Page 104 of Bonding the Band

Relief gave way to fury.

Those two could have cost me everything. And forwhat?

Ellie might not have intended to give me what she was giving Hendrix, but they had found sedatives in his system that had already been mostly cleared from mine, which meant I had been getting dosed withsomething, just not narcotics. It explained why I had been struggling so much with the traveling, why I was perpetually exhausted and nauseated more than my pregnancy called for.

I hated them.

They hadn’t been punished yet, but the pack had assured me repeatedly that they would be. Everything had been reported to the police, Gary had been fired, and Hendrix was gearing up to go to rehab as soon as we returned to California.

He appeared at my door, his face haunted, his eyes shadowed. His voice was rough as he croaked out my name. “Meadow. How are you feeling?”

He glanced briefly at Arlo, who was fast asleep in the chair in the corner of the room.

“I’ve been better.” I didn’t say the words with any venom, but he flinched nonetheless.

Hendrix kneeled at my bedside, taking my hand. “I’m so sorry.”

He had said as much, hundreds of times, since everything had come to light.

“I know.” I cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. I knew it wasn’t his fault, but my anger over the situation still sat like a lead ball in my chest. I couldn’t tell him it was okay, and I couldn’t offer him absolution.

“Please don’t hate me,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sor?—”

“I don’t hate you.”

It wasn’t the first time in recent memory he had collapsed into tears at my bedside. Gary had hurt him, betrayed him, and it broke my heart to see him like this, but it wasn’t something I could fix.

He laid his palm against my belly, Nugget kicking like they could sense Hendrix needed the reassurance they were okay. I needed it too. I savored every impact of a tiny foot against my ribs or a little punch to my bladder. I put my hand over Hendrix’s. I felt every ounce of his devastation through the bond, and he felt mine in return. Honestly, I wished I could turn it off. I didn’t have enough space for my own grief over thesituation, let alone his. That wasn’t his fault, either. He couldn’t stop the bond any more than I could.

“Hey.” Beckett’s quiet voice came from the doorway, and I turned to him. “The car will be here in a few minutes, and then we’ll go to the airport. Our chartered plane is ready to go.”

I nodded. “Where are Clover and Phin?”

“He took her back to her hotel to get all of her things. They’re going to meet us at the airport, and Clover’s commercial flight back to Seattle is about an hour after ours leaves. You’ll see her before she goes, and we’ll fly her back out for a visit as soon as you’re ready for her,” he promised.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

Beckett held up a bag. “I got you some fresh clothing.”

Hendrix helped me change out of my hospital gown. It was nice to be in real clothes again.

Beckett was sitting on the foot of the bed when I turned back to him. “Everything is ready for your nest at the pack house. I packed all of your nest essentials from the bus, and everything else was packaged to be shipped express.”

He had really stepped up the last few days. Beckett had always had some serious daddy energy, but now he was in full dad mode, and I was so fucking grateful I didn’t have to worry about a single thing with him at the helm.

When we got to the airport, Clover stuck to me like a barnacle. “You call me for literally anything. I mean it. Middle of the night, middle of class, I don’t fucking care. You call.”

“I will.”

“You promise?”

I held up my pinky, and Clover hooked hers around it, tears streaking down her cheeks.

I let the pack usher me onto the chartered plane. Exhaustion weighed so heavily on me, I could barely appreciate the luxury. I napped on and off in the leather chairs, accepting snacks andwater from whichever pack member happened to be closest to me whenever I woke.

As soon as we landed, Hendrix would be leaving. The thought of going home without him left a sour taste in my mouth, but we all knew he needed to go. Even if he hadn’t been taking things willingly, the drugs had still been taking a toll on his body, habituating him to their presence over his years of consumption. He needed help that we couldn’t give him, and I was proud of him for finally taking that step, even if I wished it had been taken years ago.

I hadn’t realized what this was like for him until he had broken down, sobbing, confessing he didn’t even know what normal felt like anymore, so how could he protect me if he couldn’t tell that someone was dosing him with something that had made me collapse?

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