25. Blaine

Chapter 25

Blaine

T he day after we brought Resa home from the clinic, I feel Garrison watching me as I make lunch. Lex is with Marie, so we're fending for ourselves, and that usually means picking through the contents of the refrigerator.

"You don't look like you've been sleeping," he says.

That's because I haven't.

That unexpected trip to the clinic with a bone white, trembling Resa was a shock to the system. Not just because I was terrified we would lose Resa and her baby.

Going to a clinic—or any hospital—for a checkup requires preparation. I need to know it's coming, need to breathe through the panic that wells up at the thought. Need to know that it's only for a brief time, a couple hours maximum, and it's over for the year.

Going from near asleep to walking into a clinic in under thirty minutes was a bigger shock to the system than I was prepared for.

Since taking Resa to the clinic, I haven't had so much as an hour of sleep. That hasn't stopped the endless loops of flashback after flashback.

The smell of antiseptic, white hallways, squeaky floors, operations, physio that hurt, drugs that made me throw up, and yet more operations when the grafts didn't take.

And pain.

No matter how many drugs they pumped me with, every time I was conscious, I was in pain.

I still haven't made an appointment for my checkup, and I don't see it happening anytime soon. I need time to recover from a sudden trip to the clinic I wasn't expecting.

I've turned my phone back on, and those voicemails have been building up. Soon Sadie's father, and my regular physician, will call Garrison or Vaughn and ask how I am. Then they'd know I was dodging this appointment.

"I'm fine. Did you check on Resa last night?"

His gaze lingers on me, and then he sighs, signaling he's dropping the issue.

For now.

"She was restless. Barely sleeping. Sound familiar?"

"Yes." I abandon making lunch and close the refrigerator. My appetite has evaporated with thoughts of doctors and clinics. "It sounds a lot like an alpha who likes to stay up all night playing puzzles."

Garrison is trying not to smile. When he scrubs his hand over his mouth, I know he just failed to contain it. "I walked right into that, didn't I?"

There are some moments I let myself relax, where I'm not thinking of how I can stand at an angle that means whoever I'm talking to isn't seeing my right side head on. Those moments are far and few between, and will usually happen with Garrison.

I'm too guilty to relax around Vaughn.

Garrison is right, though. It's not like me to have trouble sleeping. Sleeping has always been a retreat from the pain, the guilt, and the scars.

But last night, I was picking at a case I know better than to touch.

Resa's case.

If we find Dexter Pieter for her, she will leave, and I'm equally aware that this research could lead to something that could take her away from us in another, more permanent way. None of us have met Dexter. We don't know his motivations.

"Why do you think he makes himself so unreachable?" I ask Garrison before he can steer the conversation into one involving me dodging my annual checkup.

His long look tells me he knows exactly what I'm doing. "You know, I wouldn't mind getting your opinion."

Because if anyone likes to hide, it's me , I think bitterly.

But Garrison isn't looking at me like he thinks less of me. He's interested in my answer because I'm the one who lives and breathes research.

Years ago, I wouldn't have thought twice before I answered a question like that. I'd have rambled on for so long he'd have shaken his head and told me he wanted the condensed version, not the encyclopaedic.

I lean against a kitchen counter and try to think myself back to the Blaine Webb I was five years ago.

"Dexter Pieter is an unknown. No one hides so much of their life unless they have something they don't want people to know."

Experience has taught us that thing is never good.

Garrison slowly nods. "And your perception of him?"

I don't answer. My perception of things is skewed. He knows this. So why is he asking?

"Blaine?" he presses, which isn't like him. Vaughn is the one who tests my boundaries.

"I'm not sure," I lie.

If we could make Resa forget all about her need to speak to Dexter Pieter, I would do it in a heartbeat. I don't trust him. Things have been rotten in the city for years. Nothing is improving.

It's plain to see that free heat clinics should have been regulated from the start. If they had been, the Asylum members wouldn't have gotten away with what they were doing for years, if not decades.

Dexter Pieter launched an investigation, but that statement came from his spokesman. If there was ever a time for him to show he gave a shit about the plight of omegas like Resa, he'd have given that statement himself. Instead, he hides.

I say none of that to Garrison. I'm probably wrong.

I turn to leave.

"The party," he says, watching me closely.

I pause. "What about it?" I hadn't wanted to go to the party. What I wanted even less was for someone to hurt Resa because Garrison was a man down. After I scared her, the least I could do was make sure no one hurt her. So I went.

"It couldn't have been easy."

It wasn't.

He saw what went down with the woman who stared at me like I was something she'd just stepped in. I'd heard his order for Frost to keep her out. "Resa needed me."

He slowly nods, his gaze still probing. "Resa needs to go back for a proper checkup."

"I know." I don't know how many more of these trips I can take, but Resa and the baby's needs are more urgent than mine, so I'll keep pushing until I can't push anymore.

"You don't have to come. I know it's not easy to?—"

"I'll be there," I interrupt.

"It's okay for you not to be there, Blaine."

"I know that," I say.

But it's not okay. Visits to the doctor shut me down for hours or days at a time. What woman could ever be happy with a man who won't touch her?

"Blaine?"

I sidestep Garrison's hand before he can place it on my shoulder. It's instinctive now. He knows I don't like to touch, but it's in his nature to want to comfort his pack.

So every couple of days we go through this same reach and sidestep motion.

I walk out, hesitate in the entryway, and instead of heading upstairs where Resa's sweet peach scent tempts me, I head to a place I largely stayed away from.

Vaughn is sitting with Resa. Frost and Roman out on assignment, and Lex is with Marie. Which means I'll have the place to myself.

I only ever hit the gym when everyone is asleep. Garrison is usually awake, but he knows when I'm in there, I like to be alone.

At the party, I offered to teach Resa self-defense. I hadn't planned on it. But the offer had slipped out, and I'd thought she would refuse.

She hadn't refused.

She hadn't agreed either, which means sometime soon, I might have to get used to the idea of her touching me. And of touching her.

I don't know if I can do that.

In the gym, I head for the duffel I keep in the room's corner, pulling out a pair of dark gray sweatpants, my sneakers, and a long sleeve running shirt made of thin Lycra.

It's thin. The sort of shirt you'd wear for a run outside, in cooler weather, so I'll still be too hot in it. I can always crack on the AC, but the thinner lightweight material will mean I won't die of heat. It covers my arms, not enough of the burns on my throat or my cheek, but more than the T-shirts and shorts I stopped wearing years ago.

I change quickly and head for the treadmill.

First, I pull off my glasses and stuff them in the space for a water bottle. My world turns blurry, but it's better than running with them. The only thing my glasses want to do when I run is slide off my face.

I start off at a walk before I build up to a slow jog. Nothing strenuous, just a warmup before I stretch, and work on some katas on the mat.

I don't put in my earbuds or turn on any music. That's another habit along with the shorts and T-shirts I stopped years ago. I need to hear if anyone knocks on the door or tries to come in so I have time to drag on a hoodie and hide the burns on my throat.