by Beau Brown
Alex nodded, still not meeting Ross’s gaze. His hands clenched nervously on his huge belly. He said, “Ross, I want to thank you for everything you did for me.”
“I didn’t do half enough for you.” If he’d only known the real situation, he’d have done better. Ross wanted to ask, why didn’t you tell me about the rape? He stopped himself. Alex hadn’t meant him to know that, and the least he could do was leave him a little pride.
“You did plenty. More than my own fathers were willing to do. You didn’t try to make my decision for me, force me to—” Alex stopped. His face twisted. “I guess that doesn’t matter now anyway. I won’t be able to keep the baby if I can’t work.” Once again, his hands tightened instinctively, protectively on his belly.
So hard not to reach for him and hold him tight and promise him everything would be okay. Ross said, “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Even if you’re…even if the diagnosis is correct, you’ll get help and support. I’ve been talking to the doctor. Not every omega with OMI is unable to hold down a job or raise a child.” He said gently, “It’s not like you to give up.”
“None of this is like me,” Alex said quietly, bitterly. “But here I am.”
Once again Ross didn’t know what to say. He continued to struggle with his need to comfort Alex. To comfort his omega. It was almost physically painful to resist when everything in him urged him to take Alex into his arms and kiss him and cuddle him and promise him that everything would be fine, he’d make sure everything was fine. But that was out of the question. Alex was not his omega. It was not Ross’s place to offer comfort or promises. In fact, it would be cruel, given the sad, hopeful way Alex watched him, as though secretly hoping that even now Ross might be moved to come to his rescue.
Ross’s heart pounded in his chest as he picked up Alex’s scent. Duller than it had been at the farmhouse. More gold than green. This was like a hazy autumn afternoon mixed with antiseptic. Ross felt sweat break out across his back. His mouth felt dry with something strangely like anxiety. What if he did it? What if he said to hell with it, scooped Alex up, and carried him right out of this fucking hospital. What if he followed his instincts and took Alex home and installed him in his own bed and kept him safe forever. His heart pounded at the idea. He could already feel what it would be like to kiss that beautiful face over and over. To take away all that worry and fear. He wanted to see Alex smile, hear him laugh again.
More than anything in this world he wanted to fill Alex’s heart with love and tenderness.
Fill his belly with babies. Ross’s babies.
Which was peculiar beyond understanding, given that Ross had never felt any particular urgency to have a family and a passel of pups of his own. Companionship, sure. Sex, sure. He enjoyed those things. Needed those things. But you didn’t have to claim someone for that. Didn’t have to marry them.
Of course, when he was younger he’d taken it for granted it would eventually happen, that he’d fall head over heels with someone, claim him, marry him and start a family, but when it hadn’t happened, he’d let go of the idea without much regret.
Now…now for the first time he felt that urgent need to possess, to…claim. He wanted Alex. Only Alex. He wanted to claim him. Right now. Right here. Make sure he was his forever.
Maybe Ross was the one who needed a stay in the mental hospital. Not only was Alex too young for Ross, he was carrying another man’s child. That would be tough enough to take, but the child wasn’t even tribe. Or did that make it easier? Ross wasn’t sure. The whole idea was confusing. For sure, Alex would not give up that baby, if he had any choice in the matter.
Ross wouldn’t want him to—wouldn’t do that to him. No, if he was going to take Alex, he’d have to take the baby too.
Reid.
His heart seemed to swell thinking of Alex’s face when he’d said her name so softly and tenderly. Anyway, it wasn’t that little baby’s fault what had happened to his omega. To Alex. But it wasn’t only to do with the baby. No alpha wanted another man’s omega. It defied the laws of, well, everything.
It went against biology. It went against custom. It went against commonsense.
But so what? Alex wasn’t another man’s omega. Never had been. And he never would be now. Unless he was Ross’s.
