Chapter Twenty

Marcus

I expect the horny teenager stuff from Red. I don't expect it from Baxter.

He sat me down not long after the breast tenderness incident, explaining his thinking. Eve has been withdrawn lately, holding onto fear and shame about her body and the risks it poses to our unborn pup. Any chance to affirm—to celebrate— her body is crucial.

And they were ‘careful'.

Red swerves around me in the kitchen to grab a pot. "Honestly, man," he sighs, "you're kinda being a cockblock."

I cough into my wine glass. "Sorry?"

"Not in a bad way," he says, unconvincingly. "But still. Big time."

For a second, I just stare at him. "You do realize the only reason I'm doing this is to protect Eve and the pup, right?"

"Sure. I told you, it's not a bad thing."

"When is ‘ cockblock ' ever a good thing?"

He scoffs. "Point taken." Then he goes quiet, tipping the red onion into the pot. They sizzle, filling the kitchen with a tangy aroma.

"I'm just saying," he says at last, "Eve's been doing better, and I wager it's 'cause Thorn and Baxter finally gave her some relief."

The accusation stings—basically, You're wrong —but I cover it up with a smile, helping him peel the garlic. "You trying to take both my jobs, now?"

"Huh?"

"Nurse," I explain, then nod at the pot. "And chef."

His chest puffs. It's nice to see him so proud of himself—except for the part where it cuts me down to size.

***

Eve's anxious. Far more anxious than normal.

"What if he finds something wrong? I've had two asthma attacks now, and nearly fainted—god, I–I don't know. Too many times."

"Take a breath, princess." I kneel before her in the early morning air as my packmates load up the cars. "Nothing's going to be wrong. You've done such a good job of taking your meds, and practicing your breathing, and resting."

She doesn't seem convinced, looking anywhere but my face.

"Listen," I tell her, "you're under more pressure than most mothers, but if something were seriously wrong, it would've shown by now. Trust me." I've been keeping my eye out for weeks. No bleeds. No fevers. Whatever Doctor Perez finds, she'll be okay.

… Won't she?

It's like Eve can read that split second of doubt, as she curls around her stomach with an awful groan. I shift back, wondering if she's about to be sick.

No. Not sick—hyperventilating. Trembling like a leaf.

Alarm sirens blare—both my inner alpha and my inner nurse. "Okay, okay …" I rub her back. "Deep breaths, omega. Come on. With me."

She stares out at me with big watery eyes. The sight of it breaks my heart so badly I almost start crying with her.

Thank god Baxter chooses this moment to intervene, crouching down next to me. "Hey, little one. What's going on?"

Eve shakes her head, though for the life of me, I don't know what she's trying to say.

"Inhaler," I offer, holding it out to her. She shakes her head again.

Baxter pinches her chin, capturing her gaze, the two of them bonded in tender silence until she finally starts to relax. "There's my girl," he purrs. "Car's ready to go when you are." He puts his free hand on her stomach. "I know someone is looking forward to seeing you."

Eve sniffles. "What if they're … not?" A lesser alpha would probably ask what she means by that, but Baxter just smiles.

"Then I'll have to teach them some manners."

She laughs once, the sound so unexpected I almost collapse with relief. Still, we have a long journey ahead of us. The car sickness is one thing, but if she's going to be on the brink of a panic attack the whole time …

"How about something to take the edge off?" I suggest. "A sedative, or even a sleeping pill."

Eve recoils.

"We need you calm," I remind her, "and rested. I know you're not a fan of pills, so if you'd prefer, I can see if I have any inject—"

She snarls, flashing her teeth at me. The message comes across loud and clear: No fucking way. I don't realize I've flinched until her eyes widen with horror.

"I'm sorry," she breathes out. "Oh my gosh, I–I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Baxter rumbles with disapproval, though I can't tell who it's for.

"It's alright," I blurt out, realizing, as Eve puts both hands on her stomach. "Your omega's just trying to protect the pup." And she's not entirely wrong. Sedatives and sleeping pills shouldn't be the first port of call for a pregnant person.

She's still apologizing as we help her into the car. In a way, I don't mind—at least she's distracted from those other anxieties. For every ‘sorry', I kiss her cheek, or stroke her thigh, setting in beside her.

I catch a glimpse of Riley before she heads back to her car. "My parents are asking," she murmurs to Baxter.

"Tell them to reschedule. Tomorrow morning, breakfast."

She nods, already pulling out her phone.

We have a long journey ahead of us. And if seeing Riley's parents after six years of estrangement is the biggest of our concerns?

I'd be glad.