right over his wheelchair. A gentle descent lands him in the seat. I securethe chest harness and adjust his footrests to keep his circulation steady.

"Vinny gets here in a few hours. He plans to help you get a shower today. You like it when Vinny helps with the shower."

Bren makes another happy noise. His fingers tap an uneven rhythm on the armrest of his chair.

Lifting him out of the wheelchair without the Hoyer lift is impossible. Our tiny master bathroom shower lacks the space to fit the massive metal machine, the shower chair, and his wheelchair without risking a serious injury to both of us. Vinny is strong enough to manage a standing pivot transfer in the tight quarters.

I push Brendan into the kitchen and park his chair at the edge of the small dining table.

"Breakfast time. I bought the good fruit yesterday."

Bren loves mangoes. The sweet treat guarantees a good mood. I grab a cutting board and a small knife to peel the tough skin away. I slice the bright orange flesh into very tiny pieces to prevent any choking hazard. After scooping a generous amount of yogurt into a plastic bowl, I reach into the cabinet for his morning medications and vitamins. I drop the pills into a small crusher and grind them into a fine powder. I sprinkle the chalky dust over the yogurt, using the mango to hide the bitter taste.

I take the seat next to him and pick up the spoon. Feeding him takes time, but watching him enjoy the sweet fruit provides a quiet highlight for my morning. His eyes light up with every bite, showing a spark of genuine joy breaking through the haze of his brain injury.

With the bowl empty, I use a damp paper towel to clean his mouth. Pushing his chair into the living room comes next. I grab the TV remote and navigate to the Disney app on the smart TV.

"I'm putting The Lion King on." I press play, letting the familiar music fill the room. "Maybe we'll go for a walk later and get some sun, okay? It's supposed to be nice out. After your P.T."

He focuses on the bright colors flashing across the screen, safe and content.

Back in the kitchen, I tackle the breakfast mess. I drop the sticky plastic bowl into the sink and turn on the hot water. My eyes lock onto the windowsill above the sink.

An old, framed picture sits right next to a dying potted succulent. It shows my first pack during a messy breakfast on a random Tuesday morning. Me, Emmett, Hale, and Brendan all crowd around our old kitchen table, with half-eaten plates of pancakes between us.

Perched sideways on Emmett's lap, I lean my weight back into his chest. His arms loop around my middle to secure my balance. My head tilts back, caught mid-laugh with one hand resting on his forearm. He always radiated so much warmth, his deep cocoa skin a beautiful contrast to mine in the morning light. His wide smile shows off the chipped front tooth he refused to fix.

Hale grins, his hand resting flat on Bren's shoulder during an attempt to steal a piece of bacon. He sports messy dark hair and the permanent stubble that used to scratch my cheeks when he kissed me. Brendan looks young, his Alpha presence radiating confidence and strength. His golden blonde hair sits styled to perfection, and his bright blue eyes look clear like the ocean.

Staring at the glass frame makes my breath hitch. Tracing the lines of their familiar faces offers a brief comfort. The vibration from the dream continues, my skin buzzing with an endless hunger. I force those graphic images back into my head, putting Emmett, Hale, and Brendan into the roles.

Picturing Emmett’s large hands on my waist, Hale’s rough stubble against my throat, and Bren’s weight pinning me to the sheets sparks another flare of heat in my core. Wanting themfeels safe. Screaming their names in my head keeps me from feeling like a total traitor.

The dream is a stubborn, vivid thing. It refuses to accept the lie.

The faces in my mind begin to shift and blur. Emmett’s warm skin and wide smile morph into Wally’s intense, dark stare. Hale’s playful grin turns into Kel’s aggressive scowl. Bren’s golden hair and blue eyes vanish, replaced by Simon’s focused, hungry expression. The hands on my hips shift from Emmett’s to the thick, powerful grip of the Alphas from the arena.