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A knock sounds on the door behind us, and I'm so focused on Ava that I jump out of my skin. She sighs, "But since I figured you wouldn't believe me, I brought some backup." I would, though. Believe her. But now I'm worried she's invited Pack Whitlock here, and I'm not sure I'm ready to see them. I do believe Ava. I trust everything she's saying.
That her parents created it.
That she's working to stop them.
That she knows the side effects of it, probably better than anyone.
But that doesn't mean she'd notice them in me. Does it? I mean, she only sees me at work. We spent a few hours together before my heat hit, and then again for girl’s night, but that turned into me falling asleep at Pack Whitlock's house and her leaving early. Has she been around me enough recently to see the signs? I don't even feel different. Besides my absolute feeling of devotion for a pack I just met. Everything else about me feels the same. So, how would she be able to tell?
"Come in," Ava says, just loud enough for the person at the door to hear and walk in. Heels click against the hardwood floors, causing my brows to hit my hairline as Doctor Tanner strolls into Ava's studio apartment, medical bag in hand.
"Long time no see," Tanner says to me. No kidding, though. I was just in her office listening to her tell me I'm most likely not pregnant and even more likely to have suffered permanent infertility issues from the past two years. "I hear we have a medical issue to clear up." She sets her bag down on Ava's kitchen table and pulls out a chair, gesturing for me to take a seat.
"We do?" Why is my brain taking so long to catch up to why she's here?
"You do." Ava's voice is firm. "There's one way to know for sure if you've been drugged. You can listen to me reassure you all day long. But you can't argue with a blood test done right in front of you. Let us prove that theylove youand have never abused your trust like that. Don't jump to conclusions so fast."
I skip over the wordlovebefore I start to panic...or blush. Of course, she's making too much sense for me to argue, so I nod dumbly.
"Pull up your sleeve," Doctor Tanner responds to my nod of acceptance. All business. She snaps on a pair of blue latex gloves and pulls a needle, four tubes, and a stretchy armband that'll cut off my circulation for the blood draw. She also roots around in her bag before pulling out a two-piece device, one part which looks a little like an old Nokia phone, only blue and gray. It's connected by a cord to a small black device with a power button.
"This is a portable test. I'll take the blood draws to the office and run them for a more detailed panel, but this one tests your saliva for any traces of amphetamine or methamphetamine, both of which are found in the passion pack cocktail," she explains before I have the chance to ask.
One stick of a needle and a mouth swab later, I'm rolling my sleeve back down after Doctor Tanner tapes me up.
Small hands rest on my shoulders, and I look up to see Ava standing behind me, offering comfort while Tanner takes the swab and sticks it into her portable device. As it is beeping, reading my sample, and we all wait for the results, I get the overwhelming feeling of certainty. I already know what the screen is going to say. It's going to say that I've completely overreacted and jumped to conclusions about a pack that has been nothing but incredible to me. My mind and nerves are shot from the doctor's appointment and pregnancy scare. From the confirmation that Pack Monroe is the reason I lost my baby and possibly my future at ever having them. So, I projected that fear and anger on Hudson, Maverick, Brooklyn, and Mason. Unfairly.
The beeping stops. Almost comically, all three of us lean forward to look at the screen at the same time. Sure enough, shining back at me like a big middle finger is the wordNEGATIVE.Ava's fingers tighten on my shoulders as she gives a reassuring squeeze.
"Well, unless you have any questions, I'm going to go back to the office and run the bloodwork." Her voice is kind as she glances at me in understanding. It's more than I deserve. I am such a drama queen.
"You don't need to run it. I believe this one." My head jerks toward the negative results.
"Actually, I'd still like to run your labs. The swab confirmed you haven't been ingesting it recently. But, as we know, you have had it in your system in the past. I'd like to see if there are still traces in your system. If we're lucky, you've metabolized it quicker than expected, and you'll be able to take your suppressants again."
Hope lights up my face, and Doctor Tanner gives me a soft smile in return. Just as quick as the hope came, though, my face falls into a confused frown as something hits me.
"Is something wrong?" Ava walks around the table until they're both staring at me with puzzled looks.
"Uh... it's just. I realized I haven't been able to feel my bondmates since... Well, I don't really know how long it's been. I didn't even notice." In the beginning, I had trouble even concentrating for longer than a few minutes at a time; they were throwing so many emotions at me. Then, with time or distance–I'm not sure which–their emotions and voices faded to a dull whisper. One I could block out with a little effort and continue on with my day. This is different. I don't hear or feelanything,and bonds don't just disappear. Once you're bitten, that's it. You have a physical and mental link to someone else until one of you dies.
"I can see you still haven't finished reading the literature I gave you," Tanner chuckles, a twinkle in her eyes that confuses me, given the situation.
Just as she's about to continue, Ava interjects. "It's because they're your mates."
"Ava!" Tanner scolds. "You should have let them tell her."
Ava rolls her eyes at Doctor Tanner, and it strikes me that they know each other on some level. They've got a level of familiarity that two strangers don't have. "Please. If they had just sat her down and told her sooner, she wouldn't be in this mess."
Can't argue with that logic. Though a part of me wonders if I'm still swimming in so much trauma from Pack Monroe drugging me, I wouldn't have believed them even if they did just come out and tell me.
Tell me I'm their fated mate. For real this time.
Euphoria washes over me. I can feel my cheeks stretching into a Cheshire grin as their faces pop up like a picture show, and I imagine my mates.
All of us sitting around the dinner table the last time I was at the pack house, and Maverick had cooked his mom's apparently infamous chicken piccata. I remember looking around the table and seeing Brooklyn lean over and punch Hudson in the shoulder for stealing food from her plate. Mason was talking about his time in Iceland on the Laugavegur Trek, a conversation in which Maverick was completely engrossed, smiling softly at his best friend and boyfriend. Glancing around at all the love on display in that dining room, I had thoughtI wouldn't mind growing old with this pack.
Now, I might just get to. Unless they hate me for thinking the worst about them. That thought is sobering, and suddenly, the only thing I want to do is go see them.
