Page 38 of One for the Money
“Please, sit down, Quinton, and let’s discuss your symptoms.”
The Alpha stands in front of her, growling, his fists clenched. He doesn’t move, despite what she says. I think, in his anger, he’s not able to read her fearful body language. She’s shivering, arms banded around her waist as she stares at him.
She’s barely shorter than me, but right now, she looks minuscule, curved into herself as if it’ll protect her from an unseen foe. Her clothing is worn, and she doesn’t look like she’s showered recently.
“Alpha,” I say gently, touching his arm. “Come on. Let’s let the doctor work.”
He shrugs me off. “No. That one,” he points to her forehead, “is fresh. Who did it, Alex?”
“Dr. Alex,” she corrects again, but her words have no bite. “And no one. I tripped. It’s nothing.”
Okay, that was definitely a lie, and a bad one at that. But what are we supposed to do? It’s not like we can force her to tell us anything.
It’s clear to me now why she doesn’t like to be touched. Enough bad touches can ruin you for the good ones.
Quinton is inches away from barking at her, demanding an answer, but if he tries, there is no chance she will ever forgive him. Not with the way she’s shivering under the oppressive nature of his presence.
I take my partner’s hand and pull him over to the table, releasing Alex from his undivided attention. He turns to me, grabbing my hands. “Someone’s hurt her, someone hit her, did you see those bruises? How did I miss them?” His voice is low, but there’s no way she doesn’t hear him. He’s not thinking about that right now. His instincts are riding him hard.
“I don’t know, but that’s her business. We’re here about yours.”
“Her business is my business!” he snarls, trying to wrench his hands from me. “Someone hurt her, Teo. What if she’s not safe?”
“It is none of our business unless she makes it ours, Quinton.” My words are firm, even if I wish they weren’t the truth.
“Yes, thank you, Matteo,” the doctor says, sitting across from us with a pen and paper. It’s old school. Most doctors nowadays use tablets. But in the times I’ve seen her, she’s not glued to her phone like most people, either, so maybe she just isn’t much for technology. “Please tell me a little bit about what’s going on.”
Quinton is no use, just staring at Alex’s forehead, so I launch into the timeline. She had read the prior doctor’s notes when she started, but said they weren’t as detailed as what I was telling her, and thanked me for filling in the gaps.
I make sure she knows that it’s getting worse, but don’t theorize it’s because of her. I cannot put that responsibility on her when she’s clearly dealing with a heavy burden of her own.
Fifteen minutes and several questions later, she sits back, chewing on the end of her pen.
“This sounds like a clear case of Alpha Rot. I’m not sure why the previous doctors missed it,” she muses. “And unfortunately, as I’m sure you know, there isn’t a cure.”
“There is,” Quinton says, finally snapping out of his rage spiral. “There is a cure.”
She sighs, folding her hands on top of one another and smiling gently at Quinton. “I know what the internet says, but meeting your scent match would not be a cure. It would halt the progression of the disease, and maybe, just maybe, you’d heal over the long term. But just meeting your scent match, even bonding them, won’t fix you entirely. This is a chronic illness you will have to live with.”
I suck on my tongue and slide my hand to Quinton’s lap, squeezing his thigh tightly.
I hope he can hear my thoughts.
Don’t tell her.
Don’t ask this of her.
Don’t.
Don’t.
Do-
“I think you may be my scent match.”
-n’t.
Shit.
