Page 114 of Claiming the Pack's Omega
She offers me a smile that tugs down on the edges of her eyes, making it look far more sad than it does happy.
“Yeah, I barely slept," she says.
“Why? Is there something wrong with the room? I—” My jaw clenches as I remember my helplessness, my stupid reliance on others, right now. “One of the other guys could fix whatever’s going on.”
She shakes her head.
“Nah, this isn’t something that can just be fixed.” She eyes me intently, her steel gray eyes darting between mine. “I’ve got nightmares too.”
I wince, blowing out a huff of air.
“You could tell I was having a nightmare?”
“Yeah. You were saying things in your sleep.” She busies herself, pulling out a bunch of bandages and antiseptic ointment. I’m grateful. I don’t think I could look her in the face right now. “Is there any chance you could sit up so I can get to your bandages?”
“What kind of stuff was I saying?” I ask, sitting up and swinging my legs off the side of the bed.
I reach up and over my shoulder with my good hand and tug my t-shirt over my head. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye before taking stock of my torso and the bandages I have over my stitches and lacerations.
I don’t miss the way her gaze lingers on me. It’s the way she used to eye me up in the locker room. It makes some of the tension leave my shoulders. I like the way she looks at me, like she likes what she sees.
“Just something about not wanting to be left alone," she says, softly, biting her bottom lip. “That, and I know why that whole matching name thing freaked you out in the hospital. I’m sorry for saying that shit, probably brought up stuff you didn’t want brought up.”
My shoulders stiffen, and I sigh.
“Yeah.”
She just nods, her expression growing soft before she directs her attention back to my torso.
“Let me know if it hurts, okay? I’ve got saline to wet some of the bandages so they don’t tug on your stitches, if they’re stuck to you, got it?” She says, her head down as I lean to the side.
“Got it,” I say.
The first bandage comes off clean, but the second doesn’t. It sticks to my skin, the mix of dried blood, puss, and whatever the hell else is leaking from that cut acting like glue.
“Yeah, that one sucks,” I say, taking a deep breath.
She picks up a small irrigation bottle I didn’t even know we had and gently wets the bandage before making a second attempt to remove it. This time it comes off clean.
The sun looks like it’s just barely risen.
“What time is it?”
“Six thirty," she says, continuing her work.
“Damn, early as hell.” I stare down at her as she continues doing what she’s doing. How many other guys has she patched up to be so familiar with this kind of stuff?
A twinge of jealousy shoots through me that I quickly tamper down.
I saw the way she treated fighters at The Warehouse. Well, all the fighters except for me. She was indifferent to them. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did this kind of stuff for a little extra money, though. She always struck me as the kind of omega who’d be resourceful in any situation.
“How was dinner last night? Sorry, I slept through. Those pain killers knocked me the hell out.”
I don’t know what’s inspired me to be a chatterbox this morning, maybe it’s knowing she witnessed me fighting through my nightmare. Maybe it’s the heaviness and exhaustion I can see in every line of her body. Maybe it’s just that I want to hear her voice.
She lets out a huff of laughter. “Dinner was an embarrassing shitshow.”
I straighten, tugging at a bandage that wasn’t ready to be taken off yet and wincing.
