by Beau Brown
Nor was he about to let Ross know how freaked out he was about…everything.
He went to get his suitcase and stepped out onto the front porch to meet Ross.
Ross was already out of the SUV. He ran up the steps and took Alex’s suitcase. “All ready?”
“Yep,” Alex said briskly.
Ross put a hand on his back as he ushered him to the SUV, and Alex could feel that touch in every cell of his body.
“Where are we headed?” Ross asked, once they were under way.
“Sweet Water Medical Center.”
Ross nodded.
That was about it for conversation.
Alex sat in a miserable, preoccupied silence telling himself he should not be feeling any of the things he felt. The radio crackled with periodic updates from the sheriff station. Ross seemed lost in his own thoughts.
When they reached the parking lot of the med center, Alex expelled a deep breath and forced a smile to his face. He turned to Ross.
“Well, thanks for everything. I’ll let you—”
“I’m coming in with you,” Ross interrupted.
Alex’s heart leaped with startled relief. But he made himself say, “Oh, but… No. That’s okay. I’m fine. It’s not necessary.”
“Sure,” Ross said. “But I think I’ll come in anyway. Someone should be with you.”
“It’s a routine check-up.”
“Then it won’t take long,” Ross said easily. He opened the driver side door, and then came around to help Alex out.
Ross’s expression was so serious, his touch so careful, it made Alex’s heart ache. It was all too easy to believe that Ross’s protectiveness was more than simple kindness. But he knew he was only fooling himself.
So he smiled brightly again at Ross and turned toward the hospital entrance.
Chapter Five
After Alex disappeared through the frosted glass door leading to the examination rooms, Ross leaned back in the blue plastic cushions of the waiting room chair to think.
For the nth time that morning he was reminding himself that Alex was not his omega and he needed to stop acting like he was.
Why was he so invested in this situation? It was none of his business really. He had no right to feel anything but compassion for the kid.
Not that Alex was a kid. At twenty-three most omegas were claimed and having babies. Nice, normal, perfectly legitimate babies.
He was instantly ashamed of himself. If anything, Alex deserved credit for not taking the easy way out. Not that there was an easy way out, but some ways were tougher than others, and Alex had picked the toughest.
Why was he so antagonistic to the idea of this pregnancy? How was it any of his affair? Apparently, he thought it was, because he could not stop thinking about it. Thinking about Alex. He’d spent a sleepless night tossing and turning as he relived the brutal, unfair things he’d said—it killed him to remember Alex’s white face, his shocked, hurt expression. He’d been troubled by the knowledge that Alex would be leaving the next day. That their time together was ending and everything was still unresolved.
What everything?
There was nothing to resolve.
Now as he thought it all over again, he was shocked to realize that part of his hostility the previous night had been due to jealousy. Bitter jealousy. He had not taken Alex when the kid had offered himself repeatedly, shamelessly—no, come on, innocently—to him three years back. Ross had done the right thing, the correct thing, despite the fact it hadn’t been all that easy. Alex, largely unware of his own boyish appeal, had been adorable. Adorable and adoring. Ross could have had him at any time. Could have claimed him and started a family with one of the prettiest and most eligible omegas in the entire county.
Even now, boys as young as seventeen ended up claimed, and maybe it wasn’t right, but it was still perfectly legal.
But Ross had believed Alex was destined for bigger and better things than an early marriage to a small town sheriff. He had resisted temptation again and again. He had been kind and amused but firm, and finally Alex had accepted no meant no, and he’d stopped coming around.
Ross had missed him. More than he’d expected. He’d even occasionally wondered if he’d been right to chase the kid off, seeing that he’d never even considered claiming anyone before. He’d probably have cared a lot for Alex if he’d let himself, but his discipline had won the day, and that was as it should be. It was his job to look after these folks. Protect and serve. Not take advantage of his position and power.