It wasn’t that simple though. Was it? No. Sadly no. Alex was ill too. Very ill, according to the doctor. Headed for the looney bin unless his parents agreed to resume the job of being his legal guardians. Ross…even if he wanted to look after Alex, he wasn’t cut out for that. His job was too demanding, too difficult. Ross couldn’t take on that additional responsibility. It wouldn’t be right. He wouldn’t be good at it.
But if it made Alex happy? If it meant Alex would be safe and secure knowing he was wanted and loved more than Ross had ever wanted or loved anyone—even if he wasn’t very good with sick people. Or children.
Besides, Alex wouldn’t be so sick if he was happily claimed and married. No more serious that a case of hay fever, the doctor had said that too.
“Will you come and see me sometimes?” Alex interrupted Ross’s whirling thoughts. “I mean, if I end up at my parents.”
“Hell, yes, I’ll come and see you.” Ross ignored the little voice in the back of his brain that reminded him the doctor had said it wasn’t wise, and that Alex’s parents were likely to follow doctor’s orders one hundred percent.
Alex smiled a little, as though he didn’t believe Ross.
If he hugged Alex he would never manage to let him go. He would just make this harder on both of them, and it was already just about unbearable.
“Okay, then.” Ross stepped back toward the door. “Take care of yourself. Let me know when…”
When what? He couldn’t think beyond Alex’s blue eyes glittering with anguish.
Ross jerked open the door, stepped out into the astringent-scented hallway, pulled the door shut.
Chapter Six
Dr. Scalisi was the psychiatrist who examined Alex. His brown eyes were kind and he had a very nice smile.
“Do you know why you’re here, Alex?” he had asked.
Alex had nodded. He was afraid to say the wrong thing. Afraid to tip the scales either way.
Of course, Scalisi was not going to allow him to stick to nods and shakes of his head. He was not going to allow a simple yes or no.
“Tell me in your own words what you think is happening to you,” he ordered in that quiet, authoritative voice.
Alex tried to answer carefully, to avoid saying what he thought Scalisi expected to hear, but everything he said seemed to lead to harder and harder questions, and before long he gave up and answered honestly.
A nurse sat in the corner of the examination room as Scalisi spoke to Alex for about fifteen minutes. The interview was followed by a longer and much more formal oral examination which was videotaped.
Afterwards Alex was moved to a regular hospital room and left on his own to rest, although the chances of resting while waiting to hear whether he was officially crazy or not, were pretty remote.
Two hours later Dr. Scalisi visited Alex in his room. He had a manila folder in his hand and he was smiling, but it was a sympathetic smile. The smile of someone about to deliver bad news as tactfully as possible.
He sat down in the chair beside Alex’s bed, and said, “Hi, Alex. How are you feeling now?”
“Okay.”
“Were you able to rest?”
“A little.”
He glanced at Alex’s hands, pressed to either side of his belly, nervously stroking his swollen belly. “I think you know what I’m about to tell you.’
Alex nodded. He said huskily, “I’m…sick.”
Scalisi studied his down bent face for a moment, and then he was brisk. “I’m afraid so. As we thought, you’re suffering from late onset Omega metus inconstantia which is a severe anxiety disorder affecting about one percent of the omega population.”
He paused as though to give Alex a chance to com
ment or question, but Alex didn’t know what to say. He was still trying to absorb what was happening. This morning he’d thought his worst problem was finding a job before the baby was born. At least, that was the worst problem he was willing to admit to. He continued to nervously stroke his belly. The baby felt like she was turning somersaults. And no wonder with the day they were having.
Scalisi continued. “OMI is a difficult and disabling diagnosis for an unclaimed, unmarried omega, but there are treatments and therapies that will help keep you as healthy as possible and greatly improve the quality of your life.” He said more gently, “I know this is not the news you were hoping for. Do you have any questions for me so far?”
Not really. Not beyond the obvious ones: Could there be a mistake? Can I leave now? Can I keep my baby? And he already knew the answer to all of them was no.
