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Chapter 1
Benji
Thedoctorwalksintothe exam room, my medical file in his hands. “Mr. Hendrix. How are you feeling today?”
“Good,” I answer, not being entirely truthful. I’ve had cramps off and on after my fertility surgery. I was told cramping would only last for a few days following the surgery.
It’s been six months.
A year ago, my doctor and I discovered I had Weylet’s Syndrome, a disease that affects a small percentage of omegas, making heats long and hard, and conceiving nigh on impossible. Scientists still don’t know why certain omegas have it while others don’t. It’s not genetic or environmental. It just … is.
Surgery on scar tissue can be done after two consistent terrible heats, which I had. After my last heat, I had to be hospitalized due to dehydration and exhaustion because I couldn’t move, eat, or sleep, and the alpha who serviced me was dead on his feet after five days of frequent and demanding sex as opposed to three days like most omegas.
This surgery should be able to help with fertility, but I won’t know for another month. This appointment is just to get some lab work done, a blood draw, and a pelvic exam to take tissue samples from my womb.
Giving me a sympathetic look, Dr. Stevens rolls a chair over to me and pats my naked knee. This thin hospital johnny does nothing to protect from the chill of the air. “Mr. Hendrix, there’s no reason to be worried. All we’re doing is getting some lab work done for your six month follow up. There won’t be anything painful.” I nod and he goes to wash his hands and slide on a pair of gloves. “Any issues since your last appointment?”
“Yeah, umm.” I exhale roughly and smooth the wrinkles of the paper gown they thought was a good idea for someone that doesn’t want their ass out. “I’ve been cramping. Some really painful and some just throbbing.”
He jots something down on my chart, pulls on a new pair of gloves and scoots his stool over to me. “I wish you had come in earlier, but you’re here now. Hopefully, lab results will tell us something.”
Blowing out a breath, I put my feet into the stirrups and lie back, resting my hands over my belly. The nerves I feel fluttering around aren’t helping.
Since I was a young omega, all I wanted was to be a dad. I wanted little kids running around, chasing after them with my future mate. Having playdates with our friends, and our kids growing up together as best friends.
My best friend, Brandon, is living that dream. He has a family with his mate and his son Zane—my nephew—is absolutely perfect. He has it all. I’m not jealous because Brandon literally almost died before he got his family but I can’t say I’m not envious.
Adoption is an option, and I plan to do that as well, even if I can give birth. I just always wanted a house full of kids. Too bad I can’t adopt an alpha to be their father.
But who needs one? I’m strong enough to raise children on my own.
After Dr. Stevens finishes my exam, he gives me a follow-up appointment for two weeks from now. Hopefully, he has some concrete answers for me.
Though the cramping does not bode well.
I took off work today so I could have time to catch up with Brandon. I just saw him a few weeks ago when he was celebrating the opening of his new business, but he told me he wanted updates after every appointment since I kept my initial surgery from him. I’m keeping my end of the bargain.
Brandon and I made plans to meet at a cute French bistro that just opened a few blocks from my office. I’ve been meaning to go there on my lunch break, but my new boss, Rome Stewart, is a pain in my ass that barely lets me breathe, he has me so busy with work. And his attitude when I ask him anything—ugh. He’s such an ass. So dismissive of me. He’s so different than Mr. Matthews and I hate him because of it.
The butterflies in my belly when I see him or talk to him piss me off even more.
I throw open the door to the restaurant and barely manage not to stomp in, angry that I have those butterflies even at the thought of Mr. Stewart.
Brandon sits in the back of the restaurant, baby Zane on his lap. When he sees me, Brandon waves Zane’s chubby hand at me.
“Say, ‘Hey Uncle Benji!’ See? Uncle Benji.”
I smile as Zane reaches out for me with his chubby hands. Scooping him up, I sit him on my lap after I take a seat beside Brandon. “Hey, my sweet, sweet nephew. Uncle Benji missed you.”
Brandon rolls his eyes. “Oh please, you just saw him when Mason dropped him off two days ago.”
“Yeah, but I missed him still.” I smell the top of his head, loving that sweet baby smell. I love the warm weight of his little baby body on my lap and how his tiny hands grab at my arms that are locked around him. Gods, I want this.
Please let me have this.
We place our orders—Zane trying to eat the menu—and Brandon starts in on me. “What did the doctor say?” he asks impatiently, Zane cooing over his dad.
“Nothing. He just ran tests today. I won’t know for another two weeks.”