He figured Alex would go off to college and maybe get involved in politics like his fathers. Modern, educated, well-reared omegas like Alex wound up as lawyers or doctors or CEOs of their own startups. They did not marry a cop and spend the rest of their lives trying to keep dinner warm and the babies quiet, clean and fed while waiting for their alpha to come home.
But Alex hadn’t even done the stereotypical omega thing of giving up his education to run off and get married. Nope. Instead, he’d behaved no better than some hot-to-trot Jacksonville slut.
He couldn’t even take a guess as to who the father was? Christ.
No. Not fair.
He still didn’t understand what had happened to Alex, but he would stake his life that Alex hadn’t done something irresponsible like skip his pills or go to a frat party while in heat. Whatever had happened, he believed Alex. In fact, he was mad at himself for ever doubting him. Alex had made mistakes, but he was trying to do the right and responsible thing now. He didn’t need people making it harder for him than it already was.
The minutes ticked by.
Ross thumbed through a tattered copy of Parents.
Christ almighty, babies required a lot of attention.
He glanced uneasily at the clock. It had been nearly an hour. Wasn’t that a long time for a routine check-up?
Other expectant mothers and fathers came and went.
Ross moved on to Working Mother, frowning over an article about moms “blazing a new path” in the marijuana industry.
Ninety minutes ticked by one at a time before the receptionist opened the door and asked Ross to step into Doctor Peters’ office.
Ross rose, feeling very self-conscious, and followed her through the air-conditioned warren of halls and desks.
Dr. Peters was a slim, pale-haired man in his late thirties. He looked vaguely familiar to Ross, though he couldn’t quite place him. A domestic dispute? Nah. Maybe a traffic accident?
Peters smiled briefly. “Sheriff McClintock. Nice to see you again.”
Ross hadn’t had to arrest Peters then, so that was good. He took the chair in front of Peters’ desk, feeling more uncomfortable by the moment. The shelves behind Peters were crowded with photos of smiling babies and Thank You! knick knacks.
“What’s up?” Ross asked briskly. Something was not right, and he preferred to get right to it. “Where’s Alex?”
“Alex is resting at the moment. He wanted me to speak with you—”
“Is he okay?” Ross broke in.
“Physically, yes. Overall, he’s very healthy. His weight has continued to go up due to polyhydramnios—”
“To what?”
“Excess amniotic fluid. It’s typical of a non-tribe pregnancy. Not that non-tribe pregnancy is typical.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Not usually. We’ve been monitoring Alex’s condition closely and we’ll continue to do so. But it’s the reason for the excessive weight gain and why Alex is so short of breath and unable to walk any distance.”
Ross relaxed. “Okay. Then if he’s physically okay, what’s the problem?”
Dr. Peters’ face grew grave. “There are indications Alex is in the very early stages of late onset Omega metus inconstantia.”
“Omega meta whata?”
At Ross’s look, Peters clarified, “Omega anxiety disorder? I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
“I guess so.” A very severe form of agoraphobia that only affected pre
gnant omegas, leaving them all but incapable of leaving the safe and familiar surroundings of home. “But I thought that was pretty rare.”
To be honest, he hadn’t thought it was even a real medical condition. Just the neurotic habits of wealthy, conservative and uber-traditional families where only one household salary was required. OR possibly the mildly kinky practice of sex-starved newlyweds who couldn’t bear to be apart for long.
“Not at all. About 0.3–0.7% of omegas are affected by OMI during their lifetimes. In 2015 there were an estimated 23.6 million cases globally. Male omegas are more often affected than females. In married and claimed omegas, the condition is completely manageable and the prognosis very favorable. Frankly, most alphas prefer their omegas to be stay at home dads and only leave the house when accompanied by themselves or another adult family member. And since the OMI patient desires nothing more than this, it’s usually pretty easy to treat by not fixing what, in the opinion of the married couple, ain’t broke. Without violating anyone’s privacy, I can tell you a number of your constituents have been diagnosed with OMI.”
“You’re shi—kidding me.”