Alex nodded. He tried to sound calm, but the words were husky. “It sounds terrifying.”
“I know it does. And there’s no point trying to underplay the seriousness of your illness. I’ve been on the phone to your parents, and they’ll be here tomorrow to help us figure out the best options for you and the child you’re carrying.”
The initial relief of hearing his parents were coming, that they had not completely disowned him, was replaced by alarm as he registered the doctor’s final words.
Not: your baby. Now it was: the child you’re carrying.
Alex tried to sit up straighter against the crisp pillows. He said firmly, “Whatever happens, I’m going to keep her. My baby. I’ve been thinking about this since I talked to Doctor Peters, and I’m keeping her.”
Dr. Scalisi said neutrally, “That is certainly one option.”
“Will I be allowed to? Do I get to make that decision?”
Scalisi hesitated. “It’s a complicated situation. You certainly have a say. You’ll have a say in all the decisions regarding your treatment. When your parents arrive tomorrow we’ll all sit down and discuss what happens next. Let’s not get embroiled in details tonight before we’ve even identified your options.”
He waited to see if Alex had anything to say to that. Alex thought that perhaps his best bet now was to be quiet and listen very carefully to what was being said—and what was not being said.
Scalisi opened the file and scanned it. He closed the file and smiled again.
“There are a number of medications that will ease your anxiety and panic, but unfortunately you can’t take them while you’re pregnant. Right now, our focus is simply to keep you calm and comfortable. The important thing to remember is that you’re safe here.”
Alex nodded. “Okay.”
Scalisi said gently, “Questions?”
Alex laughed nervously. “Probably. Once I have time for this to sink in. How long before I get better?”
Scalisi’s expression grew still more grave and earnest. “Treatment can help, but this is not a condition that can be cured. OMI is a chronic illness that lasts for many years. Usually a lifetime. The best advice I can give you is to keep a positive outlook and always be an active participant in your therapy.”
“Yes. Okay.” He was getting more frightened by the moment.
Perhaps Dr. Scalisi could see this because he said in that very kind voice, “Once the baby is born, we’ll began a carefully monitored drug regimen. You should experience significant relief at that time. Depending on how you respond, well, we’ll see.”
“What will we see?”
“Some patients respond very well to therapy. So well that they can make the move to a halfway house environment.”
“Oh.” So…what that really meant was while he was responding to that carefully monitored drug regimen, he would be an inpatient. Residential treatment. That’s what was being discussed.
Scalisi added, “That is not the majority of cases, of course. I don’t want to mislead you.”
“Right.” Alex drew a deep breath. “Dr. Scalisi, am I allowed to leave? I mean, if I want to? Have I been committed?” He been in a state of numbness when he signed a number of those forms. Had he idiotically signed commitment papers?
“No,” Scalisi said. He seemed very faintly amused. “You’ve not been committed. You voluntarily agreed to be evaluated, remember?”
Alex said doubtfully, “Yes.” It hadn’t seemed at the time that he had much choice.
“This is not the psychiatric wing of the med center. You’re still in the maternity ward.”
Alex glanced at the heavy mesh screen over the windows.
Scalisi followed his gaze and made a rueful sound. “OMI is more common than you might think, Alex. In fact, when an omega is claimed and married, the condition is actually pretty benign. That doesn’t mean things can’t get a little, um, exciting before and during delivery.”
“Oh. Right.” He too was nervous about the actual delivery. He definitely did not want a cesarean, though the odds for male omegas were much higher than the rest of the population.
“You’re not a prisoner. Although I would strongly advise against it, you can leave whenever you like.” Scalisi studied Alex’s face for a moment. “Frankly, if you’re able to leave the hospital under your own steam, I would happily reconsider my diagnosis.”
