Page 37 of One for the Money
Matteo runs his hands down his face, clearly about to argue back, when I step in.
“Quinton is right. We have a doctor, and we need to utilize her services. Just because the others couldn’t figure it out doesn’t mean she won’t. Go see her. Talk to her. I hate to see you hurting, Quinton, and I know Matteo does too.”
And if she has someone knock on her trailer door, maybe she’ll come out.
Maybe I can check and see if she’s doing okay after whatever the fuck that was last night.
Chapter 14
I standat the door of our doctor’s trailer, cursing Jude and Quinton for forcing my hand.
If Dr. Alex confirms Quinton’s mystery illness as Alpha Rot, nothing is going to stop him from begging her to go off suppressants to prove his theory that they’re scent matches.
And I worry that the rejection when she refuses could kill him.
I’m fine with the possibility that they’re matched, because there is a chance for me to be her match as well. It’s relatively rare for a Beta to match with an Omega, but Quinton and I are matched, which is even more unlikely, so it’s not impossible.
Not that we spread around the fact that I’m scent matched to him. It’s no one’s business but our own. It doesn’t change our relationship at all.
It’s just that right now, when Quinton is rapidly deteriorating, it’s not the time to consider opening up our relationship to the sweet Omega physician that Jude hired.
I knock for a third time.
“She must not be here,” I say to Q as he leans against the side of her trailer and stares at the clouds. It’s a gorgeous day, with a blue sky and white, puffy clouds that almost look fake. If I weren’t so worried about my Alpha, I’d suggest we go lie in the grass and maybe have a picnic.
“These are her open clinic hours.” He doesn’t look at me. “She’s there.”
The door opens a crack, and I can see one bloodshot eye of our circus doctor.
“What’s up, Matteo?” She’s not being rude, but the warmth I’d expect from her is gone from her voice.
It catches me off guard, and I stutter over my words. “Uh, Quinton is sick.”
“I can get him some antacid or something,” she says, closing the door. A few moments later, she shoves a hand through the crack in the door and drops several over-the-counter medications. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
I grab the door handle, preventing her from closing it. “It’s not that kind of sick,” I hiss, pissed at the way she’s dismissing us. “And these are your clinic hours that you committed to.”
The door closes, and I hear the sound of furniture moving before it opens fully into the dark trailer. Did she have her door blocked off by chairs? Why would she do that? Does her lock not work?
“Fine. Come in.”
Quinton shrugs, answering my unasked question about what the fuck is going on, and follows me in. The whole trailer is dark, lit only by what little light makes its way through the curtains over the two small windows. My Alpha flips the light switch out of habit as he strides into her space.
As soon as the lights flare on, the doctor winces andfolds over herself with a loud whine that makes my heart ache. Her back heaves as she tries to calm herself, and I have to place a hand on Q’s forearm to keep him from rushing to her. When she spins around, her face looks gaunt in the overhead light. It’s puffy, with bloodshot eyes like she’s been crying.
But that’s not the most upsetting part.
“Who?” Quinton growls, taking several steps toward her. “Who did this, Alex?”
“Dr. Alex,” she says tightly. “You’re here for your medical needs, not mine.”
A raised bump on her forehead looks fresh, already getting a purple ring around it, and her eye sports a partially healed, black eye, with yellow and green splotches around it.
It’s healing, for sure, but it must’ve been a bad one. Based on the color of the bruises, it’s maybe a week or two old.
Before she came to us.
How was she able to hide such a brutal shiner with makeup, and we didn’t notice?