Peters shook his head. “Not at all. For a happily married, successfully claimed omega, it’s about as disabling as hay fever. For unclaimed, unwed omegas such as Alex ...the outlook isn’t as bright. About 20% of patients do well when the condition is managed with medication and social and psychological supports. Usually periods of hospitalization are required, and long-term residential treatment is typical, though in the last few years we’ve had some success through the use of halfway homes. And the good news is, a few omegas even recover completely and go on to lead productive, happy lives on their own or as single parents. But there are obvious challenges for someone without the support of a spouse or family. Unemployment, poverty, and homelessness are common. The average life expectancy of unclaimed, unmarried omegas with the disorder is ten to twenty-five years less than for the general population. And the unlucky pups of these patients don’t fare much better.”
“But Alex isn’t—I thought this OMI developed early on. That there were indicators in the late teens.”
“Usually, yes. But sometimes the illness doesn’t manifest until well into the first pregnancy. Especially if the pregnancy is a stressful one. A variety of environmental and genetic factors always play a role. In Alex’s case, I believe the rape followed by the shock of an unplanned pregnancy may have triggered his illness. Also, I want to be clear about this, I’m not one hundred percent certain of my diagnosis. He’s displaying symptoms, but he needs to be properly evaluated by a trained psychiatrist. As soon as possible.”
Ross wasn’t listening. He hadn’t heard anything after the word “rape.”
“Sheriff?” Dr. Peters asked into the stark silence that followed his words. “Did I lose you, Sheriff McClintock?”
Ross snapped out of his stunned reflections. He said through stiff lips, “You’re telling me he was raped? Alex was raped?”
Dr. Peters lost color. “I-I thought you knew.”
“No.”
“But…but I assumed Alex reported the rape to you. I thought that’s how he came to be in your—I thought that’s what he meant when he said—” The doctor was about the shade of his lab coat. As the full implications of his slip sank in, his expression grew still more stricken. “Oh my God. Please believe me, I would never have violated a patient’s privacy this way if I’d realized...”
Ross ignored all that. “He told me he was at a fraternity party and things got out of hand. He implied he’d had too much to drink, that getting knocked up was his fault for letting himself getting carried away. He never said a word about—” He broke off. He couldn’t even say the word. Couldn’t bear to think it had happened to Alex.
“That jibes with what he told me. He says he went to a frat party and believes that at some point during the evening someone must have slipped some type of date rape drug in his drink because he began to feel dizzy. That’s the last thing he remembers. He believes he passed out. When he woke up it was almost dawn and he was in a bedroom, alone. He could tell by the...physical evidence that he had been penetrated at least once, possibly more times. A few weeks later he discovered he was pregnant, and to make matters worse, that the baby was non-tribe.” Doctor Peters grimaced.
Ross stared unseeingly at the doctor. He was remembering Alex’s hurt fury the evening before. “Why the hell would he let me think…”
“I’m no psychiatrist, but I believe he’s guilty because he didn’t attend the college his parents wanted, and then didn’t spend every night inside his dorm studying.”
“That’s absolute bullshit! No kid can study every minute. College is about more than books and research papers. He had every right to attend a party without fear of being drugged and assaulted.”
The doctor watched him with an odd expression. “I agree.”
Ross couldn’t bear to think that he had been blaming Alex for his predicament when in fact Alex was the victim of a terrible assault. His young omega should have been comforted and cherished after his terrible ordeal, not bullied and berated by his family and so-called friends.
He winced, thinking of how cool and disapproving he’d been right from the very start. Even before he’d known a damned thing. So quick to judge. So quick to condemn. And he liked to think he was open-minded! Tough but fair. What a bunch of horseshit. What he’d told Alex last night was correct. He was just another asshole.
Ross rose. “Can I see him now?”
The doctor hesitated. “I don’t— It’s not a great idea, Sheriff.”