Alex tried to imagine heaving himself out of this bed, getting dressed, lumbering down the antiseptic hallways and stepping out into the hot, humid, dark night. Alone. Right. He could barely walk without help. And where would he go? Ross didn’t want him. Ross had left him here without a second thought. He had nowhere to go. His breathing got fast and funny just thinking about it, and he sank back against the pillows. He felt frightened and weak. He stared helplessly at the doctor. Scalisi was watching him with complete understanding—and compassion. The compassion frightened Alex all the more.
I’m sorry, Reid. I’m sorry, little girl. I want to be the daddy you deserve. I want to keep you safe and love you and take care of you. I want to be the one who holds your hand when you take your first step. Who teaches you to ride a bike—and to throw a football. I want to read you bedtime stories and save every single picture you draw in kindergarten. But this…this is bigger than me. It’s bigger than both of us.
After a moment Scalisi said in that brisk tone, “I’m going to leave you with this copy of the Patient’s Bill of Rights. And this pamphlet on OMI. It will help you understand your condition, so that next time we talk you’ll have a better idea of the challenges ahead.”
He left the papers on the table next to the bed, squeezed Alex’s shoulder comfortingly, and left him.
Alex could hear Scalisi speaking quietly to the nurse in the hall outside his room, though he couldn’t make out the words. He wrapped his arms around his belly and began to cry.
At around six o’clock his meal was delivered. Whatever it was—it was kind of hard to tell—Alex ate listlessly, watching the nightly news on the television mounted on the wall across from him.
There was lots happening in the world, but none of it seemed real to him. He couldn’t imagine any of it ever affecting him again.
He didn’t want to think about the future. And he didn’t want to think about the past. Most of all, he didn’t want to think of Ross. Naturally Ross was the one thing he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.
For a minute or two that afternoon, he’d been almost sure that Ross was going to claim him. Well, not claim him—not right there in the examination room—but lay claim to him. State his intentions. Because there had been intention—and a whole lot more—in Ross’s gray eyes. For a few very short seconds, it had seemed like everything Alex had ever dreamed of might be coming true.
Which just went to show that he was right where he belonged tonight, because if that wasn’t crazy, he didn’t know what was.
Of course, Ross was not going to claim him. Ross didn’t love him. Ross didn’t even like who he thought Alex was. And knowing the truth probably wouldn’t change his mind.
How could it feel so right to one person, and not at all right to the ot
her?
How was that fair?
How could he know with absolute certainty that Ross was meant to be his alpha—yet Ross feel nothing for him but, maybe, sympathy? Was it part of his illness? Doctor Peters had hinted that Alex might be confusing his growing dependency on Ross for stronger feelings. That he was inappropriately focusing on Ross because he was too overwhelmed by anxiety and fear to see the world as it actually was.
No. Not true. Alex had loved Ross for years. Long before he’d gotten sick. He’d been convinced Ross was meant to be his alpha from the point he’d reached puberty.
Maybe it was Doctor Peters who was confusing love with something else.
Ross would never believe it, but he needed someone like Alex. Okay, maybe not Alex, but someone. Someone to love him and pamper him a bit. Ross hadn’t fooled Alex. He had liked having someone cook for him and listen to him talk and make him laugh. Ross was lonely whether he knew it or not.
Maybe Alex had done him a favor. Maybe Ross would decide to find his own nice, normal omega now.
For a moment, he almost thought he could smell Ross’s scent. That sweet but somehow masculine blend of honey, musk, cedar, leather and vanilla.
There had been something in his eyes. Alex hadn’t imagined it.
But if Ross really cared about Alex, he wouldn’t have walked away this afternoon. He wouldn’t have left Alex alone and afraid in the doctor’s office. No, whatever Alex had seen in Ross’s eyes, it hadn’t been love.
Because if it had been love, that really was too sad for words.
At seven o’clock the nurse came to check Alex’s temperature and blood pressure. She gave him a white tablet in a small paper cup. A mild sedative to help him rest.
Alex thanked her, and the minute she had disappeared down the hall, flushed the tablet down the toilet in the adjoining bathroom.