At Ross’s frown, Peters said, “As I said, he’s displaying symptoms of OMI. He’s emotionally susceptible right now, and unsurprisingly, he’s focusing on you. If you don’t want to create your own homegrown stalker—at the same time creating a very painful, confusing, and unfair situation for Alex—it’s best that you leave his care to us from this point on.”
Leave his care to us? That sounded ominous.
“What are you talking about? You’re planning to…what? Hospitalize him?”
“We’ll contact his family, of course. Try to facilitate a reconciliation. That’s the ideal situation. If Alex can be placed under the guardianship of his parents, it will solve most of his problems. But failing that, we do have the facilities to care for him and the baby.”
Christ. Commitment. That’s what the doctor was hemming and hawing about. And if Alex really had developed this OMI thing, if he wasn’t going to be able to care for himself, and his parents refused to take responsibility for him, there weren’t a lot of options.
“Does he know?” Ross questioned.
“I’ve already spoken to him. “
“What did he say?”
“Mostly he listened. He’s very intelligent and still completely rational. He understands his situation as much as he’s able to at this juncture, and he wants to do what’s best for the baby. He’s a strong and courageous young man.”
“Yeah. He is. Did he tell you his fathers want him to give the baby up for adoption?”
Peters’ expression was hard to read. “Yes. He told me. The truth is, with an OMI diagnosis, Alex is probably going to be unable to work, will be unable to provide for his child. You know as well as I do, the chances of his being claimed by an alpha are slim to none after this pregnancy, and given that he’ll probably be housebound from now on…” Doctor Peters shook his head.
Ross nodded automatically. No alpha wanted used goods. Even when they came in as pretty a package as Alex. Add in a mental illness diagnosis, and no way in hell. Prince Charming was not going to come along and sweep Alex up from the wreckage of his life. Putting that poor little scrap of baby up for adoption and returning Alex to the custody of his parents was absolutely the best and most sensible solution for everyone.
So why did he feel like his heart was breaking?
“I want to see him,” Ross said again. “I can’t leave him here without saying goodbye.�
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The doctor said regretfully, “Sheriff—”
“It’s going to hurt him too much if I don’t say goodbye.”
Peters stared. He said dryly, “Is it my patient’s feelings you’re worried about—or your own?” Whatever he read in Ross’s expression made him sigh. “Very well, Sheriff.”
Alex was sitting on the examination table in a small room decorated with charts of fetal development and posters detailing the warning signs of various calamities.
He wore a blue and white checked hospital smock. His long legs were bare, dusted with reddish brown hair, and his hands—the long-fingered, large knuckled hands of a young man—rested protectively on the round ball of his stomach.
He had tensed when the door opened, but seeing Ross, he managed a wan smile.
“Come to say goodbye?”
Ross had to work to get out a terse, “Yeah.”
Alex nodded. “I figured, once I got the Kookoo for Coca Puffs diagnosis.”
It stung that he believed Ross would be scared off by such a diagnosis, would abandon him. Ross was making his decisions based solely on Alex’s welfare. If Alex was his omega, it would be different.
But Alex was not his omega.
“That’s not for sure.”
Alex made a soft sound and stared at his splayed bare knees beneath the hem of the much-laundered hospital gown. “The doctor’s pretty sure, Ross. I can tell. And…I-I think he’s right. I had trouble leaving our—your—house today. I put it down to nerves, but if you hadn’t been with me…” He shook his head. “I don’t know if I could get myself to check-ups and stuff on my own anymore.” He swallowed.
Our house.
Ross had to fight the impulse to put his arm around his omega’s slender shoulders, to pull Alex close and let him rely on Ross’s strength. Alex wasn’t his omega. Ross had only been allowed in to see him because he had promised the doctor he wouldn’t further confuse Alex with mixed messages.
“Peters planted that idea in your head. You were fine this afternoon,” Ross said staunchly. “Anyway, if you can’t drive yourself—and you probably shouldn’t anyway, given how far along you are—I could—could have—driven you. Plenty of people will be happy to drive you. Sweet Water is your home.”